by Roya Carmen
He smiles. “I’m not too familiar with her. She’s the author of the Shopaholic series, right?”
“Yes, exactly. Her covers have quirky illustrations. And I also love Sylvia Day.”
He stares at me with a mildly amused expression, thumb still under chin.
Oh no… I’m babbling… Fail #5.
He cocks his brow and smirks again. Oh God… he thinks I’m an idiot.
I sit up straighter and lift my chin, trying to recover. “I also enjoy Margaret Atwood very much.”
Why did I just say that? I’ve never even read Margaret Atwood.
He lights up. “I love her too. Which of her stories are your favourites?”
Fuck. Fail #6.
“Well, you know there are so many to choose from.” My voice is shaking. I’m slowly drowning. I’m absolutely dying. “But enough about me…” I add a little too loudly.
“But enough about me,” Miko echoes, and I can’t help but laugh.
“What are your favourites?” I ask, hoping to veer the conversation in his direction. “Which authors do you enjoy?”
He looks off to the side and mulls it over, but just for a second or two. “I’m a big fan of Joseph Boyden. I also love Bret Easton Ellis.”
Interesting… “He’s the one who wrote American Psycho, right? Kind of dark, isn’t he?”
He fixes his eyes on me without humour. “He is. Very much so. But then, so am I.”
Damn, he’s doing it again. The serious, intense sexy stare. I can only interpret it as “Don’t let this calm quiet demeanour fool you – I am intense. I am passionate, and you have no fucking clue how good I am in bed.”
Damn.
“I also enjoy Mary Gaitskill very much,” he adds.
I perk up. “She’s the one who wrote Secretary?”
“Yes, it was originally a short story. The short story is so much better than the film, in my opinion.”
“Oh, I loved the movie,” I pipe up. “It’s very old.”
He laughs a little. “Not that old.”
“I love Maggie Gyllenhaal and James Spader,” I go on, running my mouth again. “I loved him in Some Kind of Wonderful even if he was the bad guy. My mother loved that movie – my sister and I watched it with her when we were young. He was so utterly strange in Secretary.”
He stares at me, appearing thoroughly amused.
“I’m sorry, I’m babbling,” I say. “I should check out her writing.”
“You should.”
An uncomfortable silence follows. Almost as if Miko can sense the tension, he starts making clacking noises.
“Tsk tsk,” Mr. Hyde says, his tone soothing. “Settle down, Miko.” He stares at the papers on his desk. “Are you comfortable working a traditional nine-to-five schedule?”
“Yes,” I say eagerly.
“Are you equipped to perform all the duties listed on the job description I gave you?”
“Yes, of course,” I tell him, perusing the list again. These are all duties I’ve performed in the past. It sounds as though he’ll be keeping me busy – if I get the job.
He suddenly stands. “Come with me.”
As he slowly walks past me, he takes me in from head to toe, and his gaze settles on my black Mary Janes. A hint of a smile lifts his mouth for a fraction of a second, then it’s gone. Even with my three-inch heeled shoes, he towers over me. He smells kind of spicy – a mix of patchouli and sandalwood, like a summer hike. My heels click as I walk right behind him, taking in the gorgeous view of his backside. I want to bury my face in that cozy blue sweater.
Unfortunately, my little fantasy actually comes to life. He stops abruptly, and my face lands right into his back, my nose buried in the knit of his sweater. I pull away in a flash, mortified. Fail #7.
“I’m so sorry.”
He smiles widely. “No, I’m sorry.”
On a scale of one (no biggie) to ten (I want to die) awkward, the scene is about a seven. But it’s nice to see the man has a sense of humour.
“This is where you will be working,” he tells me. “Uh, where the successful candidate will work.”
I breathe out a breath of relief. I wouldn’t have to work too close to the man – this could be doable. I step into the office, taking in the stunning room: a large bay window flanked by two lovely stained-glass windows, a mahogany desk and leather chair on one side, a trio of bookcases on the other. Photos of birds in pristine white-matted frames cover the grey walls.
I want this. I want to spend my days here. I turn around. A tufted red loveseat sits in the corner, beckoning me to sit down and get lost in a book. One console table holds a printer and supplies. The other houses a fancy coffee station, complete with Keurig and a basket full of a myriad of coffee flavours. And oh my…
Chocolates. A bowl of individually wrapped chocolates.
“Just so you know,” I tell him with a smirk, “if I get the job, those chocolates are gone in a day.”
He smiles again, a sexy crinkle lining the edges of his stunning eyes. Damn, he has a beautiful smile too. His grin fades, and so does mine as I stare back at him. For a second, we get lost in each other.
He shakes his head and checks his watch. “I’m sorry, but we’ll have to cut this short. I have another interview in five minutes.”
My heart sinks. Of course he does. He probably has twenty interviews lined up. And those other candidates will probably not come off as stupid as I have. Seven fails at last count. I am so not getting this job.
He walks me back to his office, and I gather my things. I tell him I can make my way out, but he insists on accompanying me. We find ourselves in the parlour, where I scramble to take off my shoes and tuck myself into my winter boots and jacket. He studies me, and I wonder if he’s mentally cataloguing my strengths and weaknesses.
“Thank you so much for the opportunity,” I say one last time, offering my hand.
He gives me a quick, firm handshake. “Thank you for your time.” His tone is measured and even.
My heart sinks. I’m not getting this job.
As I scurry outside, I call Amber. I’d promised to call right after the interview, and as I check my watch, I see it has lasted about fifteen minutes. That’s not long for an interview – it doesn’t look good for me.
I want this job. I’ll be devastated if I don’t get it. If by some unexplainable streak of luck I do get it, I know I’ll be in trouble. I’m not quite sure I can work next to this stern, beautiful man every day.
Either way, I’m fucked.
August
I always do my due diligence. Always. If I am anything, it is meticulous. I don’t mail it in. I don’t half-ass. Of course, the one time I decide to slack a little and loosen the reins, I get caught.
Because that’s exactly how I feel – caught and not in full control of my actions. I know what I need to do. I also know I won’t do it.
I should have done my work and checked out her social media profiles. Then I would have known how beautiful Ruby Riverstone was, and I would have never invited her for an interview. I would not have invited her into my home. I would have never met her.
I was struck by her beauty as soon as I set eyes on her classic profile, lovely wavy auburn hair cascading over delicate shoulders, straight nose, long lashes, and a pouty ruby mouth.
Ruby.
And that classic pink suit. The sexy black heels and the soft curves of her legs had me fixated for a second. Thankfully, she was so taken with my office she didn’t look in my direction for the longest time, giving me the luxury of taking her in.
As soon as she sat down across from me, I knew I couldn’t hire her. I was polite when I offered her coffee, but I’d intended to be quick and curt. All the while, I cursed internally. I truly did not want to have to start my search all over again. I had desperately wanted Ruby Riverstone to be the one.
I had already made up my mind. Then a few words escaped from her lovely mouth, and I could sense how eager she was, how much she wante
d this position, and it broke my heart.
I peered at her résumé, desperately struggling to not stare at her striking beauty. She had all the qualifications I was looking for – I couldn’t deny that. Such a shame, I mused, as she went on about the books she loves. She struck me as a bit feisty. I loved that about her.
As she fixed me with those sparkling blue eyes and pouty lips and told me she’d loved every word of Fifty Shades, I became aroused. I desperately wanted her to read my books too. I wanted to excite her, if only with words on her Kindle. A quick vision of her half-nude and reading my words caught me off guard. I put on my armour again.
I know I can’t work next to that woman on a daily basis. It would be self-imposed torture. Why would any man put himself in such a position?
I’ve been doing just fine, consumed with my work. Millie and Miko keep me company, and my mother and my sister, Tanya, call me on a regular basis. And then there’s Anita.
Finally, after almost three years, I have found myself at a place where I am content and at peace. I don’t need any more. Tanya tells me the world has so much to offer, but I don’t see it that way. No, I’m quite happy in the comfort and safe harbour of my home. And I certainly do not need the likes of Ruby Riverstone stirring the pot and messing with the peace I’ve struggled to achieve these past few years. The last thing I need is to form attachments or care about someone.
My gestures are slow and deliberate as I tuck away her résumé in my file cabinet. My hands are doing what needs to be done, but my heart is in full revolt. The irrational, passionate part of me wants to offer her the job. However, my logical side has always ruled. I am that kind of man, the one who always makes the right decisions.
Of all the decisions I’ve made, there is only one I regret. It wasn’t so much a decision but a failure to act, a decision to ignore an important matter – a crucial action that needed to be taken. The consequences of that fateful oversight will haunt me for the rest of my life.
I press pen to paper and string together the words I could never utter out loud. The written word makes it so much easier to express one’s feelings – or to be the bearer of bad news. With any important communication, I always handwrite it first.
Dear Miss Riverstone,
Thank you so much for taking the time to meet with me. It was wonderful making your acquaintance. Although you are certainly a very talented and qualified candidate, there were many applicants, and I regret to tell you that the position was offered to someone else.
Someone else… I have no clue who that could be.
I wish you the best in your future endeavours.
Sincerely,
August Hyde
Even as I write this good-bye, I cannot shake the vision of her – those mesmerizing eyes, that gorgeous mane of hair, those poppy-red lips. And those shoes…
I shake my head and grab the phone receiver. She answers on the second ring and sounds winded.
“Why, hello,” she says, her voice as silky as honey. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Eric? Or should I call you August? How is the naughty writing going?”
I laugh. “It’s going very well. I’ve been thinking about you, Anita.” It might have been very recent, but yes, I’d had thoughts about her long blond hair sweeping across my chest and her impossibly long legs wrapped around me. “Any chance I could see you tonight?”
“Why, Eric, I had plans tonight.”
I know she’s playing hard to get. When I call Anita, she always acquiesces. If I promise to take her to bed, she’ll be here, no matter her circumstances. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Why don’t you come to Toronto?” she suggests, as she often does. “I know this great little place.”
I sigh. “You know I’d rather have you here. I’ll make you something nice for dinner.”
Following our little song and dance, she finally agrees to come. I run around the house, scurrying to get everything ready. I haven’t called her in ages, and I’m full of energy, filled to the brim with unbearable tension I absolutely need to release. I crave human touch. Anita has been there for me this past year. Although I’ve known her all my life, she moved from Montréal about a year ago, and I was the first person she got in touch with.
We have an understanding. She knows I cannot give more, and she doesn’t want more. She’s happy being single, and she loves to play the field. She’s always been like that. It’s hard to believe she was my first. My only other one.
When I met Olivia, it was love at first sight. Anita knew that she and I were over and could only remain friends, and she has remained my friend for years. About a year after Olivia’s passing, Anita came back to me just as she was in the early days, as a friend and a lover.
When she arrives, she makes her grand entrance in five-inch stiletto heels and hair down to her rear – just how I like her. I practically growl at the sight of her.
I take her jacket. “You look amazing.”
A seductive smile stretches across her face. “You like the shoes?”
I smile, my gaze fixed on the gorgeous pointed classic pumps. “I love them. You know what I like.” I pull her to me without wasting any time. I press my mouth against hers, tasting her tongue, but I pull away after just a few seconds. “Let’s go upstairs.”
I have her naked in less than a minute. When I finally have her stretched out beneath me on my bed, I flip her around, slip on a condom, and waste no time sinking into her. Some would say I’m using her. But she loves it as much as I do. If anything, we use each other.
As I pound into her, climbing toward that impending release, I close my eyes, desperately wanting an escape from my thoughts, clinging to that sensation of physical pleasure. But despite my efforts, when I close my eyes, my head is full of only one person – a dark-haired beauty with irresistible pouty ruby lips.
Ruby
Holy fuck… this man is intense.
I can’t tear my eyes away from my Kindle. I can’t ingest his words fast enough.
The bell clangs downstairs, and I cringe. Amber has this old-fashioned cow bell she likes to ring when dinner is ready. She needs the bell because the house is so big and I’m all the way at the top. But I don’t want to go eat dinner. I want to keep reading. I know I sound like an ungrateful, spoiled little witch. After all, my big sister makes me dinner almost every night. Usually I help out, but today I was too engrossed in this story. Damn, the man is good. No wonder he’s a New York Times best seller.
I reluctantly bookmark my page. As the little blue bookmark symbol stares back at me, I scowl. I set my Kindle on my bed with a quiet promise to return very soon. The more I read, the more I want this job.
But I really don’t think I’ll get it. It’s been almost a week with no word. I’ve checked every day. Five times a day. I can’t believe he wouldn’t send me a quick note, no matter his decision. He seemed like a nice person. A little odd but kind enough.
I shrug as I trudge down the stairs. When I reach the kitchen, I help Amber and Aiden serve the fish tacos.
Trevor shoots me an adorable smile. “What were you doing, Auntie Ruby?”
I smile. “Reading.”
“Reading what?” he asks, always so nosy, like any seven-year-old should be.
I laugh internally. “Modern adult fairy tales.” Also known as contemporary smut. Good smut.
“Like Alice in Wonderland?” Trevor ventures.
“Something like that.”
Amber laughs. “No email yet?”
I shake my head.
“What an a-hole,” she says quietly.
“I know what a-hole means, Mommy,” Trevor says.
Amber rolls her eyes and covers his ears.
Aiden laughs. “I told you he’s a strange one. I don’t think he has the best social skills. It probably hasn’t occurred to him that you might want to hear you didn’t get the job.”
Aiden’s words get to me. “I can’t believe I didn’t get the job.”
“Oh, Ruby
,” Amber says, “we don’t know that. Maybe he’s still doing interviews. You never know.”
As Trevor studies me, a sweet pout pulls at his mouth. “You didn’t get the job?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“I’m sorry. But I know just what will cheer you up,” he says. “A game of Connect Four! I’ll even let you win one.”
We all smile, and he almost brings tears to my eyes. He knows I love to play that game with him.
“Sounds great, Trevor. After supper, we’re on.” I don’t need that stupid job. There are other jobs out there. All I need is my family.
August
I’ve been stalling. I never did send that email to Ruby Riverstone. I’ve looked into other candidates, but unfortunately, there really is no one else out there. No one good enough. Meanwhile, I’ve been absolutely overwhelmed. I’ve been having quite the debate in my head this past week.
I can work alongside Ruby Riverstone. Sure, she’s an exceptional beauty, and I’m quite attracted to her. But how much contact would we really have on a daily basis? She would be working at the end of the hall. I’m a professional, rational man. I simply need to maintain an appropriate distance and a certain air of propriety.
After all, I have Anita to satisfy my carnal desires. If I get aroused, I can simply call on her. I don’t need Ruby Riverstone as anything but an assistant. Yes, I can work in close proximity with her and simply enjoy the view. The sexual tension can only do wonders for my writing after all.
With these thoughts, I convince myself that I’m making the right decision. As I crumble the note with the initial email I was to type and send, I tell myself again that this is the right move. I don’t listen to the voice of reason as I draft a new note and open up my email software.
Dear Miss Riverstone.
My apologies for the delay of this response. Thank you so much for taking the time to meet with me. It was a pleasure meeting you. I believe you are perfectly suited for the position of P.A., and I’d like to offer it to you.