I am so not okay I cannot even begin to say.
“I’m fine,” I manage.
“The door won’t open. Can you unbolt it?”
“No. It’s stuck.” But as I’m speaking, I’m grasping the thing and turning and it flips open like a well-oiled machine. The second it clicks, Damien pushes the door open. I’m not sure if I run to him or if he comes to me. All I know is that I’m in his arms and I’m sucking in air and I’m apologizing over and over and over.
He waits for me to calm down, then cups my face. “You don’t have a thing to apologize for,” he says.
“I’m so glad you came back. Why did you come back?”
He gives me a fifty-dollar token. “I thought you might want to play a bit before my speech.”
For some reason, that makes me tear up. I lean against him. “It was Padgett,” I say.
“What?” Alarm and anger color his voice.
“He didn’t say his name, but I’m sure I’m right.” I describe the man and repeat what he said.
Damien’s face is as hard as I’ve ever seen it. He shifts me in front of him, then his hands roam over my body. “He didn’t hurt you?”
“No,” I say, my own fears fading under Damien’s blatant anger and concern. “No, he didn’t even threaten. But he scared me anyway, and that’s why I ran.”
“If you see him again—I don’t care if he’s three blocks away and you’re not quite sure—you tell me. Okay?”
I nod. “Yes. Of course.”
He takes my hand. “Come on. I’m going to make my speech, and then I’m taking you home.”
I follow him in, and stand by the podium as a polished woman in Chanel thanks us all for showing our generous support to the Stark Educational Foundation, then introduces Mr. Damien Stark himself.
The room bursts into applause, mine included, and I watch as the man who now consumes my days and nights steps up onto the podium. I listen as his powerful, confident voice talks about helping children. About finding those who need a hand. About pulling them up from the muck and giving them the chance to shine.
His eloquent words extinguish the last embers of panic. Now my eyes are brimming with tears of pride. Maybe this man does have secrets and skeletons. But right now, I’m seeing his heart. And I like what I see.
24
The ocean shines in the morning light as I stand naked in the window under the steady gaze of two men. Blaine’s professional inspection, and Damien’s heat-filled gaze that makes my nipples peak and my thighs quiver despite the fact that there’s another man in the room.
It’s awkward—and yet I feel powerful, too.
“It’s a crime you look so hot,” Blaine says. “I feel like hell.”
“That would be all the wine you had,” I tease.
“Actually, that would be all the vodka,” he counters. “Why the devil I told you to be here at eight, I really do not know. Oh, wait. Yes, I do. Because the morning light on your skin makes you glow.”
I can’t help it—I have to turn to Damien. I see my own amusement reflected in his face, and I know we’re both thinking about how he says that I glow when I’m aroused.
Damien’s eyes graze the entire length of my body, the inspection so intense that I think I really will start to glow right then. When his eyes meet mine again, there is undeniable heat there.
And here I am stuck like a statue while a second man stands on the far side of the room.
Damien clears his throat. From his expression, I think he’s regretting the current arrangement, too.
Blaine looks between the two of us, his expression overly innocent. “Problem?”
“I’m going to go for a bike ride before I go to the office,” Damien says. I display a great deal of restraint and manage not to laugh. Of course, I’m the one standing naked in front of a terrace. He gets to go work off his sexual energy. I get to stew in mine.
“Depending on how long you ride, I may have left by the time you get back,” I say. “Today’s my interview, remember?”
“Of course,” Damien says. He moves toward me.
“Go ahead,” Blaine says with a wave. “Say goodbye properly. I’ll go make coffee or something.” He disappears into the kitchen area, and I grin.
“I really like him,” I say.
“Mmm,” Damien agrees, pulling me into his arms. His clothes are cool against my bare skin, and he keeps one arm around me as we both move to the canvas. It was covered when I came in, and I’m curious about the way the painting’s progressed. Blaine’s accomplished a lot in a short time, and there’s no doubt that’s me sketched on the canvas, my back straight, my head high. I wasn’t certain how I’d feel about the portrait, but I’m starting to think it’s going to look pretty damn good.
“I’m jealous of the way he touches you,” Damien says, so softly I can barely hear him.
I look questioningly at him. “Blaine’s never touched me.”
“No,” Damien says. “But he’s bringing you to life.” He pulls me into his arms and buries his face in my hair. “That’s my job,” he murmurs.
“And you do it very, very well.”
He nuzzles my hair. “We can send Blaine out for doughnuts and I’ll forget the bike ride.”
“No way, dude.” I laugh and push him playfully away. “I’m on a schedule today, remember. I need time to get dressed, read some of the research on the company. All those girl-looking-for-gainful-employment kinds of things.”
“I’ll hire you right now. Gainful-employment conundrum solved.”
“No. A million times no.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying. Go.” He pulls me in for a long, slow kiss. “I’ll see you on the flip side.”
“Yes,” I say. “You will.”
I spend three solid hours at Innovative Resources, and I’m pretty sure I meet every person who works there from the janitor on up to the owner of the company, Bruce Tolley.
I’m a wreck at first, nervous and fumbling. But I slide into a groove pretty quickly, and Mr. Tolley and I get into a conversational rhythm. He seems sharp—and everything I’ve read about the company suggests that my impression is correct. More important, he doesn’t display any of Carl’s egotistical and bizarre management traits.
In other words, Bruce is interested in the work, not my tits or my ass.
I really can’t help but like the guy.
As we talk, he takes me through the offices, pointing out the cafeteria, the employee gym, the break rooms, and even a supply closet. Honestly, it seems like overkill for a first interview. Or it does until we wrap it up at the front conference room and he extends an offer.
I, of course, tell him that I’ll have to think about it, which I do for a grand total of three seconds before enthusiastically accepting.
I manage not to break into a song and dance routine while I’m still in the building, but once I’m outside, I swing my way around a signpost, then pull out my iPhone and call Damien.
I’m completely bummed when I get his voice mail.
Undaunted, I send a text: Got it! Start next week! XXOO
“I’m fine,” I manage.
“The door won’t open. Can you unbolt it?”
“No. It’s stuck.” But as I’m speaking, I’m grasping the thing and turning and it flips open like a well-oiled machine. The second it clicks, Damien pushes the door open. I’m not sure if I run to him or if he comes to me. All I know is that I’m in his arms and I’m sucking in air and I’m apologizing over and over and over.
He waits for me to calm down, then cups my face. “You don’t have a thing to apologize for,” he says.
“I’m so glad you came back. Why did you come back?”
He gives me a fifty-dollar token. “I thought you might want to play a bit before my speech.”
For some reason, that makes me tear up. I lean against him. “It was Padgett,” I say.
“What?” Alarm and anger color his voice.
“He didn’t say his name, but I’m sure I’m right.” I describe the man and repeat what he said.
Damien’s face is as hard as I’ve ever seen it. He shifts me in front of him, then his hands roam over my body. “He didn’t hurt you?”
“No,” I say, my own fears fading under Damien’s blatant anger and concern. “No, he didn’t even threaten. But he scared me anyway, and that’s why I ran.”
“If you see him again—I don’t care if he’s three blocks away and you’re not quite sure—you tell me. Okay?”
I nod. “Yes. Of course.”
He takes my hand. “Come on. I’m going to make my speech, and then I’m taking you home.”
I follow him in, and stand by the podium as a polished woman in Chanel thanks us all for showing our generous support to the Stark Educational Foundation, then introduces Mr. Damien Stark himself.
The room bursts into applause, mine included, and I watch as the man who now consumes my days and nights steps up onto the podium. I listen as his powerful, confident voice talks about helping children. About finding those who need a hand. About pulling them up from the muck and giving them the chance to shine.
His eloquent words extinguish the last embers of panic. Now my eyes are brimming with tears of pride. Maybe this man does have secrets and skeletons. But right now, I’m seeing his heart. And I like what I see.
24
The ocean shines in the morning light as I stand naked in the window under the steady gaze of two men. Blaine’s professional inspection, and Damien’s heat-filled gaze that makes my nipples peak and my thighs quiver despite the fact that there’s another man in the room.
It’s awkward—and yet I feel powerful, too.
“It’s a crime you look so hot,” Blaine says. “I feel like hell.”
“That would be all the wine you had,” I tease.
“Actually, that would be all the vodka,” he counters. “Why the devil I told you to be here at eight, I really do not know. Oh, wait. Yes, I do. Because the morning light on your skin makes you glow.”
I can’t help it—I have to turn to Damien. I see my own amusement reflected in his face, and I know we’re both thinking about how he says that I glow when I’m aroused.
Damien’s eyes graze the entire length of my body, the inspection so intense that I think I really will start to glow right then. When his eyes meet mine again, there is undeniable heat there.
And here I am stuck like a statue while a second man stands on the far side of the room.
Damien clears his throat. From his expression, I think he’s regretting the current arrangement, too.
Blaine looks between the two of us, his expression overly innocent. “Problem?”
“I’m going to go for a bike ride before I go to the office,” Damien says. I display a great deal of restraint and manage not to laugh. Of course, I’m the one standing naked in front of a terrace. He gets to go work off his sexual energy. I get to stew in mine.
“Depending on how long you ride, I may have left by the time you get back,” I say. “Today’s my interview, remember?”
“Of course,” Damien says. He moves toward me.
“Go ahead,” Blaine says with a wave. “Say goodbye properly. I’ll go make coffee or something.” He disappears into the kitchen area, and I grin.
“I really like him,” I say.
“Mmm,” Damien agrees, pulling me into his arms. His clothes are cool against my bare skin, and he keeps one arm around me as we both move to the canvas. It was covered when I came in, and I’m curious about the way the painting’s progressed. Blaine’s accomplished a lot in a short time, and there’s no doubt that’s me sketched on the canvas, my back straight, my head high. I wasn’t certain how I’d feel about the portrait, but I’m starting to think it’s going to look pretty damn good.
“I’m jealous of the way he touches you,” Damien says, so softly I can barely hear him.
I look questioningly at him. “Blaine’s never touched me.”
“No,” Damien says. “But he’s bringing you to life.” He pulls me into his arms and buries his face in my hair. “That’s my job,” he murmurs.
“And you do it very, very well.”
He nuzzles my hair. “We can send Blaine out for doughnuts and I’ll forget the bike ride.”
“No way, dude.” I laugh and push him playfully away. “I’m on a schedule today, remember. I need time to get dressed, read some of the research on the company. All those girl-looking-for-gainful-employment kinds of things.”
“I’ll hire you right now. Gainful-employment conundrum solved.”
“No. A million times no.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying. Go.” He pulls me in for a long, slow kiss. “I’ll see you on the flip side.”
“Yes,” I say. “You will.”
I spend three solid hours at Innovative Resources, and I’m pretty sure I meet every person who works there from the janitor on up to the owner of the company, Bruce Tolley.
I’m a wreck at first, nervous and fumbling. But I slide into a groove pretty quickly, and Mr. Tolley and I get into a conversational rhythm. He seems sharp—and everything I’ve read about the company suggests that my impression is correct. More important, he doesn’t display any of Carl’s egotistical and bizarre management traits.
In other words, Bruce is interested in the work, not my tits or my ass.
I really can’t help but like the guy.
As we talk, he takes me through the offices, pointing out the cafeteria, the employee gym, the break rooms, and even a supply closet. Honestly, it seems like overkill for a first interview. Or it does until we wrap it up at the front conference room and he extends an offer.
I, of course, tell him that I’ll have to think about it, which I do for a grand total of three seconds before enthusiastically accepting.
I manage not to break into a song and dance routine while I’m still in the building, but once I’m outside, I swing my way around a signpost, then pull out my iPhone and call Damien.
I’m completely bummed when I get his voice mail.
Undaunted, I send a text: Got it! Start next week! XXOO
