Lesley

 

 

Three pimples and a red spot.

Shit, I gotta cover them up.

No way in hell am I going to let these blemishes ruin my otherwise perfect chance at landing that internship here at Morrows. So I wipe my face off with a towel then dab myself with my stick and air-kiss myself in the mirror before grabbing my cell and texting my mom.

 

 

Me: Another job interview today. Wish me luck!

Mom: Good luck, honey. Let me know if you get it.

Me: Of course. xx

 

 

I tuck my phone back in my pocket and make a mental note not to forget to text this time. I strut up the stairs and wink at a passing guy who almost stumbles on the stairs, making me grin. Clutching my red bag, I walk up to the lady sitting behind the desk on the third floor and clear my throat. She puts down her phone, batting her eyelashes at me before saying, “Can I help you?”

“I’m here for an interview,” I say, leaning against the counter. “I have an appointment with TJ Morrows.”

She raises her brow at me and gives me a sassy look before checking her computer. Whatever, lady. I know you don’t believe me, but that’s okay. Happens to me every damn day. I try to use people’s prejudice of my looks to my advantage whenever I can. Brains sometimes do come with beauty.

“What time?” she asks.

“Five minutes from now,” I answer with a fake, forced smile.

She keeps looking at me like I’m joking or something. I guess it’s really hard to believe someone like me could score an interview for a job here. Makes you wonder what kind of place this is.

I didn’t actually do a lot of research into the company, to be honest. Maybe I should have, but my number one priority was just finding an internship. It didn’t matter where. I only had two requirements: it must be a corporation where I can learn how to market and run a business, and it had to pay well.

This one checked the boxes, so I applied.

I don’t even know what they sell. Some product for stores or something, whatever. It doesn’t matter; I’m good to sell anything they want me to. Whether it’s toothpaste, ovens, couches, tickets, or even fucking dildos, I will work with it. Nothing’s off-limits to me, and I will promise I will do nothing short of my best to make him—whoever the hell is behind that door in the corner—happy.

Because that’s just who I am. A hardworking, restless, ruthless bitch who gets the job done while still looking pretty.

“What’s your name, please?” the woman suddenly asks.

“Lesley. Fischer.” I check my watch. “Look, can I just walk in? I’m sure he’s waiting for me.”

“Please hold on, ma’am,” she says with a snooty voice.

I sigh out loud as she continues typing.

“I’m sorry. I can’t seem to find any appointment here noted to your name.”

“Well, that’s a mistake.” I tap the desk with my nails. “I made the appointment with Mr. Morrows himself.”

“Right …” She narrows her eyes.

“Look … uh …” I check her nametag and then say, “Gillian, Mr. Morrows is waiting for me. Now you can either let me through or deal with him being pissed off when he realizes I wasn’t given a chance. Which is it?”

She chuckles. “I doubt it.”

“Oh, please,” I say, rolling my eyes. I don’t have time to let some snotty woman decide whether I get this internship, and if I don’t show up now and he’s waiting for me, I can kiss that job goodbye. “I don’t have time for this.”

I turn and walk straight to the room with his name on it.

“Wait!” Gillian scoots back her chair and scurries after me. “Excuse me! You’re not allowed to just walk in there.”

“Watch me,” I say. I don’t have anything to lose.

“Stop,” the woman says, but I ignore her as I grab the door handle and open the door.

However, my stride toward victory halts instantly the moment I see a man in a suit doing a funny dance with a cup of coffee in his hand in front of the window with the song “Sexy and I Know It” blaring.

Both Gillian and I stare in shock as he keeps going, oblivious to our presence.

I slowly bring my fist up to the door and knock on the wood.

The guy turns around and freezes, his eyes flickering back and forth between me and Gillian. He almost chokes on his coffee and gulps it down with a painful swallow before turning down the volume and setting his cup on the desk. He clears his throat, pats down his tie, and pretends he wasn’t just dancing as he sits down on his chair.

“I couldn’t stop her—” Gillian begins.

He raises a hand at her, and she immediately stops.

Then his eyes roam across my face … and body. From top to bottom, he leaves nothing unscathed, and I feel like some sexy devil in disguise has just stripped me of my clothes.

Because damn did that dance look sexy as hell.

And funny. That too.

I’m still not sure whether I should be laughing or swooning, or maybe both.

This is so damn confusing.

I clutch my bag close to my body and say, “I’m Lesley Fischer.”

“I know,” he says.

The smirk that follows is so damn bold; it feels like he just set my panties on fire.

Why, Lesley? Why do you have to be so easy?

No, I will not let that sexy smile and dark eyes distract me. No matter how much I want to stare at them and imagine nothing else exists.

Luckily, he looks at Gillian. “We have an appointment.” He casually checks his watch. “Right about now.”

“Oh …” Gillian holds her breath, looking a little flabbergasted as she realizes I spoke the truth, and I take the opportunity to rub it in by narrowing my eyes at her and giving her a fake smile.

“Thank you, Gillian,” Mr. Morrows says with a nod, dismissing her.

Yes, please.

With my head held high, I watch her step back and close the door, leaving me alone with Mr. Morrows. And the air in the room suddenly becomes a lot thicker.

Much like his body … flexing in that suit.

I wonder what it looks like underneath.

Keep it together, you thirsty bitch.

Don’t forget the mission: Land an internship.

“Miss Fischer …” He leans up and holds out his hand. “TJ Morrows.”

I walk up to him, determined not to let his good looks deter me from a professional meeting.

When I grab his hand, his grip is firm but gentle. Like a warm welcome. “Nice to meet you.”

I really don’t want him to take his hands off mine even though he does.

“Likewise,” he says, and he points at the chair next to me. “Sit, sit.”

I lick my lips and sit down on the chair in front of the desk while placing my bag on the floor. But no matter how many times I try to redo the first look I gave him, it always ends with me turning into a puddle because of his good looks.

That, and the fact I can’t get his weird dance out of my head.

Somehow, it just breaks all the expectations I had coming into this interview. It’s like I’m desperately trying to keep this image of a boring firm run by an old, bearded man who can barely fit into his pants intact.

And then there’s him … TJ Morrows.

Charming, hilarious, and hot as hell.

And he runs this company.

There must be a catch because this can’t be all there is. Right?

“So an internship at Morrows, is it?” He sits back in his chair and fastens the lower buttons of his suit jacket. “I’ve read your resumé; it’s quite impressive.”

“Thank you,” I say, trying not to smile too hard. “I try my best to make a good impression.”

“You have.” There it is again. That million-dollar smile that’s probably ruined more than a handful of girls.

I can’t be the next.

“So was there any particular reason you applied with us? I couldn’t find much about your background or the reasoning behind your application, so I figured I’d ask,” he says.

“Well, I’m just very interested in how you run things here. You’re doing so well in the market right now. Your company knows exactly how to give the customer what it wants, and I’m intrigued to learn more. I want to be just as good, but I also want to be an asset to this company,” I say, swallowing.

Obviously, half of that was horseshit. I have no clue what they’re doing, and how they’re doing it. I applied to like fifty companies, and this is one of five that actually replied. I just know that, with my drive and ambition, I’m a good fit anywhere.

“Right …” he mumbles, checking over the resumé on his desk with just his eyes while his body remains rigid like a rock. Only when he takes a breath does his suit … and the muscles underneath it … move. And for some reason, I can’t help but bite my lip at the sight.

Too bad he catches me right in the act.

I stop immediately and cover my mouth with my hand, coughing. “Sorry, itchy throat.”

“Hmm …” he hums. I wonder what it means. “So tell me what your background is.”

“Well, I’m a college grad. Studied marketing and business. I’ve got a passion for running a company.”

“Really, do you now?” he muses, holding my resumé like it’s some kind of rap sheet, looking back and forth between it and me.

“Yes, I want to start my own company one day, and to do that, I need some experience. And I’m highly interested in learning under your wing.”

“Under my wing …” he repeats, cocking his head while reading the paper.

“I’m willing to do whatever it takes. Whatever you need, I’m your girl. You won’t find anyone more dedicated to work than I am, Mr. Morrows.”

His lip twitches and he looks up at me with a glare. Shit, did I say something bad?

“Call me TJ.”

Strange. He doesn’t want me to call him by his surname? Okay. I wonder why, but I’m cool with it.

“Well, TJ, I think I can be a great asset to your company,” I say.

However, he’s not budging from his spot. In fact, he seems uncomfortably indecisive. Which is confusing because he seemed so enthusiastic when I came in. I wonder what changed. Was it something I said? Or am I just not convincing enough?

He rubs his lips together and looks at his laptop for a moment, then back at me, and then back at the laptop. What is he looking at? My resumé? But it’s in his hands.

“Is there anything else you’d like to know?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation going.

“Well …” He sighs, and he looks me up and down again before staring at his laptop again. He lowers his eyes and mumbles, “Right.”

“What?”

“Look, Lesley.” He cocks his head. “Can I call you Lesley?”

“Yeah.” I frown, wondering where this is going.

“I don’t think this is going to work out, to be honest.”

Shit. “Was it something I said or put in my resumé? Because I can tell you, hands down, I’ll be a thousand times better than what you think I’ll be.”

He chuckles. “I like your confidence, Lesley. But this just won’t work. I’m sorry.”

I sigh a little. “Could you tell me why?”

His lips part, but after staring at his laptop again, nothing leaves his mouth. It’s like he’s drawing blanks and just trying to make something up. That, or he just found the juiciest gossip there is to find about me, which would surprise me. I hardly do anything remotely interesting enough to warrant gossip.

Then again … these office types know just how to dig deep enough to get all the juicy details you don’t want out there. Maybe he looked at my Facebook profile and decided I wasn’t it. I probably should set it to private now that I think about it.

“I just don’t think we’d be a good fit. Nothing personal,” he says, slamming his lips together like he wants to say more but won’t allow himself to.

God … and to think this interview started out so well. Who’d have thought he’d suddenly make a U-turn. Not me. Must be something on his mind.

I take a deep breath and grab my bag. “All right.” I get up and hold out my hand, shaking his with pride even though I feel defeated. “I’m sorry I couldn’t persuade you. Thank you for your time.”

“I’m sure you’ll find the perfect internship,” he says, holding my hand a little longer than I’d anticipated.

Before I leave, I turn and look at him again. He’s still staring at his laptop, but when his eyes finally meet mine, I feel like there’s more to this story than he’s letting on. They betray something in him … A weakness I can’t put my finger on.

And it played a part in this conversation.

“You’ll regret this,” I muse, giving him the cutest smile I can muster.

But right as I walk out the door, his voice rings in my ears. “I know I will.”