An EGO To Match (Unlikely Matches Book 2)

by Gabrielle Snow

  "Darling, you know your father and I support any decision you choose to make. I wish you good luck." She said as she pecked my cheek and headed for the kitchen while I bounded up the steps, taking them two at a time to my bedroom.

  I sat on my bed with my laptop placed in front of me and began working on my application. Within an hour, I had finished writing a cover letter, attached a copy of my resume, and sent it to the provided email.

  Now, all I had to do was sit and wait for a response.

  Chapter 2

  MICHAEL.

  Two days after I asked for the job ad to be put out, I walked into my office for the first time that day around 2p.m. It had been a very long day: I had been in three different meetings that each lasted well over an hour with the managers of a chain of hotels I owned. Then I had taken the one hour drive to a site of a new building of mine under construction to check out the progress. I wanted nothing more to do than take a long bath, grab a beer, settle on my couch, and drown myself in football, but I had a lot of documents to go through and sign at the office. Ordinarily, had Betsy been here, I would have called and asked her to bring them over to my place to have them signed. But she wasn't here, and I couldn't trust the Hilda-girl to get to my place without misplacing herself or one of the documents. She was so clumsy.

  I pressed the button that summoned her, and when she came in, asked her to bring in some files. She returned minutes later with them in her hand, dropped them on my table, asked if I needed anything else, and with a shake of my head, turned to leave. I remembered that I had asked for the job applications to be sent to my personal email and made a mental note to go through them as soon as I was done scanning through the documents.

  About an hour and a half later, with a bottle of cold orange juice in hand, I signed the last of the papers, buzzed Hilda to pick them up, and logged into my mail. There had been nine entries in total, and from the names, I could tell that five of them were males. I laughed as I wondered what kind of human male applied to be a personal assistant to another male.

  "I really should have been gender-specific," I thought to myself. I was tempted to employ one, just to spook mother out, and watch the reaction on her face when I told her that I picked a male assistant to work for me. However, on second thought, I killed the idea. If I actually hired a male assistant, I would definitely end up sacking him within days, and I really didn't have the time for games. I deleted the men's applications and was left with four belonging to women. The first was a 36-year-old woman with two kids and a husband, and that instantly disqualified her. While it was safe for me to employ someone already married so that the scenario of Betsy wouldn't repeat itself, there were limits to the kind of orders a married lady with kids could carry out. It had to do with the duration of trips she could conveniently take, the number of hours she could reasonably put in, and I, for one, couldn't deal with excuses and inefficiency. I didn't even take a glance at her passport photograph before moving on to the next entry.

  The next application was from a 25-year-old college graduate by the name of Sarah Greene. I scrolled down to take a look at the attached passport and froze in my seat. It was her! The girl from the supermarket. I could barely contain my surprise as I scrolled up to go through her cover letter and resume, even though a large part of me knew that it didn't matter what she wrote or didn't write—I was going to give her the job. Luckily, her cover letter was impressively written, and her resume was even better at showing her expertise. I immediately composed an email stating she was among a few that had been shortlisted for an interview and should make herself available the next day by 9 a.m. That being done, I called Will and asked him to withdraw the ads, then downed the rest of my orange juice and after picking up my briefcase, headed out.

  This time, as I drove past the store, there was no urge to stop and get in.

  SARAH.

  As I walked into the living room from outside, I met mom and dad watching our favorite TV show, The Birth of The Beautiful Ones.

  "Hey Mum! Hey Dad!" I greeted them and settled in front of a bowl of salted peanuts.

  "How are you little bird?" Dad asked.

  "I'm fine, dad," I replied, chewing peanuts and smiling.

  “Have you gotten a reply to your application yet, Sarah?” Mum asked.

  I shook my head. “Not yet mum. I haven't checked my email since I left home this morning, but I will once I go up to my room.”

  Mom nodded and we tuned in for the show in silence. A couple of hours later they retreated to their bedroom but I stayed behind to watch Netflix. For some reason I wasn’t feeling that sleepy and a few more episodes of anything seemed more appealing than my recurring dreams of the green-eyed man. Before I knew it, it was 4 a.m. when I finally climbed the stairs up to my bedroom. I was so tired and sleepy that I barely managed to get out of my clothes and change into my nighties. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

  Dawn is just breaking when I step out of the house, wearing a pair of joggers, a tank top and running shoes, and begin to run. I haven't jogged for more than five minutes when all of a sudden he appears ahead, running toward me. I try to switch lanes to avoid a collision, but my feet won't leave the path, neither will they slow down. He is just five yards ahead of me, and before I know it, we hit each other. But, instead of the fatal head-on collision I am expecting, I find myself in his arms, panting and looking up into his beautiful green eyes, then he dips his head slowly toward my lips, and my eyes close in anticipation. Just before his lips enclose mine, a terribly loud buzzing comes from inside his head and jolts me away from his arms.

  My eyes flew open immediately, and I didn't have to think twice to know that I had just had another of my green-eyed man dreams. The alarm clock on my bedside table was ringing away, and I stretched my hand to smack it quiet. I hated alarms and the power they had over me, even in my sleep.

  Still very sleepy, I picked up my laptop from the table and opened it to check for new emails and then saw that I had a reply email for the one I had sent the day before. I anxiously clicked and read through, and immediately my eyes darted to the notification bar on my laptop to check the time. It was 8:03 a.m., and according to the email I’d just read, I had an interview at 9 a.m.

  I jumped out of bed, struggled out of my clothes, and made for the bathroom. As the warm water ran down my body, I ran through the mental cabinet where my clothes were stored, flipping through clothes and shoes, and by the time I was done, I had picked out a professional outfit in my head. 25 minutes later, I was applying a little makeup to my obviously sleep-starved face, telling myself that if I had checked my email last night as I had said I would, I wouldn't be in this mess.

  I scribbled a note to my parents telling them about the interview, left it on the kitchen counter, and got into my car at precisely 8:42 a.m. If I drove really fast, I could make it early enough to not be considered late. As I sped along, I muttered a prayer beneath my breath to not encounter any traffic. The road was relatively free, and just over twenty minutes later, I drove into the parking lot of Mike Smith Technologies at four minutes past nine. It took me another five minutes to get cleared at the reception and to ride an elevator up to the CEO's office on the 23rd floor. By the time the funnily dressed lady I met seated at a desk in the outer office gave me leave to go in, it was eleven minutes past nine. I turned the doorknob, stepped into the largest office space I had ever laid eyes on and looking up at the occupant of the office, stopped dead in my tracks.

  Chapter 3

  MICHAEL.

  Time had passed so quickly between the time I woke up and when Hilda called in to say there was a Miss Sarah Greene around to see me. I had woken up at my usual time at six a.m. to go on my morning jog, taken my bath and dressed up, and was seated in my office at exactly 8:03 a.m. Hilda had brought in my cup of coffee, and I had buried myself in work.

  Seconds after Hilda’s announcement, she walked in, dressed in a classy, black knee-length dress, and a striped black heel to match,
with luxurious black hair cascading around her shoulders and looking for all the world like she just stepped out of a magazine. She looked up into my face and froze on the spot for a couple of seconds. Good, I thought and smiled to myself—her apparent shock meant she recognized and remembered me.

  "Hi, Sarah. You are late," I pointed out.

  "I apologize. I had no knowledge of the interview until this morning." She replied, recovering from her shock, and then walked in. "You have a breathtaking office."

  "Thank you. Well, have a seat and let's get started with the terms of your employment."

  "Terms of employment?" She asked in a high voice, obviously bewildered.

  "That is what I said, yes," I smirked and then motioned for her to sit. Over the next quarter of an hour, we discussed her duties and obligations, work hours, pay, and every other matter that needed to be addressed. She was quick, speaking her mind fearlessly and answering all of my questions with equal curtness as she stared me right in the eye. I couldn’t help but think to myself that she was more intriguing than I had previously thought.

  After her initial shock, she dropped no clue that pointed to the fact that she remembered me, and I also acted as though she was a total and complete stranger. Eventually, we signed the necessary documents and concluded that she was going to start work the next day. She stood up, extended her hand for a handshake, and as I clasped mine around hers, I couldn’t help but notice that she had soft, warm palms, and a very firm handshake that I wasn't quite expecting from someone with her looks and size. That single body contact had set the hair on my arms standing. With a smile, she turned around and elegantly strutted out of my office.

  For some reason, I couldn't quite wait till the next day when she'd begin work. She was beautiful, smart, sexy as hell, and I knew I'd be lying to myself if I said I wasn't attracted to her. It had been so long since I had felt this kind of thrill, and I was more than ready for a new challenge. I placed a call to Hilda and told her to clear her desk at the close of the day and to resume work as an assistant typist in Accounting starting from the next day. I could literally sense her relief over the telephone.

  SARAH.

  "What way to the restroom, please?" I asked the lady sitting outside his office as soon as I stepped out, and she pointed the direction out to me. After thanking her, I walked down the hall in the direction she had pointed, got to the door that had the symbol for ladies on it, and walked in. I made for the closest stall and immediately sat down on the toilet seat, gripping the edges so hard that my palms began to hurt. Same palms that had tingled so badly just minutes ago when they were in his hands. That handshake had been something else!

  "What the hell just happened in there?" I hissed to myself, still reeling from the shock I’d felt as I’d walked in and found myself looking into the same green eyes I had dreamt about for days. Throughout our discussion, it had taken me all my strength to hide my shock. Thankfully the interview had gone really well. He obviously hadn't recognized me, and while a part of me was glad that I got the job through my own impressive credentials, another part was furious that I had spent days and nights dreaming about this man, while he didn't even recognize my face. How was I supposed to get over my dreams when the same person that showed up in them every single night was now the person I was working for? It just wasn't logical, and common sense told me to get out of his building and never walk back. But for the first time in a long time, I was unwilling to reason with common sense.

  Minutes later, more composed and collected, I was out of the building and in my car on my way to Dee's to fill her in on everything that just happened. I also wanted to get her to come shopping with me for work clothes. Technically, she always did the shopping while I just sat and looked around, totally trusting her judgment.

  If Michael Smith didn't remember me from our first encounter, I had plans to make him remember me from every single meeting after.

  That night, my dreams took on an intensity they never had before. His green eyes and hands ravaging me were so real that I could almost feel his touch on my skin when I woke in the morning.

  VERY EARLY THE NEXT morning, I was out of the house and seated on my chair in Michael's outer office. I was dressed in a stunning, off-shoulder cream-colored dress with a slit at the side that ran up to the middle of my thighs, and paired it with seven inch black suede heels. I’d known it before, but Dee definitely had an eye for fashion. My black hair was tied into a ponytail, dropping down to my back, and my lips were covered in pink gloss. Needless to say, I was proud of the way I looked.

  Michael walked into the office at exactly quarter past eight, and I could almost hear his sharp intake of breath the moment he set his eyes on me. The air surrounding me suddenly felt electric.

  "Good morning, Mr. Smith," I greeted him as I rose up to collect his briefcase.

  "Morning, Sarah. How are you doing today?" He asked, and without waiting for a reply, walked on into his office.

  Smiling to myself, I followed him in, dropped his briefcase, and set up his laptop on the table. I left to get him his cup of coffee—which was the first thing he usually took according to the guide book that he had handed to me during the interview—before retreating to my desk to begin my day. According to his schedule, he didn't have any meetings throughout the day. Still, a few workers came in to see him, and some were quite nice and welcomed me with a smile, while the rest just waltzed in and out like they owned the place.

  A few minutes past seven in the evening, he called me in to pack up his things as he was leaving. I bent down to pick his briefcase up from the ground next to his chair, then moved to clear his table. I was so close to him that I could smell the deep masculine odor of his aftershave and feel his breath on my arm. God! He smelled so nice, I thought to myself and wished I could bury my nose in his neck and draw in lungful after lungful of his heavenly—or devilish— scent.

  I could feel his eyes on me, watching me work, and despite telling myself not to do it, I turned my head toward him and caught him gazing at me. We stared at each other for seconds, when all of a sudden, my dreams about him flooded into my mind, and my cheeks began to heat at the images swimming in my head. I quickly broke eye contact and looked away in an attempt to hide my blush.

  “Look at me, Sarah,” he said quietly in a commanding tone, reaching for my cheek.

  It was as if the room had been enveloped by a thick, humid cloud. My face was in his hands and his face was just inches away from mine. As I gazed up to look at him through my thick lashes, I felt a keen urge to brush my lips against his plump ones. His palms were so soft and smooth. I almost went dizzy with lust as he traced my jawline with his thumb and gradually moved his grip on my face to the back of my head. I knew what was coming, and I wanted it. I craved it, even. My breath quickened as he pulled my body flush against his and dipped his head towards my lips.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered just before he placed his lips on mine. All of the muscles in my stomach clenched and I gasped at the welcomed intrusion. His lips were so soft, yet firm against mine, and against my better judgement, I kissed him back.

  Immediately, the kiss switched from being soft, playful love bites to being hard and demanding. We both threw caution to the wind as we went on exploring with our lips and tongues, and soon, our hands were desperately exploring at each other. I knew I had to stop it before we both did something—something leading to consequences we weren't ready for, so I pulled away sharply. I didn’t miss the shock in his eyes as I pulled away, and I could tell that no one had ever pulled away from him before.

  "I'll give you a call if I need you over the weekend," I heard him say coolly as he turned around and walked out of the office.

  My mind escaped back to the kiss, and I tried to remember the last time I had been so passionate and aroused by just a kiss; it had been a long, long time ago. Why had I pulled away from such an amazing kiss? Although I knew my reasons for breaking the connection were credible, deep down, I wished I had
n't.

  After getting home, I fixed myself dinner, still reflecting over our fleeting moment of passion. And as I laid down in bed to sleep, my last thoughts were about Michael, and how perfect his hard body had felt against mine.

  MY WEEKEND WAS UNEVENTFUL, and I spent most of it in my room reading and browsing the internet, only going downstairs occasionally to fix myself something to eat. No matter how hard I tried to fight it, my mind drifted back to the events of Friday evening with Michael so many times that I stopped counting after a while. I would’ve never admitted it, but a part of me secretly looked forward to him calling me like he said he would if he needed anything.

  By 8 p.m. on Sunday evening, I had given up any last shred of hope of him calling. As an attempt to distract myself, I was watching a video on my laptop when an email notification popped up on my screen. I instantly clicked on it and saw that it was from him. Just as I was about to start reading through, my phone rang. The call was from an unknown number and after a few seconds of hesitation, I answered the call.

  "Hello Sarah," said the deep, husky voice from the other end of the line, causing my heart to do a little flip flop in my chest. It was him.

  "Mr. Smith. Good evening."

  "I called to make sure you have seen the email I just sent to you."

  "Yes, I saw it just moments ago. I'll read through it now," I replied.

  "Okay then. Have a goodnight." He said and without further explanation, dropped the call.

  It had been so quick—and anti-climatic—that I pouted and considered not checking the email just to spite his arrogant demeanor. But why would he call after sending it? I was about to slam my laptop shut, when the temptation took over me and I clicked on the unread email. It read:

  Urgent business trip to LA tomorrow, and you are coming with. Pack up for three days, and send your address as soon as you see this. We leave at seven am tomorrow morning. Don’t be late.