Shit, did I say attractive? Fuck that word. It’s too soft.
She’s downright mind-blowing.
Blowing…
Shit. My dirty mind takes off on its own, and suddenly I’m picturing Brett bobbing up and down on my cock in the office, me holding her blonde hair out of the way.
I scrub a hand on my chin and push all of those dirty thoughts to the closet of my mind and shut the door.
“Hi Mr. Blackwell,” she says in a professional tone of voice, that lovely Blackwell accent sprouting from her tongue.
I clear my throat. “Miss Blue. You’re right on time. Have a seat, please.” I gesture with an open hand to the seat right next to Kim.
“Miss Blue, meet Miss Murphy. Miss Murphy has been Blackwell Industries’ in-house law council for many years.”
“So nice to make your acquaintance,” Brett says with an outstretched hand. Kim seems a little reluctant, but she takes the hand and they shake.
I take a deep breath and Brett turns to me, batting her eyelashes, and again she catches me just slightly off guard.
Kim has a grim, fake looking smile on her face as she sits with her legs crossed and her posture a little too upright. I’m not sure what’s got her panties in a bunch.
I refocus and fold my hands on my desk, forearms right on top of Brett’s resume.
“Brett, let’s not dance around why I’ve brought you in here. Strangely enough, after our encounter yesterday, you applied for the open position at Blackwell Industries. Why?”
“I need a job,” she says without hesitation.
“So you turn down a lucrative offer for me to buy your property, then proceed to apply for a job that pays thirty thousand base salary? I’m just trying to understand your logic.”
She raises her chin, her expression steady.
“My grandpa built our house with his bare hands. I’m not giving it up so you can build...whatever giant corporate operation it is that you’re thinking of building on top of my family’s property.”
I nod. “I respect that, in a way. Even though I disagree with you. A Blackwell Industries Ranch would bring hundreds more jobs to the area. So why don’t you tell us a little about yourself?”
She shifts, legs together.
"Well Sir, I'm born and raised just outside of Blackwell. I went to Blackwell High School, then took classes at the community college for two years. After that, I transferred to Blackwell U, but I ended up having to take a break from classes after a semester when my father got sick."
"I see. And you haven't thought about going back?"
"Of course I've thought about it. I just don't feel like going more into debt, when I already know what I want to do. I don't want to get some degree that ends in "studies" just so I can be in the same spot two years from now only with more debt."
I nod as I take a sip of my coffee, and I have to say I'm impressed. After spending all afternoon yesterday interviewing college graduates, there's no doubt in my mind she's whip-smart. Some of the kids that came in yesterday - shit. I felt like I was talking to high schoolers at best.
"What else would you like to know?" she asks.
"Well, you applied for this job and, quite frankly, you're much younger than every other applicant. Why did you apply for this job, specifically? Do you have an aptitude for sales?”
She touches her hair and flips it over her shoulder. “If you want the honest truth, I just googled ‘jobs in Blackwell’ or something like that and this one came up. I need a job. So I applied. It’s that simple.”
Kim nods, then stands up. “Well, thank you for letting me sit in on this interview for a bit. I just remembered I have a conference call I have to get to on the half hour,” she says, and she heads toward the door. She pauses for a moment, looks at me, and then at Brett. “I’m sure the second half of the interview will go smoothly. Maybe you’re just nervous because I’m here,” she adds, her eyes small and squinty.
Brett laughs awkwardly. “I’m just getting warmed up.” She winks.
“By the way, for your next interview, you probably want to take it easy on the perfume, Brianna,” Kim adds.
“It’s Brett. Like a boy’s name, Brett,” Brett repeats.
“Of course. Until next time.” Kim cocks her head my way, smirking sly like we have a secret.
Which we don’t.
Not really, at least.
I’m not sure what to make of Kim’s snark.
I’m no expert in woman-speak, but I notice a bit of venom being exchanged between the two females, though I have no idea what it could be about. I mean shit, the two of them only just met each other.
I feel like I just saw a reenactment of a scene from Mean Girls.
I decide to stay focused at the task at hand, and turn my attention back to Brett.
Suddenly, I’m conscious of the fact that we are the only two in the room.
And she’s running her tongue over her lips. She crosses her legs, shifts in her chair, and sets the gaze of her blue eyes on me, and I swear she must know some hypnotic techniques, because I’m mesmerized by her.
“Where were we?” I say.
“Oh, I think we were just getting to the part where you tell me whether or not I have the job.” She smiles.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I scoff.
“Well Sir,” she returns. “I don’t mean to be forward, but you called me literally thirty minutes after I applied. You brought me in for this interview lickity-split. I’m going to go ahead and assume you don’t have much time to lose in getting your new hire on board. And that you haven’t had much talent come in and apply for the position. I’m here, and I’m your talent. What else do you need to know? I’m an open book.”
I lean back in my chair and shake my head, smirking ever so slightly. I can’t believe this woman. First, she makes a fool out of my offer yesterday. And now, here she is pretending like she’s already got the job when we’re barely fifteen minutes into the interview.
She’s already assuming the damn sale.
Shit, apparently she doesn’t even have to read the book. She’s a natural at negotiating.
And I’d be an idiot not to hire her.
Still, I’m not about to give her the job like it’s nothing. I’ll think of something good to challenge her with.
“Let’s change gears for a moment, Brett. Do you have any questions about the position?”
“What will I be selling?” she asks. “And what’s the day-to-day like?”
“Day-to-day, you’re in the office, following up on a few emails, making calls, and making sure all of the purchases are in accordance with the local laws, that kind of thing. And also handling any special projects that may come along.”
“And when I’m not in the office?”
“You’ll be out in the field, getting people to sell their property to you. Since my plan to start a ranch east of Blackwell fell through, now I’ve got to try and build it west of Blackwell.”
“Why did it fall through?”
“You really want to rub it in, don’t you?”
“Rub what in?”
I can’t tell if she’s playing dumb, or is too naïve to realize what she did to me.
“Well I offered this family—the Blue family—a hefty sum for their rural estate to the east, but they turned me down. Without that central property, the ranch I’m planning to build will never work. So now I need to start buying up property to the west of Blackwell. And that’s what I need you for. So you’re not really selling a product—you’ll be selling people—mostly gentlemen—on the idea of me buying their property…”
“So you can build a big ranch.”
“Yes.”
She falls silent and takes a deep breath.
“I’m a little conflicted, but alright. I guess I’ll take it.”
I laugh out loud. “You’ll what?”
“I said I’ll take the job.”
“I haven’t offered you anything yet.”
“Oh, so I don’t have the job? Well, I suppose I can see myself out then.”
She stands abruptly, and heads for the exit.
“I didn’t say that,” I backtrack. She doesn’t stop walking toward the door, her heels clicking on the hardwood.
Fuck. She is a master negotiator. And it’s all instinct.
She’s impressive.
I whip out from behind my desk, walk briskly to the door, and block her from leaving.
“I’m gonna hire you. Right here, right now. You report to work tomorrow at eight a.m. I’ll have Fiona send you over the introductory packet and get the signatures and the paperwork taken care of. Got it?”
She looks me in the eye, then looks away at the door. “Yes sir.”
“I’ll have Fiona contact you with the details. See you tomorrow.”
Motherfucker. Having a bombshell like her around the office is going to be an exercise in self-control.
But then, I have the most self-control of any guy I know.
I can do this, no problem.
4
Brett
To celebrate my new job, I meet up with my friend, Crystal, for drinks at our favorite local bar, The Watering Hole.
Her jaw drops as I recount how I got hired at Blackwell Industries.
“Let me get this straight. You told him off, and he hired you?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “It makes no sense to me either.”
“You know what else makes no sense? How a billionaire could be that hot.”
I nearly spit out my drink. “You’re talking about Sebastian?”
“Oh please.” Crystal rolls her eyes. “Don’t act like you’ve been living under a rock. Here.”
She pulls out her phone, pulls up the Instagram app, and shows me a picture.
“See? Look at those abs.”
I take her phone and swallow. The photo is from a year or so ago, and he’s with a woman who looks like if you looked up the word ‘sexy as hell’ in the dictionary, you’d find her picture. She’s got a perfectly proportioned body. Sebastian compliments her well. If you looked up ‘tall dark and handsome’ you’d probably find his picture. His eyes are mocha-colored, and his body is wet in the picture. He’s got a slight happy trail and a few hairs on his chest, but that doesn’t take away from his six pack abs.
“That’s...him? Holy shit.” I swallow. “I only saw him in a suit. He’s going to be the perfect muse for my romance novel.”
“Um, what?” Crystal does a double take as I stare longingly at his picture, still puzzled over why the man chose to hire a girl like me. My skin flushes, and I wonder what it would feel like to run my hand along those abs. “Did you just say romance novel? You’re going to have to explain that one to me.”
I nod, but I’m in some sort of a trance looking at Sebastian’s toned body.
“Stare much?” Crystal jokes. “I mean, you’ll have plenty of time to stare at work. In person. Right?”
I shake my head.
“Dick!” I blurt out, my blood suddenly boiling as I remember how he tried to get me to sell my family property the other day.
“Dick?” Crystal takes her phone and examines the photo more closely.
I take a swig of my drink, still remembering how much of an uncaring asshole he seemed yesterday.
“Hmm,” she says. “Yeah, now that you mention it, I think I can see the outline of his...you know...in that swimsuit. Wow.”
“Crystal! I meant, ‘he’s a dick!’ Not ‘look at his dick!’” I throw my head back in laughter.
Crystal shrugs and puts her phone away. “Well apparently you are tongue-tied when talking about him. Understandably.”
“But it’s true. He’s an asshole.”
“So you’re saying you wouldn’t sleep with him?”
“You know my rule.”
Crystal rolls her eyes. “No more assholes after Patrick,” she says, imitating my voice.
“You mean after the one of whom we shall no longer speak of. Besides, this guy is dating models. It’s such a ridiculous hypothetical question. It would never come up. Obviously, he likes willowy model types. I’m a curvy little blonde.”
Crystal trails off and bites her lip. “Speak of the devil. The man enters like he’s God’s gift to women. Sad thing is, I can’t say I blame him.”
I turn my head to the front door and watch. To say Sebastian ‘walks’ in is not accurate.
He struts.
He’s wearing jeans, a blazer, and has these boots on that are somehow as stylish as they are rugged looking. He looks like he could crossover from an office meeting as easily as he could head out into the cornfields and jump on a tractor.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing him with his shirt off, heading into the fields for some hard labor,” Crystal jokes, and I chuckle.
Inside, Sebastian is barraged by an array of service staff, asking if he needs anything, making sure the owner of the place and the one who pays their salaries is taken care of.
Figures--he’s a hotshot.
The hostess leads him toward a booth in the corner.
As he walks past us, I realize something I didn’t in the office today, or when he came out to my place the morning before.
His shoulders are broad enough that I wonder why he didn’t just become a professional athlete instead of Blackwell’s most notorious deal-maker. Sure, maybe his blazer makes them a little broader, but not by much. And maybe it’s the dim bar-light, but the way his dark features come out has me wondering and reinforces that I’ve found some romantic inspiration for my book that I have yet to start writing.
He looks in my direction and he must see me, though he doesn’t even make eye contact with me. I certainly catch a whiff of his cologne as he walks by. It smells like the woods mixed with fresh mint.
Crystal sniffs the air. “Smells like Hugo Boss.”
“What a dick,” I mutter under my breath.
So he hires me in the morning, but outside of work he won’t even say hi to me?
He passes me and he’s already heading to a booth in the back of the bar.
“Um.” Crystal coughs, turning her head back toward me. “Isn’t he your new boss? He didn’t even acknowledge your existence.”
“No. He didn’t.”
“Maybe he didn’t see you?”
“We’re in the first two seats at the bar. How could he miss us?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Why don’t you find out?”
“Find out how?”
“Go talk to him. I mean he looks lonely, sitting in the corner booth like that, doesn’t he?”
“I guess he does.”
She shrugs. “Just go ask him. I’ll get us a couple of new drinks. Sound good?”
“Alright.”
I watch as the bartender comes back from talking to Sebastian, presumably to take his order.
“Hey Mason?” I ask as he muddles the drink.
“What’s up?”
“You mind if I bring that drink over to the gentleman in the corner?”
“You want to bring Sebastian Blackwell his drink? Why?”
“Because he’s my new boss. And he’s a dick.”
5
Sebastian
Even though I own all of the bars in Blackwell except for one, I don’t even drink that much myself anymore.
Mason, the bartender, comes up from behind the bar and approaches the booth where I’m sitting solo with my convertible tablet-laptop and some papers spread across the table. “Mr. Blackwell.” He nods, setting a water in front of me. “Surprised to see you in here on a weekday. But what can I get you, Sir?”
Mason is one of my little brother Liam’s buddies. I like the fact that he knows how to address his superiors with respect. He’s got that right combination of knowing how and when to be entertaining, and when to be serious and draw the line. It’s an important skill to have when you’re the head bartender at a place like The Watering Hole.
“I’ll have an Old Fashioned wit
h Bulleit Rye.”
Mason smirks a little bit. “Same as usual. Sir, yes sir,” he says, and heads back behind the bar to make my drink.
I lean back in my booth and take inventory of the place. There’s a nice crowd tonight, especially for a Wednesday, which is typically one of the slower days in the restaurant business. It helps that tonight is a gorgeous September night, one of those where the warmth of the summer meets the cool of the incoming fall, and the temperature is so perfect you feel like you’re in Florida in the winter.
On the bar stools, I notice a couple of hotties chatting, and the brunette seems to have her gaze slightly turned to me.
Her friend, whose image I can’t quite make out from my spot in the back booth, is a stunning blonde in the shadows of this dimly lit interior.
After a fleeting glance at them, I focus my eyes back on the task at hand. I came here to run the big numbers over an Old Fashioned, not talk to girls. A younger version of me would have been on those two like white on rice.
I put my head down, open my tablet, and run through the architectural plans for the distillery which now have to be totally and completely overhauled because of a stupid oversight.
How did we not realize three acres of these plans were on the neighboring dry county?
It was quite the blunder by my entire architectural staff, to miss a detail like that so completely.
On the other hand, some college grads have trouble seeing the bigger picture. They’re so focused on their papers and charts and equations and essays. They never think to take a step back and just ask some basic questions, like what are the laws of the local jurisdictions in accordance to what we are building?
They’ve got zero street smarts.
Much the opposite of a certain hire I just made this morning.
Brett fucking Blue. I look at the painting on the wall next to my booth and space out a little bit as I think of how much of an outlier this girl is. It’s one of those 1960s Roy Lichtenstein dot paintings with attractive women.
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