Andy read the letters on the gold nameplate of the office door for the millionth time since she had arrived. BLAKE DONOVAN, PRESIDENT. Even his name sounded pompous, old-moneyed, and Republican. And if he hadn’t been born with money, he certainly had it now. His waiting room looked like it should be featured in an HGTV special—the leather couch she was sitting on had to cost Lacy’s whole year’s rent. What a waste.
She leaned into the cool material and swung her crossed leg back and forth while she bit the inside of her cheek. She was nervous. Which was ridiculous. Yes, she needed a job and Lacy was counting on her to land this job, but Andy had already decided this was not the job for her. She was only here out of consideration to her sister, to show that she was determined to get employment. She’d sit through the silly interview, then tomorrow she’d stop by one of those temp agencies she’d been avoiding.
Besides, even if this job as personal matchmaker was up her alley, she could tell from looking around the waiting room of Donovan’s office that she did not fit in with the surroundings, and she didn’t mean the environment. It was the other employees that made her feel frumpy, underqualified.
The glass walls gave her a perfect view of his staff outside. They all looked like they walked out of a commercial—good-looking, perfectly dressed, put-together, gliding around as if on rails. That was definitely a count against her.
Strike one: not a model.
The office door opened and Andy looked up from the book she was reading on her phone. A leggy blonde exited, her eyes downcast. She was gorgeous—tall, model-thin. Her cheekbones could cut someone they were so sharp, which somehow added to her beauty. She fit in with the rest of the runway-ready girls that it seemed Blake Donovan liked to employ.
In fact … Andy glanced around the staff’s desks again, this time looking only at the women. Yep, she wasn’t imagining things. There wasn’t a single brunette among them.
Strike two: not a blonde. Two strikes and she hadn’t even made it into the interview yet.
Andy pretended to keep reading, but her eyes followed the blonde as she passed through the waiting room and out to the main work area before they darted back to her book. She was starting to feel more than a little insecure, despite the sharp new outfit. As proud as she’d always been of her auburn locks, it didn’t feel good to think they were a liability.
A rustle in front of her drew her glance back to the office door. A man had stepped out to speak to the secretary. Ah, this must be the illustrious Mr. Donovan. His back was to Andy so she couldn’t see his face, but from behind he was pretty good looking. Stunning, actually. His shoulders were wide and defined. Even though the jacket covered his butt, she was certain it was equally sculpted.
Then he turned around and her mouth opened in a silent gasp. Stunning didn’t do him justice. He was gorgeous. Like knees-knocking, panty-soaking gorgeous. His jaw was strong, his cheeks high. His broad forehead and short dark-blond hair accentuated his blue eyes. Piercing blue eyes. Eyes that left a person feeling dazed and confused. Eyes that made a woman do silly things like forget her name or her reason for being in his office or her predetermination to hate him. Those kinds of eyes.
Strike three: Mr. Donovan is hot.
Too hot. There was no possible way she’d get through an interview with a man that smoking. How would she even be able to speak? She might as well lock her phone, grab her bag, and leave right now.
Except she was frozen, caught up in staring at the man who couldn’t not be stared at.
“Definitely not that last one,” Mr. Donovan said to his secretary. “She has man-calves.”
And with that, Andy was back to reality. The guy was a chauvinistic ass-wad, and that made everything about him look downright ugly.
As long as she focused on that, this interview would go fine. She hoped.
“Andrea Dawson.” He pronounced it AND-ree-uh, which made her skin crawl. She followed Blake Donovan into the richly appointed office. It was masculine and modern at once, all clean lines and neutral shades. At least his taste in art and furniture wasn’t as tacky as his Craigslist ad.
“It’s Andrea,” she said to his back. “It rhymes with Leia. Like Princess Leia. You know, Star Wars? That’s how I tell people to remember it.” Jesus, she sounded like a moron. Star Wars references; way to land that job at the pizza place, Andy! And he hadn’t even looked at her yet. Even as he called her name he’d been studying her application rather than focusing any attention on her. Ass with a capital A.
“Andrea. Drea. Drea.” He tapped his finger against his desk as he seemed to be committing the correct pronunciation to memory. That was something at least. “You have sufficient computer skills, it appears.” Mr. Donovan unbuttoned his Armani jacket and sat down in a gray wingback chair without inviting her to do the same. He began running one finger down her résumé. One long, strong finger.
“I do.” She sat in a matching chair and tried not to stare. He continued perusing her résumé, and she continued ogling his body. It was long, and very fit. His chest muscles strained against his dress shirt and, wow, did he have pecs.
Perhaps it was better that he didn’t look at her. Then he wouldn’t notice her ogling.
And why was she ogling? He was inside-ugly. Total inside-ugly. She had to remember that.
Without glancing up, he asked, “Do you know your way around social media?”
“Yes.” Who didn’t these days?
He didn’t even process her answer before moving on. “Ah, I see you worked for Max Ellis as a personnel consultant.”
Andy tensed. “I did.” Her voice sounded meeker than it should. Maybe she should clear her throat? No. She’d sound awkward and awkward didn’t bode well when trying to appear attractive. Attractive as in a job candidate, not as in the sexual sense, though everything about the man did make her want to check herself in the mirror one more time.
God, why was she still so nervous? She didn’t even want the job. It had to be because Donovan was asking about Max. Yeah, that was it. This was the part of the interview she’d been dreading. She didn’t want to talk about her past employment. But it was inevitable. The faster she got it over with, the faster she could walk back through those pristine glass doors and forget this ever happened.
“Hmm.” Donovan continued staring at her résumé, though Andy was sure he must have read it over three times by now. “What did you do for him exactly?”
Just keep it simple, she told herself. And vague. “I helped him pick personnel for his key positions.” Well, that was true enough.
“You worked in human resources then?” Donovan flipped the page.
“Not exactly.” Ah, fuck simple. She’d go for the truth. What did she have to lose? “I went with him to business dinners and events where he was seeking potential candidates, and I’d mingle with them. With the people he was interested in hiring, I mean. Afterward, I’d give Max my opinion.”
His forehead wrinkled. His mouth may have twisted, too, but she couldn’t see it with his head still down. “Your opinion? On their job-worthiness?”
“Well, sort of. More like on their personality and social skills. Whether they were married or not. Whether they were the type to cheat on their girlfriend. Stuff like that. Max wanted a complete picture of every candidate.” She glanced around the room as she spoke, taking in the stark details of his office. There was nothing warm about it. No family pics, no personal mementos. Closed off. She wondered how he thought someone could possibly make a love-match for him given how sterile he was.
He cleared his throat and she guessed it was a cue to say more. “Max would use that to help determine whether he wanted to hire them.”
“In other words, you manipulated them.”
Andy grimaced. “I wouldn’t call it that…” Although it was kind of accurate.
“What would you call it then?” He paused, but not long enough for her to fill the space with an answer. “Did the candidates know that you were working for Ellis?”
She hesitated, still stuck on the question he hadn’t let her answer. What would she call the work she’d done for Max? Practical, smart, maybe borderline unethical. Actually, spying did seem to be the most correct term.
Donovan cleared his throat again.
Right; he’d been asking her something. “Excuse me, could you repeat the question?”
“Were the candidates that you spied on aware of your position?” He said it slowly, enunciating each word as if she had a hearing problem. Or was just stupid. And at this point she was feeling very much like the latter.
This time she had to clear her throat, awkward or not. “Some of them. Or at least they knew I was with him. Sometimes. Maybe not. I don’t know.” She felt flustered. That was his intent, she was sure of it. She really hated men like that—confirming their own power by intimidating women.
Donovan scratched a note on her résumé. Andy imagined what he’d written. Flusters easily, no ethics, total spy.
“And how did you get to know them, so to speak? Were these candidates always men?”
Uses her feminine wiles to obtain information from otherwise unaware men. She was sure that was what he was thinking even if he didn’t write it down. It’s what she’d be thinking. Might as well just own it. “Mostly. Yes.”
Donovan’s head rose, and he looked at her for the first time since she’d arrived in his office. His shockingly blue eyes squinted slightly as he tilted his head at her. She stared back, caught up in his penetrating gaze.
“I see.”
“What? What do you see?” What the hell was he implying? His voice was judgmental, but his expression showed almost … attraction? No, that couldn’t be right. Maybe she had something in her teeth? That wasn’t exactly the image she had hoped to project, even if this was just a practice interview.
Andy felt unbalanced. Normally she’d have a read on someone by now. Instead, all she had were her own reactions. This guy must be great at poker.
He went on as if she hadn’t said anything. “Why you? Why did he care about your opinion? I don’t see anything listed on your résumé that even remotely qualifies you to choose experts in banking.”
Oh, God. This was the part that was always hard to explain, difficult to sell to a new employer who hadn’t seen her in action. Or who, as Donovan obviously did, read sexual undertones into the job. She took a deep breath and plunged in. “I worked a temp job for Max as an administrative assistant one summer while I was in college, and—”
“Pursuing a degree in psychology?” he asked, looking again at her résumé.
“Yes. He noticed that I had a ‘unique talent for discerning people’s true motives’—his words, not mine.” Though they were words that always made her smile. She was proud of what she could do, even if it was unusual in terms of job employment.
She swallowed then went on. “He started taking me with him to business functions out of curiosity, and we sort of developed this working relationship. At the end of the summer he offered me a generous amount to continue working for him in the way I described before. He basically created a position for me. So I dropped out—left college and kept the job.”
Instead of looking skeptical as she’d suspected he would, Blake Donovan seemed interested. Intrigued, even. “You worked for him in this capacity for eight years? Why did you leave?”
She gritted her teeth. “A difference of opinion.” That dickwad, Max. It still made her see red to recall, even nine months later.
“And you haven’t held a job since?” Again, he sounded more perplexed than judgmental.
Maybe she was reading him wrong. Which meant she wasn’t as good at her so-called abilities as she thought. “No job since. I haven’t been able to find anything that I’m really qualified for.”
He clucked his tongue. “I’m sure that’s true. You have a very unique skill set, indeed, Drea. Did Max provide a reference for you?”
Wow. He’d acknowledged her skills as legit. That was a first. Of course, the answer to his last question would probably end any interest he had in her. Not that she cared. “No references. And really, it’s Andy.”
“Then I’ll make a note to call him.” He scribbled on the top of her résumé.
“No, don’t!” She nearly jumped out of her chair. Which was embarrassing. She hoped he mistook her heated cheeks for enthusiasm.
He stalled with his hand on the receiver.
She took a second to calm herself, sliding back into the chair and making a conscious effort to smile naturally. “Please, Mr. Donovan. Max and I didn’t part on the best of terms.”
“Oh?” He sat back in his own chair.
Thank the Lord.
“I’d rather not discuss that if you don’t mind.” Andy crossed, then uncrossed her legs. That hadn’t come out as smoothly as it had sounded in her head. She would have to figure out a better way to deal with this question in her future interviews.
“I do mind.” His tone told her that he had no qualms about ignoring her request.
She held her breath while he stared at her, willing him to speak first.
“But since you aren’t my employee—yet—I suppose I’ll have to abide by your wishes. Let’s discuss my needs, shall we?” he finally rejoined.
His needs? If he kept looking at her with those devastatingly blue eyes, they’d have to discuss her needs. Not that she was entertaining the idea. Blue eyes were just generally disarming. Especially when attached to a tall, muscular man in an expensive suit. Shame about the personality.
And shame on her for thinking about him as anything other than disgusting. Or at the very least, unappealing. Or mostly unappealing. Inside-ugly! “Yes, let’s discuss your needs.”
Please, please let that have come out less seductive than it sounded to my ears.
If he registered the want in her tone, he ignored it. “I’m a very busy man. I built this IT business from scratch. It’s expanded worldwide. I often have to travel to New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago. Occasionally Japan or Germany. I work long hours, catering to clients in different time zones. When I finally leave the office, I head home and typically continue working there. Obviously, this leaves little time for anything else.”
Ah, the married-to-his-work type. But he was so attractive. He had to get it on sometimes. She couldn’t stop herself from asking. “You don’t date or … anything?”
“You mean do I have sex?”
She blushed at his bluntness, refusing to acknowledge that that was indeed what she had meant. Was this appropriate to discuss in an interview?
Turned out he didn’t need her confirmation and felt it was relevant. “I have plenty of sex. When I’m in the mood, so to speak, I simply go find what I need.”
“What you need…?” The conversation had her lower belly tightening in a way that made her both aroused and uncomfortable.
“I believe the term is cruising, Drea. I go by myself to a club or a bar, and I don’t leave alone.”
“It’s Andy. And how often do you do this?” She was starting to get a read now. Narcissist, control freak, misogynist …
Donovan leaned forward, grabbing her eyes with his. “Very often, Drea.”
She shivered at his low silky tone, at the way his gaze held her captive. When he looked at her like that, she wanted to be one of those women he picked up in the bar. Even though the idea should make her feel gross and slimy, it made her feel hot and bothered instead.
Blake continued his piercing stare. “Did you think otherwise?”
Andy shifted in her chair, not sure how to answer or even if she should because at that moment she was afraid her response would be to climb in his lap and lick him from head to toe.
Donovan decided for her, breaking their eye contact to brush an invisible piece of lint off his sleeve. “These rendezvous never last more than one night, however. It seems the women waiting to be picked up by men in bars are not the type of women I’d like to spend any real time with.”
Thankfully, Blake’s inside-ugly statement broke the spell he’d had over her. Well, mostly. She still found herself morbidly curious, about to ask the question she couldn’t believe she was going to ask—the one she had promised herself she wouldn’t. “What exactly would the ideal woman be, Mr. Donovan?”
He was quick with his answer. “About five-seven, five-eight. Between one hundred five and one hundred twenty pounds. I prefer the exotic look—dark-brown eyes, near-black hair.”
God, the man was a pig. And not just because the look he’d described left Andy’s five-foot-five, 147-pound frame out of the running. In fact, she had never been more proud of her light-auburn locks and hazel eyes. She’d hate to think she made it onto this disgusting bastard’s wish list.
At least, that’s what her brain was saying. The pulsing between her thighs said differently.
Snap out of it, Andy. He’s a filthy man-whore. Stay focused and get through this farce of an interview. “That’s a very specific type, Mr. Donovan.”
“What can I say? I know what I want.”
The office full of blond women came back to her. “Interestingly, I didn’t see anyone fitting that description on your staff.”
His lip rose in a smug smile. “Best not to surround oneself with temptation.”
Andy tried hard not to let on how repulsed she was with that statement. So many things about it turned her off—the idea that women could be lumped together based on their physical appearance; that looks were a more important factor to job placement than ability; that Blake Donovan believed his attraction to a woman was the only factor in the get-laid equation.
The last might be true and that was what bothered Andy the most.
Swallowing her loathing, she plunged into scary waters. She’d already committed to seeing the interview through, after all. “What about her personality?”
Donovan’s brows creased. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what type of personality are you looking to spend your life with?” Did he really not get the question? “Will she be funny or sweet or—”
“Quiet,” he said, decisively. “I don’t want to be bored with talk of shoes and soap operas. Sweet is good. Perhaps submissive is a better term.”
Now that Andy thought about it, calling Donovan a pig was rather unfair to the noble swine.
Andy ran her hand through her hair and scanned the office one more time. Certain there were no hidden cameras, she had to assume the man was for real. “What about long-term goals? I’m guessing you plan to marry this life partner. Do you want children?”
“God, no.” He was silent for a moment. “Maybe one. I’d hate to see my cousin or, more accurately, his wife get their grubby hands on my money after I’m gone. As for marriage—yes, with a prenuptial agreement. And nothing fancy as far as the wedding is concerned. A simple ceremony, no reception. There is no reason to invite anyone but close family. Even that is questionable.”
Unbelievable. “I see.” It was Blake’s turn to narrow his eyes and contemplate exactly what it was she meant with that statement. Well played, she told herself, chalking a point under ANDY on her mental scoreboard.
“What about a profession?” She had no idea why she was even bothering to pursue the conversation. It was almost like watching a train wreck. She couldn’t turn away.
“For the woman? Certainly not. If she’s working now I’d like her to give that up when we marry. Part of the reason I want a companion is to have someone to come home to. A woman with a profession cannot be counted on for that.”
Why doesn’t he just hire a housekeeper? Or get a dog.
“Okay. So you’d like someone”—she specifically avoided saying me, like hell was she taking this job—“to find women that fit this description and then … what?”
“You’d show me her picture to make certain I find her attractive. If I do, you set up a date for us to meet. If it works out, I’ll give you a bonus and you’re done. If it doesn’t, then you start searching again.” He leaned back in his chair and smiled slightly.
Knowing it was at the prospect of ordering a date like a restaurant meal kept Andy from returning it. “Where would the searching take place?”
“Wherever you choose. Facebook, dating sites, the grocery store—I leave that up to you. That’s why I’m hiring you. To do the research for me.”
“Right.” Because that’s how people met and fell in love—by being researched. Max Ellis and this jerk could be great friends, although all of the women in Boston would be worse off for that match.
“Any other questions?” His tone suggested he was surprised there’d been any questions at all. As if the whole transaction was everyday.
Well, it certainly wasn’t her everyday. And even if the pay was beyond excellent, it would be an impossible task. There could not be a match for Blake Donovan. She believed it wholeheartedly. Time to shut the morbid game down. “Nope. I think I have a grasp on the job.”
“Good. Although you should never assume you have a grasp on the job from one interview. Your employer will think you’re oversimplifying or are conceited.”
Her conceited? Wasn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?
“Now let’s test your skills, shall we, Drea?”
“It’s Andy.” Her patience was wearing. “Or Andrea, if you prefer.”
“I prefer Drea, thank you.” He leaned forward, his elbows propped on his desk. “Suppose Max Ellis were looking to hire me. What would you tell him?”
She almost laughed. “Oh, let’s not do that.”
“Let’s do. And I expect the truth.”
“Honestly?” It was awfully tempting … “You don’t want to know.”
“No, I do. Be brutal. I can take it.”
She hesitated. Telling him would put an end to her candidacy for the position. But did she care?
She did not.
Sorry, Lacy. “Okay. I’d tell Max that you are a devoted businessman with the commitment, hunger, fortitude, and ambition to succeed.”
The edge of his top lip curved upward slightly.
Then she went on. “I’d also tell him that you are lacking in common social skills, particularly humility, kindness, and decency. You’re sexist, arrogant, and, basically, a rich pompous ass. I also noticed all your very expensive, very monotonously black pens are lined up ruler-straight. On the right side of your desk. That indicates you are both rigid and boring. Probably a conservative. Don’t even get me started on your shirt. That shade of mauve screams Desperately hetero and hip. Nothing could make you farther from either.” That felt marvelous.
“Very good, Drea. Very good, indeed.” He stared at her as though he, too, was making an assessment of her character.
Huh? That was her move, and it made her squirmy to see him employing it.
He sat back in his chair finally, a smirk playing on his lips. “And tell me, would Max Ellis have hired me based on your input?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, he probably would have.”
* * *
Blake laughed out loud. It was the only thing he could think to do to dislodge the strange warmth he was suddenly feeling in his chest. Please let it be heartburn and not a fondness for the potential employee in front of him.
Andrea’s eyes blazed at his outburst.
“I apologize,” he said, composing himself. “Thank you, Drea. I appreciate your candor.”
“It’s Andy.”
He was finding her obvious annoyance more than a little amusing. This whole interview was exactly the opposite of what he’d expected. It was almost enjoyable.
Not almost—it was enjoyable.
He regretted now that he’d played a total asshole since she’d arrived. Most of it was exactly his true colors, but he’d amped up his arrogance. It helped weed the women who’d shown up only to sign up to be his bride, from the ones who wanted to find him a bride. Sadly, there had been few of the latter.
When this one had walked in, though, he was immediately on edge. It started with her bizarrely sparse résumé, something that screamed backstory to him. Blake liked a good mystery. Then there was that completely unprofessional lingering gaze they had shared. That had led him to be even nastier than usual. He just wasn’t used to not having the upper hand.
Now that he’d deduced Andrea Dawson was sincere about her job application, he decided he could dial it down a bit.
“Andy.” He tested her nickname on his tongue. “It doesn’t fit. It’s too boyish. And you are definitely all woman.” She wasn’t even remotely his type—between the curves and the all-American coloring, not to mention ambition. Ambition in a woman had always struck him as one of the least attractive things on earth. Probably because his money-grubbing stepmother had run his father into the ground, all in the name of “ambition.”
But the woman in front of him didn’t put him off as he might have expected. Despite her flaws, he had to admit there was something distinctly sexy about Awn-dray-uh Princess Leia Dawson. Really, a Star Wars reference?
“I … thank you, I think.”
He settled farther into his chair, reveling in her discomfort. “You’re welcome. Drea.”
She, in contrast, sat up, squaring her shoulders. “My name is Andy, Mr. Donovan. I’ve never gone by Drea. It’s always been Andy or, when my sister’s mad at me, Andrea.”
“Fine. Andrea it is. Perhaps it’s best since I suspect you will frequently anger me.” Did he just wink at her? That was strange. He never winked.
He rubbed his eye, hoping she’d believe his wink had been a twitch. “And you may call me Blake. You’ll need to get to know what makes me tick and I think that requires a first-name basis, don’t you?”
“What? Excuse me, but—are you actually offering me the job?” She looked completely shocked.
He was a little shocked himself. Normally Blake preferred his employees to treat him with a certain level of deference, but something in him said that Andrea Dawson was the one. “I am.”
“But—”
“But we haven’t discussed pay yet. That’s right. Here’s what I think your beginning skills are worth.” He grabbed a Montblanc and a fresh sheet of stationery from the desk and scribbled a figure. Folding the paper once, he handed it to his new hire, who opened it rather suspiciously.
“Oh.”
“I expect that’s reasonable.”
“It is, but—”
“As I mentioned in my ad, there will be an increase dependent on how the relationships progress. We can discuss that further if you accept the position.”
“Sure, of course. I appreciate the offer—”
“Don’t answer now.” He interrupted, suddenly nervous he’d scared her off before she even started. Or maybe the number he’d written down wasn’t high enough. “You should always take your time replying to business offers even if you already know how you’re going to respond. If you say yes, you’ll look desperate. If you say no, you’ll seem ungrateful for the opportunity. Never appear ungrateful. Call me by close of business tomorrow with your answer.”
“Uh … Okay.”
He stood and reached for her hand. That was what one did at the end of a business meeting, after all, but he knew it was an excuse to see if her skin was really as soft as it appeared.
She seemed startled at his outstretched limb. It took her a second to put her palm in his. When she did, when their flesh touched, Blake could swear he felt a spark. Not like the shock of electricity from rubbing your feet across the carpet, but a mingling of energy. The warmth traveled through him, spreading into every part of his body.
He was too stunned to let go.
Blake met the eyes of his soon-to-be employee. Their already dark shade seemed darker, and the small part of her mouth suggested a silent gasp. That meant she felt it.
Andrea was the one to break the spell. “Excuse me, I do have another question now.”
Sprung back to reality, Blake dropped her hand. Probably a little too eagerly. “Yes?”
Drea bit her lip. “Why are you offering the job to me? Am I the only person who applied?”
He considered telling her it was her qualifications, which was partly correct. It would be the nice thing to say, the honorable thing. It would be appropriate, too.
He’d never tell her the real truth—that she intrigued him and beguiled him and he couldn’t imagine letting her walk out the door, never to be seen again.
He settled on another answer, no less true, and decidedly dickish. “You’re the only applicant who hasn’t offered to be my wife rather than search for one. And from our interview here, I gather that filling that role doesn’t hold any interest for you.” The last comment should ensure that passing sparks and longing gazes did not occur in the future.
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Excellent.” And it was, but she didn’t have to look quite so horrified at the thought.