by M. L. Young
There were four other candidates here, and I had no idea if more were on the way. They didn’t even notice me as I walked in, and each of them was wildly different from the next. There was an overweight guy with a ten-year-old suit that you could tell he never wore, a guy with thick-rimmed glasses and a hipster haircut, a woman around my age in a pantsuit, and a disheveled Asian man who was furiously typing away on his laptop. I hoped people here didn’t think I fit in with them.
As the minutes wore on, people were taken out one by one and into another room about ten feet or so down the hallway. As the last guy, the Asian man, was taken out, I looked around to see nobody else around me. They hadn’t brought in anyone else for the interviews, and I had already been sitting here at least an hour and a half, so I assumed it was safe to say I’d be the last one to drudge through a long, arduous procedure of an interview.
I mostly sat there the entire time looking out and around the office. People seemed so joyous, even when they were working, that I began to wonder if this was normal or just a front for prospective employees. Maybe they forced everyone to act all nice and happy so we’d think this was such a great place, but in reality they used slave labor and heaps of energy drinks to keep their employees going at a breakneck pace that could kill them. Yeah, that must be it. Nobody was this happy at work—especially this early in the morning.
The Asian man came out of the room with bloodshot eyes before quickly walking past the room I was in and talking to himself. The woman who was interviewing us all didn’t yet come out, though as I nervously sat and watched for her, I noticed something—someone, else.
Around the corner and down the long hall a man appeared, his gray suit crisp. His white shirt looked like it was painted on his body. People around him stopped and looked at him, all of them in awe, as he didn’t look like your average employee. Nobody here wore a suit, not even the executives with the offices I’d seen coming and going. It was so casual here, but he wasn’t casual—not at all.
He looked down the hallway at me, stopping, before staring into my eyes and in turn, what felt like into my soul. I could see remnants of stubble lining his strong jaw, and his lips appeared full, though not overbearingly so. A twinkle from his wrist, a watch, shined towards me quickly as he continued to look at me. Who was this man? What was he doing here? Why was he looking at me?
I looked to my right, then my left, attempting to see if anybody else was around me. I was so nervous that it was possible somebody could be here, but nobody was. It was just me on this padded bench, and I was alone.
As I looked back, his gaze still stuck on me, the woman who would be interviewing me walked out of her office and broke the stare and connection we shared. She smiled at me, her hair waving back and forth as she walked as she came towards me, her hand extended. I smiled, stood up, and shook her hand.
“Hello, Penelope, my name is Sharon, and I’ll be your interviewer today. I’m sorry for the long wait. We’ve had a lot of qualified applicants for this internship,” Sharon said.
“It’s no problem at all, Sharon. Thank you for the opportunity to interview with you today, and I very much look forward to talking with you,” I said with a smile.
“Same,” she retorted, as she mimicked my smile. “Please follow me.”
I walked out of the room, following her as she walked into her office. I looked back down the hallway before I walked in behind her, but he was gone. Who was he?
Chapter Two
Blake
Control.
Everyone wants it, but not everyone has it. I, Blake Hunter, have it. I made a vow to myself on October 25, 2011 that I would never lose it again.
I wasn’t the man I am today before that date. I was somebody who was pushed over time and time again for the sheer fact that I cared too much. Who did I care about so much? Not important. What was important was that I’d never become that person again.
Once I implemented control in my life, it all came full circle. The fledgling business I had been trying to start in vain for six months finally took off when my idea and app, RandomMeetX, was downloaded over ten million times in just a short year. I went from nobody knowing my name to magazines publishing my face on their covers while they wrote praise and admiration for the man who was bringing sex even further into the mainstream.
I run the world’s most successful dating and hookup service past, present, or future. Those archaic dating websites that promise to match you based on your similarities and love for papier mâché dogs and self-help books are nothing but a glimmer of history that has long since passed.
The future now is fast-paced and filled with a smorgasbord of carnal delights and sinful pleasures. This generation doesn’t care about 401ks and true love. They care about having things now, and having a large selection of hot and also hopeful singles and couples at their fingertips is like a match made in billionaire heaven.
The only problem with making an app and service like this is that it’s hard for somebody like me to use it. Sure, I could go into the databases and find women that met my every desire, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, the last thing I needed was for my board of directors to catch wind of what I was doing and oust me. The stock would plummet.
Besides, the types of girls who would like me for my money weren’t always the type of girls I wanted around. They were blonde, prissy, had silicone tits, and expected all the finer things in life. They were the type of women who wanted to be my trophy wife.
I preferred my women to be undiscovered and slightly bland. It isn’t to say that they aren’t beautiful, because they generally are, but I needed somebody I could mold. Somebody who would appreciate what I did for them and with them and wouldn’t ever question me. In turn, all they needed to do was what I asked them. They got nice things, their problems went away, and all of my desires and needs were fulfilled.
Now, of course I didn’t expect them to be my puppets. I liked control, but I also knew how to take no for an answer. I knew how to show respect. That’s not to say I wouldn’t try, though.
As I walked out of my office my receptionist, Grace, flicked around on her phone. I walked up behind her, unnoticed, and saw her scanning for men on the very app I started. She was hitting “like” on a plethora of men, none of them having any connection to her, and it wasn’t until I cleared my throat that she quickly locked her phone and put it away.
“Oh, hi, Mr. Hunter. How are you this morning?” she asked nervously as I walked around to the front of her desk.
“I’m well, and yourself, Grace?” I asked.
“Doing great, sir,” she said, smiling.
“By the looks of all your matches, I would say you’re doing great,” I retorted.
“Oh, you saw that?” she asked, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink.
“I love that you use our app and find it so helpful, Grace, but what would’ve happened if a client approached your desk and you were too preoccupied to notice they were there? Maybe you were chatting with a new match, and because of that we gave them a bad impression of our customer service? That wouldn’t be good, now would it?” I asked, with my arms crossed.
“No…no sir, it wouldn’t. I won’t go on again while I’m on the job, sir. I promise,” she said, swallowing and looking at me with nervous eyes.
“I hope you can stick to that, Grace. My last receptionist couldn’t,” I said, before turning around and walking away.
I felt like Moses parting the Red Sea every time I walked through this office. People, no matter their age, gender, religion, or status here at the company moved to the side like I was some sort of god. Most of them would nod and say hello while some would nervously look down, either at something in their hands or down at the floor like I was Medusa and would turn them into stone with one glance. I ran a tight ship, and it showed.
Even though I ran a tight ship, I still knew how important it was to create a good atmosphere for my workers. Many studies have shown that an active, fun workplace bre
eds higher output from your staff, and I must say, those studies were correct. It was almost as if people begged to work here these days because of the perks alone. They didn’t care about the workload or the sometimes longer hours as long as they got beanbag chairs and a free cafeteria.
“Mr. Hunter, may I have a moment of your time?”
I looked to my right as I walked down the hallway to see Trista, one of my executives and a long-time employee, standing there with a clipboard in her hands.
“What is it, Trista?” I asked.
“Mr. Jones of the Jones Corporation is on hold and is seeking a meeting with you about a possible merger. They think they could bring a lot to the table and that it would benefit both companies tremendously,” Trista said.
“I’m not interested,” I said.
“But, sir,” Trista said.
I looked to my left, down the hallway, and before I knew it, there she was. She was sitting inside one of the areas where interviewees were held while we drilled down the others who were scheduled first.
While she was far away, I could still see a certain glow about her as it oozed out of her pores. She wasn’t traditionally beautiful, at least not in a superficial way, but her long brown hair shined as it hung down. Her legs, crossed, looked slender and strong, while her breasts looked small yet perky.
She was what I was looking for. She wasn’t the plastic blonde type and she definitely wasn’t the trophy that many women wanted to be. She was different, and I liked that…a lot.
As I stared she caught wind and looked down the hallway, and our eyes locked intensely. She didn’t break my stare even though she looked slightly nervous.
Sharon, one of my executives and the person I trusted the most to interview, came out of her office and walked right towards that beautiful woman. That was why I’d never noticed her here before. She didn’t work here, but it appeared she was trying to, and that was good news for me.
With our line of sight gone, I walked back towards my office, snubbing every single person in my way who tried to talk to me. I didn’t have time right now.
“Grace,” I said, as I walked in front of my office.
“Yes, Mr. Hunter, sir?” she asked.
“I want you to call Tonya and have her escort the young lady who’s interviewing with Sharon at the moment into my office within the next five or so minutes. I would like to speak with her,” I said.
“Got it,” Grace said, picking up her phone.
I walked into my office, closed the door behind me, and made my way over to the large, expansive windows that lined my office. I looked out over the street, the people like ants below, their cars like the small toys I played with as a little boy.
I found her.
Did you enjoy the first two chapters of Taken by You? You can get the first book of the highly rated trilogy at the link below.
http://www.amazon.com/author/mlyoung
About the Author
M.L. Young is a New Adult Romance author currently residing in northern Illinois. When not writing, she enjoys horseback riding, sewing, and dreaming about the hot guys she writes about in her books.
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