Controlling Krysta

Controlling Krysta

By Lyla Sinclair

Copyright 2012 Lyla Sinclair

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or used in whole or in part by any means without written permission from the author at
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All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, with or without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Editor: Jennifer-Bray Weber

Cover photo: Jimmy Thomas

“Well, Ms. Krysta James. You’re okay by me,” Dixon Maddox said. “Are you ready to get worked over by my brother?”

Fuck. My eyes flitted to the white cowboy hat he’d laid on his big oak desk when we walked into his office.

I didn’t know I’d have to go through two of them to get this job at Maddox Brothers, Inc. I’d thought Dixon Maddox was making the decision.

He’d been easy. While I could see he was nobody’s fool, he wasn’t that hard to read.

And I did have a Master’s Degree in psychology. He was a handsome ladies' man with the sparkly blue naughty-boy eyes that I was sure made women fall at his feet.

Totally not my type. I liked them more complicated. There was something about getting a stern, poker-faced man to laugh or display emotion that gave me a sense of accomplishment.

Of course, I was probably trying to get a redo on my relationship with my dad who’d died before we could fix anything between us.

Damn, I hated psychoanalyzing myself. Other people’s heads were my playground. My head was way too close to home.

“Okay, sure,” I said. I knew I appeared completely competent in my tortoise-shell glasses and shoulder-length chestnut hair. I’d planned my look carefully, balancing smart with a touch of sex appeal, since I would be interviewing with a man. “Do I need to schedule another appointment?”

I hoped I wouldn’t. I needed this job. I had two semesters left to get my doctorate. I’d been derailed before, but this time nothing was going to stop me from becoming a licensed psychologist.

With this receptionist job to support me, I could make the next semester’s tuition payment with what I’d already saved.

Unfortunately, the fund my scholarship was paid from had fallen victim to some Wall Street shenanigans and didn’t exist anymore.

Even with this new job, I wasn’t sure how I’d make it through my final semester.

“No need to make another appointment, unless you have to be somewhere else right now,” Dixon said. “I can take you right in to see him.”

He lifted his tight, blue-jean clad ass off his desk and led me to the door.

I had to admit, he had pleasant taste in office décor. The blues and khakis and light wood tones were more welcoming than most offices, but were combined with symmetrical shapes, so the place still gave off a masculine vibe.

Then I reminded myself how rich the guy was and that he probably had an awesome decorator. I’d learned from my last relationship not to give a rich guy too much credit.

Fresh anger coursed through me at the thought. It had been a year since Brandt had un-proposed to me. Time to get the hell over it. Soon, I’d be my own woman, dependent on no man. In fact, I planned for men to be temporary diversions in the future. No more relationships.

Yes, I was bitter. And I was obsessing about the Brandt situation again.

I mentally slapped myself, hoping I wouldn’t be tempted to physically slap my future patients when they didn’t change their harmful behaviors.

I followed Dixon Maddox into the hall. Stopping at the closed door next to his office, he knocked.

“Mase?” He threw the door open without waiting for an answer.

An annoyed grunt was the only reply from the dark-haired man inside, who was bent over his desk.

Dixon motioned gallantly. “Ladies first.”

I smirked and rolled my eyes up at him. He grinned mischievously.

We understood each other. He knew I found his type annoying, but he also knew no woman was completely immune to his charms.

I chuckled as I walked into the office, then came to a dead stop.

A really dead stop.

Because all around me there were dead things, staring at me with their fake dead eyes.

“Holy shit!” I blurted out. “What the fuck?”

“Tell me this isn’t our receptionist candidate.” Dixon’s brother didn't even glance up from his big mahogany desk.

“I think that was the most appropriate response I’ve heard to this freak show,” Dixon replied. “Have you looked around your office lately?”

“Pet Cemetery,” I mumbled, remembering the title of some old Stephen King movie my friends and I rented in high school.

Dixon laughed and ushered me to one of the guest chairs facing the other Mr. Maddox.

As I sat down, I had two thoughts. First, “Are these two twins?” And, second, “Could these two be any more different?”

Their faces were so similar, classically handsome with strong jaws and straight noses.

But instead of jeans and a casual button down, Mason Maddox wore an expensive tailored suit with a dress shirt and tie.

I was sure, even if I examined him closely, I wouldn’t find one hair out of place or one spec of fuzz on his clothing.

I glanced back at Dixon for comparison. His hair, which was a few shades lighter than his brother’s, was tousled by design. Three of the buttons on his western-style shirt were undone in what I was sure was an intentional tease.

Any psych student could tell you which was the older brother and which was the younger of these two. Classic birth order case. As an only child, sibling relationships had always fascinated me.

“Krysta James, this is my brother and business partner Mason Maddox.” Dix parked his ass on the edge of his brother’s desk.

My eyes skimmed over Mason’s perfectly arranged desktop, every item on it equidistant from the next.

Control freak? OCD?

Mason’s eyes left the contract he’d been studying and zeroed in on his brother’s backside.

He took a deep breath, clearly exercising every ounce of restraint to keep from lunging at his younger brother and strangling him.

I pursed my lips, so Mason wouldn’t see how amusing this was to me. I needed to subdue my sarcastic sense of humor and make this work. I needed the money.

Besides, if I took notes while I worked here, I could probably get enough for a research paper, just from observing these two.

*****

And he liked that the chemistry between them was friendly and nothing else.

The six months of agreed upon “cooling off” time between him and Tessa would be over soon and he had every intention of continuing where they’d left off.

Most men wouldn’t have made the choice he did, but he’d been trying to allow enough time and distance so they could “reset” their relationship.

He didn’t want to be boss and employee. And he wanted some time to pass so she could forget the ridiculous misunderstanding out at Mason’s ranch.

They’d had a really weird beginning and Dix hoped to start fresh on her turf and get it right.

“Dix.” He turned and saw Mason’s eyes flick from him to the chair and back again.

Dix was in such a good mood from all the Tessa thoughts lately, he decided to throw his big brother a bone. He got off the desk and settled into the second guest chair a couple of feet from Krysta.

Apparently satisfied, Mason turned his attention toward her.

“Ms.—” He stopped short and stared at her.

That was strange. Dix wondered if his big brother had forgotten her name. Mason had seen her resume, and he had a photographic memory when it came to names and numbers.

His lips remained open as he blinked at Krysta.

Dix glanced over at her, noting the touch of cleavage peeking out the top of her red silk blouse. The gray suit she wore was cut close to the body.

Was that what Mason was tongue-tied over? Or maybe it was those hazel eyes with the alluring slant at the outer edges. Made her look like she knew something you didn’t.

Whatever the hell was going on, Dix decided he’d better jump in before she got spooked by his weird brother and ran off.

There wasn’t going to be any funny business in the office this time. They only wanted someone qualified who would be reliable and stick around for a while.

“It’s Ms. James.” Dix said. “Krysta James is the one who hates your dead animals.” He couldn’t help but have a little fun at his brother’s expense.

“It’s a collection,” Mason replied defensively. “I buy the most interesting ones.”

Dix watched as she leaned forward and tilted her head as if studying his brother.

“You’re not a hunter?”

Here we go.

“No. It’s a hobby, like stamps or coins.”

She pressed her lips together as if trying not to laugh. “You see this as equivalent to a coin collection?” she asked. Dix could practically see the psychology wheels spinning in her head.

“Yes,” Mason replied.

“Um…okay.” She obviously wasn’t convinced it was anything like a coin collection.

And what was that expression on Mason’s face? It was as if her disapproval bothered him.

“Come over here.” Mason stood and moved over to the grizzly, standing on its hind legs in the corner. “I’ll show you.”

He’ll show her? Since when did Mason Maddox care anything about what their receptionist thought?

Dix watched as his brother pointed out the moose with the oddly shaped antlers and the coyote, whose dark spots formed the silhouette of a roadrunner on its coat.

Dix had always enjoyed making an impression on women in general, but Mason was different.

As Dix observed his brother, so intent on getting Krysta to see the validity of his bizarre collection, he remembered another woman Mason had bent over backwards to impress.

Hmmm…

*****

“Still find no merit to my collection?”

“It’s not about merit with me,” I replied. I smoothed my hair behind one ear, worried about the direction this interview was headed in. “I’m more interested in why people really do what they do.”

“And do you have a theory about a person with a collection like mine?”

“Hypothetically, you mean?”

“Of course.”

“Well, normally these are kept by hunters as trophies to prove their virility and masculinity, but that doesn’t apply if the person doesn’t actually hunt.”

Mason’s eyes were transfixed on mine. The air conditioner kicked on and a fresh scent wafted over me. I liked the way it smelled…or did I just like it because I thought it was coming from him? I had an unsettling impulse to move in closer to him to find out for sure, but I stayed where I was.

“Go on,” he said. I had to remind myself what we were talking about.

“Oh…um, all the animals have something strange about them…”

My lips tingled. Was his chest heaving? What was going on here? This was not a sexy conversation. I broke eye contact and focused on the bear with the extra set of teeth.

“If I had to guess without any more information, I might say the person feels like a freak, an oddball, so he relates to these animals in some way. He collects them to make him feel less alone, without being out of control as he is with loved ones in real life. The animals can’t leave him or die on him because they’re already dead.”

Mason’s eyes seemed to turn from brown to black. He stopped blinking.

I’d opened my big mouth, again. Why did I have to be so honest? It bordered on a compulsion. A normal person would have come up with a flattering lie.

His hands clenched, and I had the feeling he wanted to grab me with them.

A strange sensation slithered through me, but it didn’t feel like fear.

I wanted those hands on me. I imagined them digging into my upper arms, pulling me in for a kiss.

“Get back to work.” Mason’s voice was as tight as his fists.

A shiver of excitement traveled through me at his command. I had the crazy urge to stay and see what he’d do if I didn’t follow orders. Then I remembered I couldn’t afford to find out.

“I don’t work here yet,” I said.

He let out an annoyed breath, visibly thrown off his game. “Dix is in charge of the help and he likes you.”