Stephanie had her chin held high with her fingers steepled. Her slender legs were crossed over the other and if anyone were to look at the young woman, they would think she seemed like a very confident person but that's highly incorrect. The woman
wasn't as confident as she seemed to the open eyes, if not even confident at
all.
Because in reality, the girl's gentle face was twisted and screwed in fear, fear for a man that made all women weak in the knees with a simple smile if he ever were to.
That man would be her boss, at least Steph
could only manifest that fantasy.
Mr. Oliver Blackwell was a man of rare words with a cold stare and rested pout that would make anyone squirm in the likes of him. But as for Steph, she felt like she could claim the position like an object in a store, just simply take it off the shelf and drop it into her shopping cart butall objects are at cost,aren't
they?
She felt the sweat creating a puddle between her stapled thighs but she didn't want to break her position as she didn't slouch.
'No man likes a slouching woman, Steph.' Stephanie reminded herself of the lesson she's been taught in the past. She was no princess as her sisters and unlike her they seemed to have listened to their mother's advice. Steph only wished she did because now she was stuck with a somewhat giraffe's posture.
It was no comfortable situation for
Steph as the bra pads she applied this morning kept moving against her chest.
It only added to her long list of why she shouldn't have came for an interview
in the afternoon.
'Where is that CEO?' The
man's assistant said that he would be with her in no longer than ten minutes.
It was now, if Steph was in the track of time, twenty one minutes later. She
actually counted every minute. Again, she wasn't in a pleasant situation. Her
makeup she spent half an hour on that morning was starting to fade like wet ink
dripping down a post paper and not to mention her hair — it kept sticking to
the sweat on her forehead. All in all, Steph more resembled more of a wet
cat rather than the sexy magazine look she was going for.
"Why did I think I could pull off Ariana Grande out of all looks?" She tried blowing the
sticky hair from her face, 'Perhaps I can make him focus on something
else." She removed the red matte lipstick from her fake Louis purse and
smeared it all over her thick lips. As she outlined her lip, the lipstick
snapped in half, falling through the space in her thighs and smearing the white
carpet.
"Oh, no…" The girl's eyebrows pinched together. She slapped her hands over her mouth and stared at the red on the carpet she was sure cost more than her, "What do
I do, what do I do?" Stephanie resembled an owl when she searched her surroundings
before she dropped onto her knees, going further onto her elbows when she
started scrubbing the carpet with her palms. She arched her back, putting more
strength into the movement but didn't hear when the door opened.
She continued to roll her
hips back and forth, her skirt riding up her thighs until the underwear she
told herself that no one would see was revealed.
Mr. Blackwell on the other
hand did. His eyebrows furrowed when he closed the door behind him, his eyes
landing on the woman...well not the woman but her plump tan ass that was arched
in front of him.
He blinked, "Lace…pink?
Interesting choice, Miss…" He paused, "I actually don't know who you
are." He licked his lips, anger clearly setting on his face.
Stephanie's entire body
went into shock and when jumped her head crashed against the table over her.
Groaning, she turned around and her soul officially left her when her eyes
landed on a glaring Mr. Blackwell.She immediately went to her feet and for a
person who hated sports she changed position rather effortlessly.
"Oh Mr. Blackwell? I
didn't see when you got here." She removed a strand of hair from her
face before she placed her hands on the table behind her, not knowing what to
do with them but also at the same time remembered that they were painted red
from her lipstick incident earlier.
Nothing was going as she
planned.
Screw her life.
Why did she have to mess
everything up? She couldn't get one simple task of keeping her butt against a
single cushion chair.
He shut the door with
quiet precision, his gaze steady and unreadable. There was no smirk, no overt
interest in his expression. But the fact that he'd noticed at all made her pulse trip over itself.
"Miss Anderson." He crossed the room, his
steps slow, controlled. Up close, the photographs hadn't done him justice — his
features were sharper, his presence heavier. "You're late."
Her brows pulled together. "I've been here
twenty minutes."
"Late in making an impression." he said,
crossing the room toward her with measured steps.
"I wasn't aware I was supposed to
perform."
A flicker of something — amusement? —
crossed his features. "Everyone performs in this building. Even if they don't
realize it."
He stopped in front of her, close enough
that she caught the faint scent of clean cologne, tempered by something darker.
He looked her over once, not lingering anywhere, yet she felt as though he'd
catalogued every detail.
'Take a seat." The
words ran off his tongue like a steady stream and Stephanie shivered. They were
right about this man, he must be thinking of killing her?
"Why are you so
tense?" He asked the bewildered girl, walking ever so closer just so that
he could intimidate her. He didn't need a child to work for him.
"Because I…"
"You?" He raised
a perfectly shaped brow and tilted his head down to her tiny level. Steph
swore she would have a heart attack, the man was simply too gorgeous. Seeing
him up close, she felt she immediately achieved so much in life. He deserved to
be in a museum and no, she was not being dramatic. She had seen him multiple
times in the magazines before but through the magazines his good looks were not
shown justice.
She bowed her head, the
man standing in front her was highly above her and she was not referring to his
above six feet height.
"Please forgive me,
sir." She sealed her bottom lip between her teeth, an act of nervousness
and slightly pivoting fear. "Your carpet I—" The man lifted his hand
to her chin, claiming it so gently that Steph barely would have noticed
if he hadn't lifted her face to his. She had not expected such and her eyes
almost widened. His touch shivered the skin on her chin and continued to her
stomach. Whatever feeling she felt could not have been butterflies, surely it
was different.
"Take. A. Seat."
His tone shifted to demand, his voice edged with euphonic rasp and baritone.
"You want me to
sit?"
"That would be
appreciated." He said with furrowed brows, "This is an interview is
it not? I do not have time for this."
Sure, the girl finally
admitted to herself that the man was gorgeous but his attitude and angered demeanor
was uncalled for and rude, reminding her that he was an asshole. A dangerous
one at that. She crossed her arms
and walked over to the chair.
"Must you be so
hoity-toity." She pursed her lips,
"Rich men and their attitude." She murmured the last of her
sentence.
"Hoity-toity?"
The man dragged out his chair and took a seat at his desk. Though they were separated
by a table, Steph felt as though she could still feel his heat on her body.
"Alright then, pink lace." A smirk pulled at his lips.
'Great, so he did see it…"
However Steph did not back
down, "You're wearing a donkey's buttock for a face." He was not, he
was gorgeous, she knew it.
"The ladies don't
think that." He scratched the scruff on his chin.
"Well I am not one of
your ladies." She made quotations with her fingers.
"Are you sure because
I'm sure you'll be begging for it just as much as they do." The words came
out of his mouth effortlessly, the monotone in his voice making it seem as
though it was sweet honey rather than spicy.
She covered her mouth with
her palms, but could not deny that his erotic gaze had caused her face to heat.
"That is vulgar. This is an i-interview." She gulped. "I should
try suing you." She was only rambling now.
"This is my
building," He practically boasted, "And I own multiple districts here
in New York. Your threat does not perturb me."
She rolled her eyes,
"Then I may leave. I always found Canada better. Much better men there
anyway."
He scoffed out a laugh and
her brows knitted, "I demand to know what's so funny?"
"You know about
men?" He asked, somewhat finding her statement humorous.
"I do in fact. I
prefer my men, kind and content and without attitude."
"And that is why you
have not any." He uncapped a pen cap with his teeth and began writing on
what seemed to be her resume.
"What." She
shimmied her buttocks in the seat, anger riling up her body, "I've had
lots of men!" She blurted a lie.
"Sure." His eyes
slid over her, "Do you expose your undergarments do them on first meetings as
well?"
Her face heated, "I have nothing to say to
you. You change women like you change clothes in your magazines. You would be
most compatible with a stone. You're a…a smug, pompous—"
"Done?" He asked bored, and silence followed.
"Yes." She exhaled. he was about to
stand when he spoke again, his next few words draining the red from her
face.
"Good." He set his pen
down. "You will be my wife."