Please (Please #1) Page 2

  I took another bite of my sandwich with butterflies in my belly and confusion racing through my mind. I shook my head.

  “I’ll just text you the info…” Kimberly snatched her phone off the counter.

  “Better write it down on the newspaper—my phone was cut off about an hour ago…”

  Later that night I walked into the apartment I shared with a roommate with Kimberly’s laptop under my arm. She’d said it was her old one. It was at least two years newer than mine.

  Her note with a date, time, address, and contact name of the interview with Hunter Carlisle burned in my pocket. I’d be crazy to go. Getting hired for admin work was one thing, but answering to a boss sexually as well?

  Despite the insane tingles that blasted through me every time I thought about it, I just wasn’t the type of girl that said yes to things like that. And if I was honest with myself—really, truly honest—I was confident with my shortcomings. I was a bit too curvy, a little too plain, and my overall vibe definitely too average. If Hunter Carlisle didn’t hire a girl like Kimberly, there was no way I would even get in the door. I was okay with all that. The world needed plain, smart girls, too. I wasn’t in a hurry to break my natural levelheadedness just to be turned down. Leave the fast lane for those seeking a thrill.

  I dropped my stuff in my small bedroom and made my way to the kitchen to make some tea. I wanted to look at the latest job postings before bed.

  “Oh. You’re home.”

  I winced as Jane, my roommate, slouched into the kitchen in holey sweats with stains down the front. Half of her hair had escaped her ponytail and now frizzed around her head. She leaned against the counter with a scowl.

  “Rent is due in five days,” she said in a dry voice.

  I filled the kettle with water and switched it on. “I know, Jane. I’ll have it.”

  “Well, you better, because I have someone interested in your room. No more late rent. You’re late, and you get a notice. End of story.”

  Panic welled in my chest as I thought of my empty bank account. I had enough for one more month of rent. Just one.

  “I’ll have it,” I said with a tight throat, feeling prickles in the back of my eyes. As Jane moved away with a huff, tears welled up. One overflowed and ran down my cheek, immediately leading to more. My situation was desperate. Graduating from a prestigious college was supposed to give a person a leg up, but all I got was a bunch of debt and shoved into the poor house.

  I slunk back into my room with my cup of tea and drowning in tears. I set my cup down and fell into my bed. My blurry gaze drifted to the stack of bills that wouldn’t be paid this month. Then down to my pocket where that strip of newspaper with Kimberly’s writing burned against my hip.

  Chapter Two

  I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  Five days after meeting Kimberly, I stood on the sidewalk downtown, looking up at a building reaching for the sky. Wide, tinted glass doors stood in front of me, stately and foreboding. A man exited the building, dressed in a crisp business suit. His gold cufflinks caught and threw the sun.

  I didn’t belong here.

  I smoothed my slightly faded pinstripe skirt over my thighs. The black had turned a murky gray after too many washes. My pink blouse hung off my breasts in a shapeless avalanche. I’d changed my handbag to one of my better ones, but it definitely wasn’t designer. And here I was, interviewing to be the assistant to the CEO.

  I definitely did not belong here.

  Summoning my courage, I strode forward. Belonging or not, questionable job description or not, I was broke and this was my only hope. Literally. I had actually been turned down from two fast food chains. I’d been informed they weren’t hiring for managers and I was overqualified for the lower-level positions.

  It was either this, or begging on the street.

  This paid better.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I entered the large lobby with a tight hold on my handbag. Marble and elegance stretched to either side, but I stayed focused on the man in uniform behind the large desk to the left. As I approached him, he looked up and lifted his brow. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m here to see Mr. Carlisle. I have an appointment.” I cleared my throat, hoping the action would scare away the tremor. It was a long shot, granted.

  The man touched his computer monitor. After scanning the screen for a moment, he said, “Just go ahead and sign in here, if you would.”

  He touched the monitor facing me at the end of the counter.

  “Oh, sure.” I shook out my hands. It was also ineffective in chasing away the tremor.

  The keyboard was right below the monitor, and I quickly filled in the needed information. The man consulted his own screen before hitting a few buttons and printing out a badge. He handed it over then pointed toward the back of the lobby. “Just take elevator thirteen all the way up to level fifty-three.”

  I smiled and thanked him as I moved woodenly to the elevators. I exited at the appropriate floor and saw three women waiting in leather chairs. Opposite them were three more chairs, with a shiny coffee table sitting between them. To the left, an older women with half-moon reading glasses stared at a computer monitor at the side of her desk. Next to her, an identical desk stood currently bare.

  I approached her slowly, fist squeezing the handle of my bag. I wanted to exude confidence, but with nervousness eating away at my insides, I was more concerned about not getting sick.

  She gazed at me over the rim of her glasses.

  “Hi,” I croaked. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Hi. I’m here to apply? For the position?”

  “Your name, please.” The woman’s expression remained bland, unperturbed by my faulty start.

  “Olivia Jonston.”

  She glanced at her computer, clicked the mouse a few times, and nodded. “Please have a seat until I call your name.”

  I nodded and started over, knowing my face was glistening with nervous perspiration. I rounded one of the empty chairs and sat slowly, getting a good look at my competition. Then I had the urge to laugh hysterically.

  The three women in front of me were drop-dead gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful. Blond hair, one and all, was either done up perfectly with no flyaways, or hanging in a loose tumble over slim shoulders. Their clothes were professional and pristine, suits tailored to fit dynamite bodies. Pearls or gold necklaces adorned thin necks, and flawless makeup enhanced jaw-dropping faces.

  I needed more makeup than any of these, and I was wearing the least. Just call me Underdog.

  “Ginger Stevens,” the woman behind the desk called.

  Beauty number one bent to the side and picked up a designer handbag of some sort—I vaguely recognized the symbol from a red carpet picture. With the other hand, she picked up a leather folder and gracefully rose from her seat.

  With horror I realized everyone had folders, leather-bound and expensive. These women were bringing portfolios rather than their meager résumés.

  I glanced down at the piece of paper resting in my lap. I didn’t even have enough experience to take up two sheets, let alone fill a portfolio.

  Seriously, what was I doing here?

  I inched up my chin. Getting down on myself wouldn’t help. I wasn’t pretty, fine, but I had great work ethic. I also had a reputable school under my belt. And I’d done a bunch of activities in school that taught me leadership and organization and…other important things.

  I rummaged around in my brain for more great qualities as the next woman was called. She elegantly brushed a loose curl over her shoulder as she rose.

  My gaze slid down her shapely legs and stuck to her fabulous red heels. I noticed the same emblem on those as she had on her handbag.

  So…designer, then. Her suit surely was, too. She was wearing money. It was probably stitched into her seams and stuffed in her pockets.

  I shook my head a fraction and looked away at the window, calling up my selling points and things I might say. I’d been through an int
erview or two; I had experience with most of the questions. Not that it had helped in the past, but maybe this time would be different.

  You said that last time.

  I curled my fists in exasperation at myself as the next woman was called. Not able to help it, I thought about who else might be hiring. Fast food was out, but what about Starbucks? I heard they were a cool company—I could give them a try.

  Was there a Target nearby?

  It took me a moment to recognize my name hovering in the air.

  It dawned on me that the third woman had disappeared. I’d been completely lost in my own world.

  I peeked my head around the chair back. The woman at the desk was staring at me over her half-moon glasses, waiting for me to get in gear.

  I popped up and straightened my clothes before grabbing my handbag. I smiled at the woman as I approached, hoping the sentiment reached my eyes.

  “Go on in,” she said, not smiling back.

  I passed her desk and turned toward the partially open door. Taking a deep breath, I laid my hand on the cool handle and gently pushed. The large room spread out before me. Huge windows filled the wall at the far end of the room, showing the clear blue sky beyond. A round table surrounded by four chairs crouched off to my left. A couch lay ten feet beyond that, with a coffee table in front of it, and two large chairs to the other side. And in front of me, only slightly removed to the side, was a giant desk with two chairs in front.

  A man stood as I entered. My jaw went slack and my mouth fell open. Like that first plunge on a roller coaster, my stomach flipped, and then dropped with the free fall.

  Kimberly had mentioned Hunter Carlisle was attractive. Incredibly gorgeous, she had said.

  She had grossly understated his appearance.

  He had a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and straight nose. A top-dollar tailored suit swathed the muscular vee of his torso, leading down to trim hips and solid thighs. His delicious bedroom eyes, hooded as though in the throes of ecstasy, were a deep, bottomless brown, entrancing. Confidence and charisma oozed from his powerful body, melting my bones. His masculinity did not ask me to yield, but demanded it.

  On shaking legs threatening to buckle, I walked closer with a lump in my throat. I didn’t dare speak. It would only come out in a warbled mess.

  “Olivia?” he asked, his keen gaze rooting me to the floor.

  I struggled to take a breath.

  “Olivia Jonston, correct?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I whispered, something hot and fiery settling deep into my core.

  “Take a seat.” He moved around his desk with the grace of a dancer and stood behind one of the large chairs, as though pulling it out for me.

  Walking like the Tin Man with rusty hinges, I crossed the distance and took the proffered seat, getting a whiff of his aftershave. I closed my eyes, savoring the mouthwatering elixir. Unbidden, wetness blossomed between my thighs.

  Suddenly I knew exactly what Kimberly had been talking about; exactly why she’d flushed every time she mentioned his name. I knew why gorgeous, high-powered women lined up for a job probably way under their pay grade and professional level.

  It was to be close to Hunter Carlisle.

  I glanced up into those sexy, smoldering eyes, and just stared. I didn’t know what came next, but I was pretty sure I needed a moment to get ready for it.

  “Did you bring your résumé?” Mr. Carlisle asked.

  “Y-yes, of course,” I stammered, picking it off the ground where it had fluttered after my fingers lost their grip. The sheet trembled as I handed it across the desk.

  He stared at me quietly for a moment before his gaze dipped to the page. He dropped the page to his desktop and resumed his scrutiny of me.

  “Tell me,” he started in a deep voice that vibrated down my spine and tickled parts of me that were distinctly feminine. “Why would a Stanford grad in a sought-after field turn up in my office applying for an admin role?”

  I willed saliva into my mouth to cure the sudden dryness. “As you see—” I pointed a shaky finger at his desktop where my résumé lay “—I graduated five months ago. I’ve been diligently searching for work, but at the moment, there aren’t opportunities for those without experience, however great the school I graduated from.”

  The words sounded professional, but my tone was much too wispy. The sheen of sweat on my face screamed uncomfortable. Or, more correctly, turned on. I was out of control without a clue how to fix matters.

  His gaze traveled my face, and then grazed my body. When he was once again looking into my eyes, he said, “The economy is lagging at present. You’re unlucky in your timing.”

  “I’ve come to that realization,” I heard myself say. The words were like an echo from someone else. Wobbly and distorted. I was not in charge of my linguistics. I only hoped he attributed it to nervousness.

  “Olivia?”

  “What was that?” I blurted.

  Humor sparked in his eyes. “I said, would you be open to tasks outside of that strictly administrative? I have a variety of projects that come through this office, or that need overseeing.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “And hours? Do you have a preference?”

  A blush crept up my face as heat saturated my body. “No. I’m always available,” I said in a breathy voice I did not recognize. Get a grip!

  He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his desk. “Tell me about your hobbies. Your usual day.”

  Caught off guard with a non-interview question, and with my mind on complete hiatus in his company, I just blurted out what came to mind. Unfortunately, that turned out to be the minute details of my life. I told him everything, from my morning walk, to getting inventive with what was in the fridge. When he asked about my job search, I stupidly told all, one rejection to the next. I didn’t add flourishes or hold anything back. All my faults I laid bare, and all the things I excelled at I bluntly offered up. I just opened my mouth and purged.

  He sat and watched me, gaining all my life’s secrets with a focused, almost predatory gaze. Only when shadows started crawling across the floor from the neighboring high rises did the question and answer segment slow, and finally stop. Silence descended as he sat and stared at me. My heart thumped under that handsome gaze.

  The swish of expensive fabric was the only sound as he rose. “I think that’ll be all for today. Check in with my assistant on your way out. You’ll hear from my office either way.”

  “Oh.” I painfully uncrossed my right leg from my left before I stood. My skin peeled away, leaving a red mark. Ouch.

  I stood, a little lopsided, and tried to get my bearings. I should’ve switched positions at least once during the interview to prevent my leg from falling asleep.

  After shaking it out, aware that I was the subject of scrutiny, I stepped forward to leave. My numb leg gave out. My knee knocked into the back of the desk with a loud thud. I fell forward, ungracefully sprawling across his desktop.

  In a panic, I tried to right myself, but my leg was mostly useless. It stayed limp as my left leg pushed upward. My body swung toward the right.

  I grunted, scrabbling my fingers across his desk, trying to find purchase and stop the slide. My elbow smashed into his phone, knocking it to the floor. Pens became airborne, launching across the desk. I grabbed the edge of his desk pad, dragging it with me as I tipped over the side. Gravity pulled at me greedily. My face rushed toward the ground.

  Before I hit, strong hands grabbed me around the middle and hoisted me up. The desk pad crashed down. My résumé fluttered after it.

  I knew a moment of confusion before I was righted, my body pulled into a chest so hard it could’ve been stone, flexed from picking me up in a dead weight. I clutched his shoulders, feeling the bulge of muscle through his suit jacket.

  A sigh escaped my mouth. My lady parts tightened and then swelled, aching with the proximity of a man this divine. I melted against his body.

  “Are you okay?” That deep
bass tickled me in exquisite ways.

  “Sorry.” The word floated on another sigh before reality smashed into my consciousness.

  I was draping myself on the CEO of a huge, worldwide company. In an interview!

  “Oh my God,” I said, panicking again. “I am so sorry!”

  I struggled out of his grasp. Pins and needles accosted my leg. Each movement vibrated up my bones painfully, but I ignored it. I reached down for my handbag. My leg wobbled, making me stagger into the chair. Righting myself, I brushed the hair from my face before avoiding his outstretched hands, like a star quarterback with the ball. I hobbled out into the open space, humiliation at my loss of control spurring me on. “I’m so sorry about that! Really!”

  I said the last over my shoulder as I limped out of the door and shut it behind me. In a daze of mortification, I used the empty desk as support to get over to the older assistant. She’d been looking at me already, so I just threw it out there: “I’m supposed to check in with you?”

  Her eyebrows pinched together as humor danced in her eyes. She glanced down at my hands gripping the desk. “Are you okay?”

  “Oh. Yeah. My leg fell asleep. I kind of stumbled out of there.” A grin tickled her lips, so I finished up with, “It was embarrassing.”

  The grin widened into a smile. “At least you’ll be hard to forget.” She held up a piece of paper. I limped over, trying to shake my leg out as I reached her desk. “Please make sure I have the correct contact info.” She tapped the paper after she laid it near my hands at the edge of her desk.

  As I studied the page, she continued, “Haven’t interviewed in a while, I take it?”

  “Oh.” I wiped my forehead of moisture as I straightened up. “I have, actually. A lot. But not for a CEO. Or, you know, someone that…intense.”

  “Ah.” The woman continued to survey me. I had a feeling there was a joke hovering in the air, and the fact that I wasn’t in on it meant I was probably the punch line.