He watched me without blinking and I could almost see the wheels in his head turning under that gorgeous mop of hair. Something sparked in his earlobe, and for the first time I noticed a tiny diamond stud in his left ear that was out of place, given the office setting, but somehow suited him.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but this is an alcohol-free building. Unless, of course, it’s one of the corporate dinners. Then all bets are off.” I sat down across from him, making sure my back was as straight as possible, crossed my ankles and rested my hands on the table.
“Would I get to see you go a little wild? Let your hair down?” He motioned to my tight chignon. Oh, he knew absolutely nothing about me.
“How about we talk about you, Mr. Blaine, since you’re the one that needs a job?” I put emphasis on the word “job”. Mr. Blaine leaned back in his chair as if he were in his living room and gave me a whisper of a smile.
“Aren’t you a little ray of sunshine?”
I fumbled with my list of normal interview questions and could only come up with a few.
“Where do you see yourself in five years?” He smirked at me for a second, as if he was going to give me a wiseass answer and then changed his mind.
“I see myself being happy. Having a job I love and working with people who are reaching for the same goals. Despite my earlier comments, I’m not a slacker. I work hard and I don’t take no for an answer. I just see it as an incentive to make someone say yes.” He leaned forward then, placing his forearms on the table and I saw his arms flexing under the jacket. One sleeve slid up and a watch glinted on his wrist. I pulled my eyes away from the watch and back up to his eyes, which were blazing now.
The storm was raging. This . . . this was a passionate man. Was he passionate in all areas of his life, I wanted to ask, but I already knew the answer.
Unequivocally, yes.
I re-crossed my ankles and cleared my throat again, moving on to my second question.
He answered it the same way as the first, with a sincerity that was hard not to believe. I moved on to a few more questions and I realized that it was growing hot in the room, and I was wishing I could open one of the windows without making a fuss.
“So,” he said when I was done with all the normal questions I could think of and was groping for something else to say, “where do you see yourself in five years, Miss Clarke?”
That was none of his business. This was his damn interview, not mine. I’d already gone through one of those. Several, actually, as I worked my way up. Being the boss’ daughter only got me so far. In fact, I was pretty sure being Walter Clarke’s daughter made it even harder to get where I was.
“But we’re not talking about me, Mr. Blaine. This is your interview.” A beat of silence followed what I said and he was studying me in a way that made me both uncomfortable and a little intrigued. He stared so openly, so confidently. Not in a gross way, more in a way that said he was just as interested in me as I was in him.
“Why can’t we talk about you? Yes, I am the one who needs the job, but wouldn’t it be good to see if we are . . . compatible? We will be working very closely together.” Was it just me, or did he mean to make that sound dirty? To make my mind play a little fantasy of the two of us getting close? As soon as I thought it, I was picturing it.
I swear to God, I was going to kill Royce Winkle for cheating on me and forcing me to break up with him, so I wasn’t getting regular sex anymore. The fact that his last name was Winkle should have been my first red flag, but he was charming and rich and liked to pay for dinner when we went out. That was before I found out that he was just after my money (big shocker) because he had a gambling problem and owed a lot of people a lot of money. He was also banging a bartender on the side, but that was just the straw that broke this camel’s back.
“I suppose you have a point there. What, do you want to play twenty questions?” This was already an off-the-wall interview. Why not make it even more so?
He didn’t answer so I sighed, looking up at the ceiling as if it would tell me how to deal with this guy.
“I see myself being president of this company. Dad wants to retire and sail around the world with Mom on his boat and I want nothing more than to make that happen.”
What. The. Fuck.
I’d meant to give him a vague answer, but I’d told him exactly the truth.
SERIOUSLY, WHAT WAS WRONG WITH ME?!
I blushed and waited for his reaction.
“That’s very . . . sweet.” He finally said.
“I’m sorry,” I said, although I didn’t know what I was apologizing for. Being sweet? There were a lot of people who would never call me sweet. Raging bitch monster was more like it.
Awkward silence followed as he continued to study me and I tried not to squirm and show him that I was uncomfortable.
“Well,” I said, finally snapping back into business mode. “I’ll look over your résumé again, and have Mrs. Andrews give you a call.”
I stood and stuck out my hand, as is customary at the end of an interview.
He stood slowly, as if he didn’t want this to be over yet, but gave me a nice firm handshake that didn’t linger. Hm. Most men were worried about crushing my delicate lady hands so I was used to the dead fish handshake.
“Thank you for coming in and we’ll let you know,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say.
“I look forward to it, Miss Clarke. Very much.” He gave me a wink, gathered his briefcase and was out the door, shutting it behind him.
Je-sus Christ.
I had to sit back down and stare at the wall for a minute to recover. One thing was for sure. Actually, two things.
One, I needed to get laid. Soon.
Two, there was absolutely NO WAY I could hire Lucas Blaine.
No. Way.
3
Part of me wanted to take the rest of the afternoon off so I could go home and have some quality time with Mr. Buzzy, but I had meetings and my revisions on the quarterly report were due at midnight or else the board would have my hide, and I didn’t need to give them any more reasons to dislike me.
To top it off, I kept getting interrupted by ass**les who thought that somehow, it was in my job description to do their work as well as my own. Sometimes I thought it would be better if I could do their jobs as well as my own because I’d do it right. I wrote four terse emails, asking ONCE AGAIN for various projects/reports/files that I needed yesterday, or last week, or even last month. Some people liked to put smiley faces and so forth in their emails to make them seem less mean, or terse. I didn’t believe in that. Smiley faces didn’t get anything done. People being afraid of you did.