by Harper West
Always a fucking Monday, I think as I rub my temples. The markets had been shit over the weekend, and I was more nervous than I cared to admit about a bear market. SMX Investments ran on a high-risk, high-reward portfolio, and I didn’t want my clients getting spooked.
Not that I’d done much interacting with clients in person, though. I’d grown up under the assumption that I’d take over SMX from my father – when he died, I’d been working my way through the ranks.
“I’m not giving you anything, Mason,” he’d said once. “You have to earn it.”
So, I’d done humiliating things like run the floor, deal with unruly, drunk clients, and did my best to show my old man that I was “worthy” of his company.
Of course, he died before we could have that talk. In retrospect, I can’t help but wonder if he ever would have admitted that he was proud of me.
I have no way of knowing.
“Here you are, Mr. Rhodes,” Allison says. Her hands are trembling slightly as she sets the coffee down on my desk. “You’re supposed to leave for your meeting now – would you like me to come for notes?”
I shake my head.
“No, that won’t be necessary.”
Allison looks disappointed, and I hide my smirk behind my coffee mug. Little does she know, my occasional Monday meetings aren’t meetings at all – they’re an excuse to get out of my office and walk around the building. SMX Investments owns the entire thing, thirty-six floors of money being traded every second. My father worked hard to build it, but I work harder. When he died, SMX was sharing an office with their biggest client.
And now, we own the entire fucking building.
Since I spend most of my time in my office, most of my employees have never met me. They may know what I look like from a photo in Fortune or the WSJ, but most of the men in the building have some variation of my haircut and my suits.
I prefer it that way. I hate those hand-holding CEOs who get down and dirty with their employees, forcing them into icebreaker games and forced-fun “field trips” to things like white-water rafting and ziplining. My employees need to take me seriously.
But I do like walking around occasionally and checking on things. Monday morning is the perfect time – the building is a flurry of activity, and if anyone notices a thirtysomething man in Valentino, skulking around with coffee, it’s nothing but normal. They probably think I’m some clueless sap here for an interview, some rich daddy’s boy who coasted through Dartmouth and Harvard’s MBA program.
They have no fucking idea how hard I’ve worked.
Allison gives me one last forlorn look, then leaves my office. With my coffee in one hand and a briefcase in the other (another useful prop for blending in among the masses), I leave my office and take the elevator down to the lobby. It’s a zoo, seemingly even more crowded than usual, with people pushing back and forth and waiting by the elevator banks. A few girls, interns probably, stand with Starbucks clutched in their manicured hands, staring longingly outside at the bright, sunny day.
They’re probably wishing they’re still back at the sorority house, I think as a smirk spreads across my face.
One of the girls turns and her eyes go wide. “Oh my god,” she hisses. “Look at her! What is she wearing?!”
For a second, I think she’s looking at me. But her face is plastered with a sneer, a look I never get from women, and I follow her line of sight.
There, standing directly behind me, is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. She’s wrapped in a purple dress that hugs and clings and roams her curves like it was made just for her. Her brown hair is pulled into a high, messy bun that frames her round face.
And her eyes, oh my fucking god. Her eyes, those big brown pools, look limitless and frightened.
She looks completely out of place.
And completely delicious.
My cock goes hard in my trousers and I have to swallow. Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with you, I think as I stare at her. When she realizes that I’m looking at her, her cheeks flush scarlet and she begins to tremble.
A smile spreads across my face and I stride over to her.
“You look lost,” I tell her. “Is there something I can help you with?”
She gulps and gives a nervous start. When her eyes meet mine, I feel a bolt of lust writhe through my body. God, I want her. I want to pull her curvy, lush body into my arms and take her back to my office, make her scream my name while I bend that ass over my desk and plunge into her, again and again and again.
The girl tugs at a loose strand of hair, crossing her eyes as she pulls it in front of her face. Despite the massive crowd of people in the lobby, I can smell her – a faintly floral, sweet scent that makes me want to drop to my knees and press my face into her crotch.
“Can I help you?” I ask, making an effort to sound kinder than usual.
She licks her lips and goddamnit, fuck, I want to kiss her so fucking bad.
“I’m supposed to meet a Mr. ...” She trails off, fumbling in her purse and coming up with a slip of paper. “A Mr. Hollins, for an interview, but I can’t figure out which elevator I’m supposed to take. Why don’t they all go to all of the floors?”
I smirk. “I’ll take you,” I tell her. “Come with me.”
Her eyes get even bigger if possible, huge brown pools that I could drown in.
“Are you sure?” She asks, cocking her head to the side. “You look like you’re kind of important around here. I wouldn’t want to keep you from any pressing business,” she adds.
Naughty girl, sassing the CEO, I think. But her comments just turn me on even more, and I have to fight the urge to grab her and pull her into my arms. Most people are too intimidated to even think about cracking a joke in front of me, and yet she managed to do it in seconds, all while staring at me with big doe eyes and looking innocent.
Goddamn, do I want her.
“I think they can manage without me for a little while,” I say smoothly. “Shall we?”
She nods.
“What’s your name?”
“Jilly. Um, Jilly Harmon.”
I smile at her. “Pleasure to meet you, Jilly.”
I could be mistaken, but I swear she trembles when I say her name.
Is it possible that she wants me as much as I want her?
“What’s your name?” Jilly asks. Her lower lip is plump and glistening with her spit, and I want to lean down and lick it off. My whole body is throbbing with lust and I have to hold the briefcase over my hard cock, so it doesn’t show.
I haven’t felt this awkward – or aroused – since I was in junior high.
“That’s my little secret,” I tell her in a low voice. “You’ll find out later.”
Jilly blinks and flushes, biting her lip.
“Just come with me,” I say. “I’ll take you to your office.”
“Will you tell me your name if I follow you?”
My lips curl into a smile.
“Maybe,” I tell her curtly. “Depends on how you play your cards.”
Chapter 3
Jilly
The insides of my thighs are slippery with arousal and I pray to God that it isn’t showing on the jersey material of my dress as I trot after the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life.
I didn’t even know they made men who looked like him – whatever his name was.
He’s tall and stunningly handsome, with dark hair and intense blue eyes that seem to bore holes right through me. His cheekbones are sharp and angular, like a model’s, and he’s looking at me like he wants to devour me.
I have to be mistaken, though. There’s no way a man like him would ever look twice at a chubby little dumpling like me.
“It’s this way,” he says smoothly. We’re standing in front of an elevator and the doors open with a soft ping. When I feel his hand on the small of my back, I nearly jump with surprise. An electric sizzle runs down my spine and immediately, I feel myself get even wetter. An ache I’ve never felt
before spreads through my body, like I’m sinking into a warm bath. I want him. I want him to spread my legs, to put his body against mine, to plunge his cock into my pussy and make me his forever.
Have you completely lost your mind? I think as I follow the man into the elevator. The doors close behind us, and I almost curse aloud when I realize that we aren’t alone. You’re acting like a crazy person! You don’t even know this guy, and you want him to fuck you?!
It’s irrational. It’s crazy. I’ve never had a feeling like this before in all of my life, not even when I had crushes on boys growing up.
But this guy isn’t a boy. There are faint traces of white at his temples, and his confident, arrogant manner tells me that he has to be at least fifteen years older than me. He is powerful, the way his body moves is both sensual and masculine, like a lion.
“You’re interviewing with Hollins?” The man asks casually, leaning against the wall of the elevator.
I nod – my mouth is so dry, I don’t even think that I could speak.
“He’s a real bear,” the man continues. Somehow, I get the feeling we’re talking about more than just who was going to interview me.
“Yeah?” I squeak. Lame, lame! I chastise myself. He’s going to think you’re an idiot!
The elevator ride is over too soon, and the guy leads me down a long corridor, past office after office filled with glamorous-looking women sitting behind desks.
“In here,” the man says. He smirks at me. “You look nervous. Are you?”
Yes, I think. But not because of the job.
I nod.
His smirk eases into a grin. “You’ll do great,” he says. “I know it.”
“Aren’t you ... aren’t you going to tell me your name?” I ask.
He shakes his head, still grinning. “Nope.” Then, he opens the door. “Mr. Hollins awaits,” he says, raising an eyebrow at me, like he’s making a private joke.
I don’t want to leave him. I know it’s insane, but the tension between us is unbearable. I’m so horny for him, all I want is for him to pull me into a closet and yank my panties down before fucking me raw.
“Don’t be late now,” he says, in the same joking tone. “Not a good way to get off to a great start at SMX.”
I flush deeply. “Sorry,” I say. “I won’t be.”
And then, I force myself to go inside.
Immediately, without the man beside me, I feel naked and exposed and vulnerable. A middle-aged man with a combover sits behind a desk, and I swallow and clear my throat.
“Mr. Hollins?”
“Yes?”
He doesn’t look up.
“I’m Jilly Harmon, I’m here to interview with you.”
That gets his attention and finally, he looks up at me.
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I hope I didn’t disturb you, but—”
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that you shouldn’t start a job interview by apologizing?” Mr. Hollins asks me coldly, and I feel a hot flush spread across my cheeks.
“Sorry, I—”
“And again!” He shakes his head. “I swear, you kids don’t get any kind of proper preparation anymore. Didn’t your college have a career center?”
I swallow and nod.
“And let me guess, you never went?”
“I went once,” I say defensively. “I had a mock interview there before I graduated.”
“Well, obviously it didn’t make much of an impact on your manners,” Mr. Hollins responds.
I take a deep breath, willing myself not to cry. How have things changed so radically in less than a minute? Seconds ago, I was floating alongside a Greek god, joking and laughing and horny.
And now, I feel ashamed and miserable. The worst thing is, I’m still so hot for that stranger that I can barely concentrate as Mr. Hollins closes the door and tells me to have a seat. I keep seeing the man’s piercing blue eyes in my mind, keep seeing his sensual mouth and wondering what it would be like to kiss him.
“Ms. Harmon?”
I look up and flushed.
“I just asked, what about this job is the most appealing to you?”
The chance of seeing that man again, I think.
Not like I can say that, of course.
“Well, SMX is very prestigious,” I say carefully. “And I like that while they’re committed to their clients, they’re also committed to giving back. I like that they partnered with the American Cancer Society for a charity benefit last year.”
Mr. Hollins nods. It’s the first time he’s been even remotely close to impressed since meeting me.
“What can you tell me about yourself?”
I shift in my chair. My thighs are still coated with my own slick juices of arousal and it makes me flush and bit the inside of my mouth to keep from moaning. Just the pressure of my thighs against my pussy lips is almost enough to make me grip the arms of the chair and gasp.
Mr. Hollins narrows his eyes at me again. “This is a standard question, Ms. Harmon,” he says icily. “It’s something I ask all interviewees.”
“I’m sorry,” I gasp. “I’m just ... not feeling very well this morning.”
“Then perhaps you should have rescheduled,” he says. “It’s not considered professional to come into an office when you’re not feeling well.”
“Oh.” It’s all I can say, and I clear my throat. “Well, um, I’ve been looking for a professional job ever since graduating college, and I feel that I have the skills and talents necessary for success here at SMX.”
Mr. Hollins looks amused. “Oh? And what would those be?”
Shit, I think, as sweat breaks out over my forehead. My mind has gone completely blank, and I curse that handsome stranger for ruining my interview. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be doing fine!
“Well, I pay a lot of attention to detail,” I say lamely as I grope for the right words. “And I’m very confident in my typing skills. I can use Microsoft Office well.”
There’s a long, uncomfortable silence and I shift in my seat, wincing as my thighs slip and slide together. The horrible mixture of arousal and discomfort is still swimming through my veins, and I want nothing more than to excuse myself to the bathroom and dry off with a paper towel ... or ten.
“Well, Ms. Harmon, thank you very much for taking the time to come in today, even if you weren’t wholly prepared,” Mr. Hollins says. “I think I’ve heard quite enough.”
I stare at him. “We haven’t even discussed the position in question,” I say. “We’ve barely talked at all!”
“It’s clear to me that you wouldn’t be the right fit,” Mr. Hollins replies. “But again. I do appreciate your time. Best of luck on your job search.”
My heart sinks. Ultimately, I know that while I can blame it on the hot stranger all I want, I’m the reason why I failed here. I wasn’t put together enough or prepared enough.
I want to go home and cry. Mr. Hollins shakes my hand, and then escorts me to the door. Thankfully, the hallway is empty, and I stand there for a moment and take a few deep breaths. I’ll make this right, I tell myself. I’ll do everything in my power to find another job interview, as soon as possible.
But no amount of positive thinking can help in the moment. I need something powerful, something strong enough to take my mind off the colossal failure that I just experienced.
I walk down the hall and into the elevator lobby. There, standing with his back to me, is the guy who had ruined everything – the man who made me wet just by looking at me, who acted like he owned me even though he knew nothing about me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask pointedly.
He turns around and I see fire blazing in his deep blue eyes.
“Would you believe me if I told you that I was waiting for you?”
A shiver runs down my spine. I don’t even notice my anger fading, slipping away like nothing at all as he steps closer.
“I don’t know,” I say with a tremble.
He steps closer and cl
oser, until we’re almost touching. A wave of musky, dark cologne washes over me, and I want to close my eyes and breathe in until it’s the only thing I’m aware of in this world.
“Come with me.”
His voice is dark, commanding, and I feel that I had no choice but to follow as he leads me down yet another hallway that twists and turns.
I know this is wrong.
At least that’s what the logical part of my mind argues.
I know that following him will lead me to do something I have never done in my life. Something I judged other people for doing—and yet, I can’t stop myself.
There are some forces in this world you cannot fight.
This attraction is one of them.
As we turn another corner, a wall of glass overlooks the city below, making the people appear as small as ants. Are you really going to do this, Jilly? I think to myself.
Holy shit. I just might.
“Here.” He brushes past me and opens a door, revealing a dark passageway.
“What ... where is this?” I stammer.
He lifts a finger to his lips and smirks at me. “A secret.”
I shiver with anticipation. Just being around him again is making me forget all about my disastrous interview. I know I shouldn’t trust him – I don’t even know him, for god’s sake! – but I don’t feel that I have a choice. There’s something magnetic about him, something that’s drawing me to him with the utmost power.
I follow.
In a matter of seconds, we’re standing in a concrete staircase, with fire extinguishers hung on the walls.
“Fire escape,” he mutters, reaching behind me and closing the door. As soon as he does, I realize just how small that space is. My feet are practically between his and our bodies are inches apart. My skin is tingling with anticipation – I want him to touch me, already – and I hold my breath as he leans closer. His mouth is tantalizing centimeters from my own, and I nervously lick my lips, wondering just how in the hell I wound up with this gorgeous man in a fire escape.
I want to explain that this isn’t who I am. Even though I want this—it’s like I need him to know I’m not some girl who just screws any guy she meets in the first few minutes.