by Lisa Wells
She rolled her shoulders and glanced at the next question. Another easy one.
Which letter of the alphabet is most often used to start words? Anyone who watched Wheel of Fortune knew it’s the letter S.
The smirky bastard views me as brainless. She’d show him. Blondes can kick trivia ass. Get ready for a rude awakening.
If he truly needed an assistant with this type of knowledge, he’d be lucky to have the Chosen One. Meemaw had been stuffing Aggie full of odd facts since she’d been in kindergarten.
She looked around for a cooler spot to sit. This room was a lot hotter than his office. She walked to the air vent, but nothing came out, and there wasn’t a temperature control on any of the walls.
“It takes a lot more than a little heat to beat Agnes Johansson.” She grabbed several tissues out of a box on the desk, stuck them between her boobs where she always sweated first, and reclined onto the cold tile. With her back against the wall, she got busy.
She quickly made her way through the questions. Most of them were easy. A few were more thought provoking. Like questions number ninety-five, ninety-six, and ninety-seven. Until this point, she’d kept her answers beyond reproach, but these just begged for jazz hands.
What do you think about when you’re alone in the car? I remember things while I’m driving. Like this one time I was speeding down the highway on the back of a Harley, when the hum between my legs got to be too much. I unbuttoned the top button of the guy’s jeans I was with and slipped my hand inside his boxers. You can tell a lot about a man in that kind of situation. I think about his erection a lot when I’m alone in a car.
She chuckled. Let him squirm over that one. If he was going to make her sweat, she could make him do the same. That answer alone should keep him from offering her the job. She moved on to the next question.
What would your autobiography be called? Reckless in the City.
How would you describe yourself in three words? Fabulous. In. Bed.
Fifty-five minutes later, she knocked on Max’s office door, ready to hand him all the ammo he needed not to offer her the position. Of course, by now, he should have already firmly made up his mind not to make the offer. Hell, she’d worn spiked heels to the interview.
If there was a part of her that kind of, sort of, maybe wanted a job that required this kind of knowledge, well…she just ignored it. She didn’t take handouts. Not even job handouts.
…
Max’s mood had deteriorated from amused to annoyed then pissed to damn right ready to strangle someone, and it was Aggie’s fault. He had plenty of work to keep him busy, but her damn phone kept mooing every five minutes. After the third moo, he checked to see what in the hell all the farm noises were about. It was her sound choice for new text alerts. The sound choice of an adult delinquent. Curious, he read what he could see on the screen without opening her messages.
Tim: Are we on for tonight?
Bob: Thinking of you.
Bill: Hey, do you want to ride my Harley later, or just me?
After that one, he’d turned her damn phone facedown. But that didn’t keep him from wondering how she’d reply to Bill. Which kept him from concentrating on the contract he was reviewing, which—
A firm knock pulled a curse out of him. “Come in.” He glanced at the time on his computer. Fifty-five minutes. She couldn’t possibly finish a two-hour test so quickly.
Aggie opened the door and stepped inside. She didn’t appear flustered.
He frowned. “Did you need more time?”
“Nope.” She strode over to him and handed him the survey. She’d removed her jacket, displaying a sleeveless dress.
“Have a seat while I check these.” He glanced at the first question. Fuck. He didn’t have a clue if she’d answered it right or not. He read the next, and the next, and the next. Hell. Were these personality questions or trivia questions? Did Grant send him the wrong form?
He pulled up Grant’s email and smiled when he discovered he’d attached an answer guide. Not wanting her to know he was checking her work against a key, he picked up her phone and held it out. She didn’t notice. She was too busy…pulling tissues out of her pink lace bra and stuffing them in her purse.
He cleared his throat. “Before I forget, here’s this. You’ve had a few thousand moos.”
She laughed. “Sorry about that. I should’ve put it on silent.”
There wasn’t one apologetic bone in her distracting body.
She happily thumbed through the messages, stopping to laugh and reply to a few as he reviewed her responses. While she aced all the answers, he only fathomed about half. Her graduating in the bottom of her class had nothing to do with her brain.
He flipped to the last page and settled in to read her pink loopy script.
What would your pet say about you if we asked for a reference? My human is puurrrfect as long as you don’t expect her to procure you anything until she’s fetched herself a cup of coffee.
In other words, if he hired Aggie, he’d probably end up making and bringing her coffee instead of the other way around.
On a scale of one to ten, rate yourself on how weird you are? Zero. I’m perfectly normal. Anything I do wrong has nothing to do with an abnormality in my personality and everything to do with my mood.
A well-thought-out response. Mature.
How do you weigh an elephant without using a scale?
Max hissed in a breath. What an asinine question. He glanced at her response.
Calculate the volume of the water in the pool and make a note of the water level. Once you’ve got the elephant in the pool—good luck with that—the Archimedes’ principle says the volume of water dislocated is the same as the object’s weight.
What is the temperature when it’s twice as cold as zero degrees? Depends. Are you asking Fahrenheit or Celsius?
Are your parents disappointed with your career aspirations? I don’t know my parents.
Shit. He was playing dick-fuckery with an orphan. He shut down the guilt and moved to the next question.
Why is a manhole round? Any other shape of a manhole cover could be moved in such a way that the cover would fall in. No one wants that to happen, because it would probably land on an important rat and kill it, and then PETA would get involved and there’d be protests, and the surviving gutter rats would get all worked up and invade the city to avenge the death of King Rat Face. The circular one can’t fall in and it doesn’t require exact placement and it’s easy to move and roll out of the way.
If you don’t get this job, what is your back-up plan? Blame you for being unrealistic in your expectations.
He groaned and then smiled.
How would you describe the man who is interviewing you? Cocky. Handsome in a pretty-boy way. Not my type. But I’m sure we’ll mesh on a professional level.
He’d bet his trust fund Grant added that question. The next time he saw the guy, he would kick his ass.
Not her type. He didn’t ask to be her type. He glanced her way. She was clicking away on her phone with what he’d bet was a real smile stretched across her face. No doubt answering her messages.
He read the next question.
What do you think about when you’re alone in the car?
By the time he finished reading her response, he was hot, hard, and horny. Now he knew her type. It really wasn’t him. She went for the bad-boy brand. But God help him, at this moment, he wished he were. Which pissed him off, because he knew that’s exactly what she’d meant to happen.
He shifted in his chair, trying to ease the discomfort of having a hard-on, and immediately felt her gaze on him. He stopped squirming and glanced up. They made eye contact. Contact that lasted longer than it should have. Her lavender eyes darkened a fraction, and she slowly licked her bottom lip. He shook his head, as if to tell her no, or himself no.
Time to pull out the big-dick guns. “I’m relieved to know I’m not your type. You’re not my type, either.”
She sat up straight. “I’m not?”
“Not enough drive. Too…casual.” That part was true. He planned to take the world by its balls, and when he was ready for love, he’d need a strong woman by his side. Not someone known for quitting. Like his mom had.
“Whatever.” Aggie flicked a piece of gummy bear off her dress, leaving it on his carpet where it landed.
He raised a brow. “Brain food of choice?”
“My man’s breakfast food of choice.” She bent forward to pick it up, giving him a clear view of her cleavage.
He gulped. Damn.
…
Aggie watched Max and waited. There was nothing left for them to say to each other except the one very important thing. You’ll be hearing from me.
“One more question,” he said in a voice that sounded forced, while twirling a pen between his fingers. “Are you willing to work evenings and weekends? Is there anything, short of getting naked or illegal activity, you would not be willing to do?”
There was something going on with him. Something she couldn’t put her finger on. Yet.
“Well?” He sounded annoyed. With himself.
She squared her shoulders and stared straight into his slate-gray eyes. The color of a moody, moonless night. This was her last chance to prove to him she did not fit his needs. “I’ll do anything to make this job work, short of robbing a bank, lying to old ladies, or blowing you.” That should seal the no-deal spiel.
He dropped the ink pen.
It took everything inside of her not to laugh. His expression was priceless. “I’m sorry,” she said in her best contrite voice. “I didn’t mean to say that last part.” She reached for her purse and was about to stand when he made a noise. She glanced up and caught his lips twitching. The guy was trying to be a gentleman. How sweet.
“I can live with those terms.” He wiped at his eyes.
He had a nice face. Not nearly as uptight as most of the words that came out of him. Maybe he was slightly good-looking…in a handsome-and-he-knows-it kinda way. She raised her chin, waiting for the punchline. None came. Realization seeped in.
Are you freaking kidding me? “You can?”
He nodded. “I’m impressed with how you conduct yourself under pressure. The job is yours. For the next two months.”
Noooooooo. “With benefits?”
His eyes widened. “With benefits.”
She sighed internally. A deal was a deal. Meemaw would be happy. “I’ll need you to put that in writing.”
The nostrils of his arrogant nose flared. “You need a contract for a two-month position?”
“I do.” She’d not lasted that long anywhere since graduating from college. She’d done her best not to get hired here, but since that failed, she had to go all in to make Meemaw proud. Hopefully, a contract would solve her quitting problem.
Chapter Three
An hour after the interview from hell, Max sat in his car at a job site and released a long, slow breath. All the tension in his muscles started draining away. He liked to spend his days out of the office and in the thick of things. He lowered the window to catch a breeze, grabbed his cell, and called Grandmother while he waited for his client to arrive. As soon as she answered, he got to the point of the conversation.
“You’ll be happy to know I’ve hired Aggie to be my assistant.” And given her a contract and benefits that included a five-hundred-dollar IRA fund.
“Why, of course you did, darling. And I’m so happy she invited you to call her Aggie instead of Agnes. She’s perfect for you.” Her tone implied she meant the statement in a much more personal manner.
He let the insinuation slide. “She’s on a one-week trial. I need to determine if she’s capable of keeping up with my hectic work pace.” A white lie meant to minimize the amount of gloating he’d have to listen to from Grandmother. Why had he agreed to an actual two-month contract?
Hell. He knew why.
The minute Aggie said “blow job,” his brain had exploded like a firecracker tent hit by lightning. At that moment, she could have asked for him to wear nothing but boxers and stilettos into his and Grant’s favorite lounge and he would have said yes.
“It wouldn’t hurt you to slow down and smell something other than money,” Grandmother said. “Like roses, or orchids, or a woman’s perfume.”
Oh, he’d smelled a woman’s perfume. Aggie’s. Soft with a hint of Satan’s seduction. “Considering I’m allergic to roses, that’s probably not the best suggestion you’ve ever made.”
“Aren’t you still taking shots for all of your allergies?”
He saw his client’s car pull into the parking area. “I quit once I turned eighteen and had control over my environment.”
Growing up, his dad had insisted on keeping bouquets of roses in the foyer despite how allergic Max had been to them. No boy of his was going to have a girly weakness. The only area Dad had given him an inch was his plan to bring a cat home and cure Max of that particular allergy.
“It gives me a reason to avoid going to Dad’s penthouse.”
She harrumphed loudly. “Ever since you and your father made that angry bet, you’ve been nothing but business. It’s not healthy.”
Time to cut the call off. “I’m not all business. I met Grant just last night for drinks. Listen, I have a client waiting on me.”
“And I’ll wager the two of you talked business after your rebound drinks.”
“Unwind drinks, and you’d be wrong. Grandmother, I really need to go.”
“I am not done talking to you, young man. When was the last time you took a woman out for more than one date?”
Not this again. “When was the last time you accepted a man’s invitation to go out on a second date?” He waved at his client who’d gotten out of his car and now waited on him.
“You can’t answer a question with a question.” She spoke in a hushed tone, which meant she must be in a public setting. Grandmother believed firmly that people shouldn’t talk on their phone for all to hear. He was surprised she had taken his call at all. If Ms. Manners had a sidekick, it would be Grandmother.
“Why can’t I?” He held up a finger to his client.
“Because there are rules of etiquette when it comes to carrying on a polite conversation. Do you not recall any of what you learned from that finishing school your dad sent you to?”
He closed his eyes and took a breath. The Art of Being a Gentleman had been one of those last-minute additions Dad put on his schedule. Which prevented Mom from getting Max during the entire month of July. “I remember what I want to remember.” He remembered being pissed Mom didn’t tell Dad to reschedule.
“Well, I would hope you’d want to remember how to carry on a titillating conversation. You’re never going to find a woman to fall in love with if you’re lacking in manners.”
“Since I don’t plan on falling in love until I’m thirty-five, I’d say I have plenty of time to brush up on my etiquette between now and then.”
“Thirty-five? That’s almost five years from now.” Her voice now at an everyone-can-hear-you level.
She meant well, but that didn’t keep him from stiffening at her command. As a minor, he hadn’t had control over his life, but as an adult he did. What others viewed as a rigid personality, he saw as peace of mind. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”
An image of Aggie popped into his head. He shook it off.
When he did get around to marriage, it would not be with someone like Aggie or his mother. It would be with someone known for following through on their commitments, not quitting when the going got rough. Not that he blamed his mom for quitting on his dad. The man was an ass. But M
ax did blame her for quitting on her son.
His client tapped his watch. “Grandmother—”
“Darling, Hazel just arrived. I must disconnect. It’s rude to keep a person waiting.”
Before he could say “goodbye,” or “wait a minute,” or “when exactly can I expect your decision regarding my unfilled receptionist position,” the phone went dead. He stared at it in bemusement. Ms. Hazel was Aggie’s Meemaw. If the two hadn’t already met for coffee this morning, why had Grandmother rushed off earlier? She could have easily stayed and answered the phones while he interviewed Aggie.
Shaking off the thought, he got out of the car. Time to beat his father at his own low-handed game.
Chapter Four
Aggie jumped in her car, cranked up the air, and called Meemaw. Her insides hummed with giddy satisfaction and nerves and dismay. Mr. Dick-in-the-Mud had actually offered her a job after everything she did to stop him. Her clownish makeup, her inappropriate attire, and her off-the-wall comments would have given Meemaw the shakes.
In what world did that happen? Not hers. Only it did. And now that she’d had a few minutes to let it sink in, she wasn’t devastated. How could she be when she now had the start to a retirement fund? Of course, the money wouldn’t go into the fund until she’d successfully completed her two months with him. But the contract should make sure that happened.
“I got the job,” she said when Meemaw answered. Her words came out loud like a drunk at a funeral.
“Bless your heart, of course you did.” Meemaw had the prettiest Southern drawl when it suited her needs. The woman was not from the South. And she always misused the term bless your heart. “I told you not to fret. Tell me all about what he’s like in person, and don’t leave any detail out.”
Aggie took a long, calming breath. “You mean tell you about the job description.”
Meemaw knew better than most that men who were born with a silver spoon clutched in their privileged hand mostly believed themselves to be out of league from girls who lived on the wrong side of the tracks. Aggie knew those men were wrong. It was she who was out of their league. Or at least, that’s what she told herself during her rare moments of self-affirmation practice.