by Kim Karr
“I’m sorry, Gigi, you’ll need to leave. Good luck job hunting,” Kendra says as she walks away from me. Her pixie dust leaving sparks in her wake.
Bitch.
A bitch, I remind myself, who I really wanted to learn from. “Kendra,” I call but she doesn’t bother to turn back.
This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. I curl my hands into fists to stop them from shaking as I make my way back through Bombshell’s bright candy-colored corridor.
Bombshell.
The glossy-paged magazine where fashion and expert advice will blend cohesively together. A diversion from the expensive, high-end publications that don’t cater to the everyday girl.
Find your inner bombshell is their motto.
And I wanted to find mine.
Looks like I won’t be doing that.
The publication is meant to be every girl’s go-to place for finding the perfect outfit for any occasion. Styles taken from the runway are translated into picks from ordinary stores, and the result is a much lower price point. This is done by none other than the Creative Director and her staff.
Such a dream job.
And seriously, Bombshell is the perfect place for me. Regardless of the fact that I had to start at the bottom, I am their everyday girl—limited budget and expensive taste, and all.
I can’t lose this job.
I dare you.
The deep, gruff words play over and over in my head.
I dare you.
I dare myself.
On my heels, I whirl around and march toward the office of the man who is at the helm of this publication.
The big dick with the ridiculous rules. I mean, I understand being late isn’t ideal but there are times in a city of this size it just can’t be helped.
Like today.
And this ruthless man needs to step out of his glass tower once in a while and understand this.
It wasn’t like I was getting my nails done.
Okay, I was kissing a stranger in a cab, but still.
There are a number of doors down the administration hallway and none of them have been labeled yet. Not that it would matter. I’m not entirely certain I was ever given the media emperor’s name. I had only spoken to Kendra, who spoke of Scarlett and that was enough for me.
As if I am Goldilocks and the offices are the beds, I knock on the first door. No answer. Then the second. Again, no answer. Finally the third, and you know it, there isn’t anyone behind it.
Everyone who is working must be at the shoot. So, I gather my pride and decide to go right back to the studio and demand my job.
Utter chaos has ensued since I left not even ten minutes ago. The photographer is shouting at his assistant. Scarlett is in an animated conversation with Kendra over the style kit. The refreshments table looks like King Kong stomped all over it. Others are scampering here and there. And in the midst of it all, I spot a make-shift changing room. The screen meshing isn’t see-through but shadows are evident. Looking at it I can tell by body movement that a pair of shoes is being toed-off and then I can tell socks are being peeled away.
Bingo.
That has to be him.
Without any hesitation I march through the crowd, so caught up in the confusion of their new positions, they don’t even notice I’m back.
I’m standing outside the portable screen and this close I don’t look through it to the outline of the man behind it for fear I will lose my nerve.
So instead, I clear my throat and look away. “Excuse me,” I offer softly, “but I want to let you know I think your work policies suck. Suck big time.”
Okay, I could have used more appropriate terminology, but I can’t help myself. It’s how I feel.
There is no response, but the music is rather loud and might have overpowered my voice, so I try again. “Excuse me,” I repeat, “but I was fired for being late when I was hired less than three hours ago. Honestly, I got here as fast as I could and I think that deems some consideration.”
A flash goes off and I glance toward the photographer to see him snapping a test shot in front of the huge arched window.
Momentarily distracted, I go on while watching the shutter click at the same time. “In case you didn’t notice,” I smart, “it’s raining today, and in a city like New York, rain paralyzes all modes of transportation. I tried my best to get here on time but I just couldn’t. It won’t happen again. I promise. I really need this job, so please, give me another chance.”
Nothing.
Still nothing.
Jerk.
Asshole.
Cocky bastard.
Frustrated by the lack of response, I fist my hands together and storm around the screen to find an extremely wide back bent over and stepping into a pair of super fine pinstripe slacks. The man straightens, and my eyes follow those muscular thighs to those black, noticeably fine fitting Calvin’s, all the way up to that shredded six-pack and then over a muscular chest and finally land on an exquisitely square jaw.
A strong, angled jaw that less than thirty minutes ago had me squirming in my seat.
I gulp.
Gasp for air.
Continue my perusal upward in case I’m mistaken to that ginger-colored hair that looks both disheveled and perfect on his forehead.
Nope, I’m absolutely not mistaken because now I see his mouth.
Oh, that mouth.
Those full lips, beige cherry, with a darker line where the lip meets the skin, almost as if he’s wearing lip liner, but of course, he isn’t. And while staring, I can’t help but recall how those lips had felt on my mouth. Soft and smooth and wet, like my entire face was being enveloped in them.
That’s when my legs literally go weak—and I have to hold onto the screen to steady myself.
A screen that goes tumbling down.
No.
No.
No.
If I wasn’t already fired…I am now.
Exposing my nearly naked boss to all might not be against the rules, but even I know an act like this won’t get me rehired.
As my gaze locks on his blue eyes, I feel my heart leap from my chest because now it all makes sense.
He was in a hurry.
He got me inside.
It’s because of him that I got fired.
And now I can get fired, again.
The man behind the screen, my cab mate, is my new boss, who I kissed and then ran away from. Oh, and let’s not forget—it’s because of me that he’s flashing his underwear to the entire room.
One, two, three strikes.
I’m so out.
Seriously, can my day possibly get any worse?
LOOK UP NOT DOWN
I’m near naked for my entire staff to see, and I don’t give a flying fuck because this is the most fun I’ve had in a very long time.
New York City consists of five boroughs that all sit at a single pinpoint in the world—where the Hudson River meets the Atlantic Ocean, and at its core is Manhattan.
Man-fucking-hattan.
The place the King and Queen of Casanovia have forced me to seek retribution after banishing me to boring Newport for my ill-behavior, at the trifling age of twenty-six to boot.
The same boring place I thought I could stay out of trouble. Thought. Until now, that is.
Suddenly, it’s not so boring.
The thing is—this girl has trouble written all over her, and I should send her straight away.
Because her kind of trouble is definitely my kind of trouble.
I’ve done such a good job of getting lost in the financial epi-center of the world. With its iconic sites such as the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, sprawling Central Park, and the Broadway theaters, I’ve been able to keep myself busy and stay away from women.
But her.
Fuck.
Her.
As bright as she is amusing, especially with the look of downright shock on her beautiful face.
“Oh my God, I’m
so sorry, I—” She starts to apologize but stops when I lift my head and she sees it’s me. Notices who I am. The guy from the cab with the wandering lips. The darer. The one who decided he wasn’t going to lose her the minute he saw where she was headed.
To the same building I was, and that’s when it clicked—I was the big dick.
In the cab, I thought about getting out and chasing her down the street but I’d just had a shit-show of a brunch and I was already late, so for the sake of staying on the straight and narrow path of cleaning up my image, I reluctantly let her go.
But then I saw her at the very building whose doors I’d had locked, and everything changed.
Fate.
It just fucking had to be fate.
Whatever that is.
So I baited her, and now here she is.
“Not to worry,” I tell her, “Go on, I want to hear what you have to say.”
As I grab for my pants, she looks up at me with equal parts horror and pissed-off anger but her gaze wanders down, down, down, and I bet she’s wondering if I’m still a big dick.
Well, she’s guessed right.
Small, petite, dainty even, she’s all I see in the room. And her hair, that hair, it’s a bit mussed from the rain but still that hair. Fuck, that hair. Long, sun-kissed blonde waves so glossy and thick with wild pieces brushing over her cheeks that I’m itching to push away.
The tiny thing that she is, she barely comes up to my chin, and that’s only because of her heels. Still, I swear, the only thing bigger in the room than her presence is her big brown bedroom eyes—they are so seductive and inviting. I bet she doesn’t even realize it.
And that mouth. Oh, fuck, that mouth. All of a sudden it twists and those two pouty pink lips practically command me to take her to bed.
Hey, I’m more than ready.
Down.
Down.
Down my eyes go as I mindlessly tug my pants up. Fuck, she’s even more delicious than I could have imagined. Her camouflaged skirt hits just above the knee. It’s spectacular and formfitting enough to show she has a really nice ass. And her black turtleneck is tight, so tight I can see her little tits and the tips poking out I want so much to lick, bite, suckle.
That small taste I had of her in the cab wasn’t nearly enough.
I want more.
Damn her.
Damn her and all her spunk and beauty. I really was on my way to the straight and narrow. Running a company to occupy myself during my time of exile. Making rules that would prevent me from getting into trouble.
Rules about office fraternization—basically that there isn’t to be any, at all. In fact, I think the fine print reads:
Company Fraternization Policy:
No dating
No romantic involvement
No sexual relations
And here she is, all hot legs and smart mouth, and fuck me, how the hell am I not going to want to break the very rules I created to tame myself?
Remaining on my path to redemption just got a whole hell of a lot more difficult.
No, not difficult…fucking impossible.
EXPOSED
It’s like one of the movies where everything happens in slow motion. He’s reaching for the crisp white shirt on a rollaway rack behind him so slowly, as if he’s waiting for a fan to be blown across him.
And me, I’m standing here like I’ve taken root, with my mouth wide open, watching him.
Feeling dizzy at the moment, I’m unable to draw my gaze from every ridge and crest of his amazing six-pack.
The tall, striking man dresses with all the calmness in the world, and I realize then I’ve blocked out everything around me. Just like a movie that fades to black.
However, as soon as he flashes me the most wolfish grin, everything comes back with so much clarity.
Him.
The cab.
The door.
The dare.
Him.
“You played me,” I scowl, trying not to look at the chiseled god-like form that is his body.
“Excuse me,” he responds, yanking up his zipper. “How exactly did I do that?”
My eyes going where they absolutely should not be going, I continue my rant. “You dared me to do something you knew wouldn’t matter because—” but before I can finish my sentence, a simmering force is blocking my view, and her name is Kendra Walters.
“Gigi, I thought I asked you to leave the building,” she scolds, her tone quiet, nothing like the sharp edge of her words.
A prick of dread haunts me. For a second that movie I’m in speeds up and I’m in fast forward mode, wondering if I should just run now or wait to be escorted out of the studio by some hulk-like security guard.
“You did,” I respond, smiling at her with all the Texas sweetness I can muster.
That something clears his throat and I avert my gaze toward the man buttoning his shirt, one, slow button by one, slow button at a time. That’s when I notice the look of pure amusement on his drop dead gorgeous face.
He’s enjoying this.
This starts a fire in my belly I can’t control and before I know it, I’m pointing my finger at him, but swinging my gaze back to Kendra, who is breathing like a dragon when she repeats, “Excuse me, but did you hear me? I thought I asked you to leave the building?”
“You did. But I’m not leaving until I have a chance to let Mr.,” I draw a blank. I have no idea what his last name is but I know his first from the cab ride. “Max,” I offer in lieu of a surname, “knows what I think of his policy.”
Her eyes are wide like saucers. “Gigi, please don’t cause any more of a scene than you already have.”
Sticking my chin out, I ignore her and now swing my gaze to the highlander hottie named Max, who would have been my boss had I arrived to work on time.
With my finger still pointing at him, I move closer. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Feigning confusion, he questions, “Me?” and tucks his shirt in.
Now I waggle my finger. “Yes, you.”
A merriment of amusement dances in those icy bluish-gray eyes. “Why?”
My hands go to my hips. “Because you prepared me to go to battle when you knew I’d be slaughtered. I doubt even Rob Roy MacGregor would do such a dastardly thing.”
“Rob Roy MacGregor?” Kendra questions, tugging me away. “Who the hell is that?”
“The famous Scottish redheaded outlaw warrior,” the Rob Roy MacGregor-like warrior informs her. “And I’m impressed Gigi knows of him.” In truth, I was forced to watch a movie about him starring Liam Neeson as the titular character in college as an assignment for a history class I took.
Kendra is completely at a loss for words.
Pulling herself together, she practically stomps her foot. “Sir, I’m extremely sorry this woman has disturbed you. I will personally escort her out myself, and please don’t let her behavior reflect poorly on me.”
Those ginger locks move from side to side as he shakes his head. “Miss,” he pauses.
But before I can say, “Gatsby,” he goes on, “Gatsby will be staying on with us at Bombshell, after all. Am I to assume since you’re the one trying to remove her from my presence, she reports to you?”
He knows my name.
He must have looked me up after our cab ride.
After our kiss.
Interesting.
Kendra appears petrified to admit anything that has to do with me. “Yes, sir. She was hired as my assistant.”
“Good. I’m sure she’s going to be a perfect fit for Bombshell. Would you mind, though, kindly showing her to my office instead of the door? I’d like a word with her in private before the shoot begins.”
Alone.
With him.
Shivers run up my spine.
The look on Kendra’s face is absolutely priceless. Stunned is the best way to describe her expression. So stunned her eyelash extensions are fluttering like a bird’s wings. “Yes, of course, Mr. Montgo
mery. And I’ll let Scarlett know of the change as well.”
He nods.
Max Montgomery.
The name is familiar.
Hmmm…where have I heard it?
I must have seen it in the email from Kendra or maybe she spoke of him during my interview? I can’t recall.
“Kendra,” he calls.
She turns. “Yes, sir?”
“Please come find me once you’ve settled Miss Gatsby in my office and bring Scarlett along with you.”
Her body starts to move even though she’s still speaking. “Yes, sir. I will, but the shoot was supposed to start more than fifteen minutes ago. We’re already late.”
“I’m well aware,” he snaps and then makes a low, deep sound. “And Gigi Gatsby,” he calls, and I swear it sounds like he’s making love to my full name.
I’ve already taken Kendra’s cue to follow her but now I stop and twist around. “Yes, Mr. Montgomery.”
He meets my gaze with a blazing force. “I appreciate the compliment.”
Not really knowing what he’s referring to, I still can’t help but smile at him. “You’re…welcome,” I tell him with uncertainty.
His responding grin is one to light up the world. “The thing is, if I’m Gilderoy, doesn’t that make you part of the band of limmers?”
A limmer.
Assistant.
Who cares?
I’m not fired.
And I’m floating on air right now, chasing my own breath. He really is part rogue and part romantic hero.
I’m such a goner.
His attention turns back to getting himself dressed in that delicious suit but mine stays on him.
Gilderoy.
My Gilderoy in a suit.
I stare at his profile a little longer even though I’m being dragged away. Sophistication, money, decadence, they’re all there in that half-smirk he wears so well.
Couple that with the killer suit he’s just finishing putting on and I swear he sucks all the air out of the room. No really. It’s true. Everyone is gasping when he buttons the jacket, or maybe that’s just me.