Zoey
Just as I unlock my door and push into my apartment, my effervescent best friend, Britney, comes bounding out of hers. Each floor of our apartment complex is the same—two identical apartments just flip-flopped so the doors are at the opposite ends of the hall. Mine just happens to be the first on the way to the elevator.
“How was your day with the big dog?” she asks, walking in right behind me.
“It was great.” I pull the leftover Chinese from the fridge and toss it in the microwave. I skipped lunch today amid trying to learn the ropes. I’m starving.
She rubs her hands together excitedly. “Sooo…tell me.”
Her fiery red hair dances as she drops to the couch, eager to hear what I have to say.
I grab a drink and my food before making my way into the adjoining living room and sitting on the opposite end of the couch. “He wasn’t there for too long today, so I didn’t get too extensive with him. I do know he sounds like a take-no-shit type of guy. Anyone who drinks their coffee black must have a heart the same color.” I laugh. “He was quick, to the point and laid down the law.”
She fakes a yawn, bouncing her hand over her mouth. “You’re boring me. Is his ass pretty?”
I roll my eyes to the ceiling. Of course it’s the only thing she’s interested in. “He’s definitely more gorgeous in person than in the pictures. He has these eyes that…”
She fakes another yawn.
“Yes, Britney. His ass was pretty. Everything about him is gorgeous as hell.”
Right down to the outrageously charming and mysterious smile he gave me when he left for the day. I’ve seen it in the tabloids, the irresistibly winning smile, but today, in person, I got to experience the power it truly holds. It shot a burst of lust to blaze into my bones and I did my best to shake it off, blaming it on my nerves. It had absolutely nothing to do with my lack of sex-life or him.
Easton Langley has a reputation along with his two best friends. It’s not unknown they enjoy fun, parties, and women. It was a worry of mine when I applied for the position. I didn’t know if I could do it or not because I tend to get tongue-tied around sexy men, especially ones who exude confidence and look edible.
Easton Langley was named one of the city’s most gorgeous and eligible bachelors, known for his charming ways, wining and dining any woman of his choice. And here I am, some rinky dink chick from Timbuktu, Nebraska, working for Mr. Sexy himself. Talk about an interesting job.
“Eye candy to push you through the day,” Britney grins. “Don’t get a good night’s sleep? No problem. An eyeful of him will provide an ample amount of sexual desire to power through an entire week.” She laughs as she stands.
“He makes me nervous,” I admit.
She shrugs, both shoulders bouncing. “Consider yourself lucky because Mr. Hot Stuff is your boss.” She claps her hands and throws her thumb over her shoulder. “I’m going to get back home. I DVRed all the seasons of Grey’s Anatomy so I could binge watch it without the cliffies.” She winks and blows me a kiss, skipping out the door.
I puff a breath and take another bite of my food. She’s always ebullient.
Tuesday, Mr. Langley left at lunch time and has been gone for a few days. It’s been easygoing. The phones haven’t rung and it’s given me the chance to familiarize myself with his schedule and all his ways. His schedule is intense, brutal even. Meetings. They consume him the most. One right after the other, different states with different companies. I’d be entirely worn out. I have no idea how he does it.
But today he’s due back in and my relaxed days will transform into nervousness.
The elevator announces his arrival, and when he steps out, my heart skips a beat and my breath gets caught in my throat. He’s in a charcoal gray suit with a white shirt and a black tie, looking all types of handsome. Even with an intense stoic expression, he’s still easy as hell on the eyes.
His hard lines soften and he greets me with a panty-bursting smile. “Good morning, Miss Campbell.” His smooth baritone voice fills my ears and my stomach dips with a thrilling zing.
“Good morning, sir,” I say as he passes my desk. “You have a lunch meeting today with Donnelly Developers. I heard South Street has construction, so you may want to leave earlier than usual.”
His feet stop dead in their tracks and he rotates toward me, shaking his finger. His eyes are narrowed, his lips forming a straight line. “Now that I’m not used to.”
The amount of annoyance shrouding his eyes and lacing his tone sends panic pouring into my veins. “I’m sorry. I thought it would be beneficial to know,” I scramble out.
His large chest expands as he takes a deep breath, stretching his jacket tight. “Don’t brownnose, Miss Campbell. I despise it.”
Chagrin warms my cheeks and I tighten my lips. “Would you like some coffee, sir?” I ask instead of firing off that I just wanted to help.
“Please,” he replies apathetically and then disappears into his office.
Well, someone didn’t get laid last night.
After pouring him a fresh cup of coffee, I take it to him, quietly setting it on his desk as he talks on the phone. I start to leave, but he snaps his fingers catching my attention and then holds up a finger, signaling for me to wait.
“Yeah,” he says to whomever is on the phone. “Seeing that it’s a damn bank, you’d think they’d want to protect their assets by the best in the business.” There’s a short pause and he reaches for his coffee. “What time?” He abandons his cup and picks up his cell, tapping it a few times. “Yeah. I can do that.” Another pause. “Sounds good.”
He hangs up and tosses his phone to his desk with a thud. “You’ll be coming to my meeting today,” he says.
I flinch. “I’m sorry?”
“You’ll be joining me. I need you to take notes,” he says as if it’s not a big deal.
It is a big deal. I’ve never been to a corporate meeting, nor have I ever taken notes my boss will deem either important or garbage. I drop my view to my clothes, assuring myself I’m dressed for it.
He rests back into his chair and steeples his fingers. Amusement dances in his bright green eyes, not concealing a single ounce of their laughter. “Call Clint and have him pick us up, please.”
I nod without saying a word, scared I might reveal my apprehension…my nervousness.
I call Clint and arrange the time. While waiting, I busy myself by plowing through some emails. There are so many of them, some dating back to right after Chrissy’s departure. I try to spend an hour a day on the older ones, most mundane and trash, but I’m determined to find the ending and create a new beginning.
“Are you ready?” he asks, buttoning his blazer as he approaches my desk.
No. “Yes.” I grab my purse, notepad, and a pen. I hate that I’m going in completely blind. No hints. Not knowing what to expect. And it’s making me exceptionally nervous. My imagination can be brutal at times.
He stands on the opposite side of the elevator, occupying himself with his cell phone. He doesn’t speak, but neither do I. As the elevator slows, he shoves his phone back into his pocket. And when the doors slide open, he extends his arm, gesturing for me to exit first.
Heads turn, all eyes cutting at us as we venture through the lobby. I feel important. Superior. All my hard work finally paying off in this very moment.
I started right here—bottom floor, answering phones as the receptionist. Although most departments had a direct line, some people didn’t have the number, or the person they’re trying to reach was out or busy.
Still…behind the tall curved desk, I was one of the onlookers, envious of Chrissy and wishing one day I could experience the exact same envy. I always wondered what it felt like to be something of significance, something important to the company instead of overlooked as a subordinate.
I wasn’t just a full-time receptionist. I also took on a part-time position in the home security department because they were shorthanded. It was only two days a week, but it gave me more experience and knowledge of the company. After several years of working my ass off, here I am proving my hard work and dedication was worth it.
Clint pops open the back door of the blacked-out and clean Mercedes, nodding as he greets us. I slide in first and the overwhelming smell of leather instantly makes me nauseated. But when Mr. Langley gets in and shuts the door, closing us in, I’m wrapped by the scent of his cologne—clean and masculine, sophisticated and modern. Both aromas combine to create the divine fragrance of a sex god.
He rests back into the seat, silent and on his phone again. The sun bathes the city, blending the scenery with light and warmth. Perfectly trimmed trees line the sidewalks, all rising upward and breaking up the business facade background with beautiful greenery. Park benches are casually placed here and there, some empty, others occupied by people.
“You don’t talk often,” he says, pulling my view away from the window to his keen gaze.
“I’m not a big yapper,” I admit and then shrug. “Although, if the conversation is right, I won’t shut up.”
He shifts, his broad frame resting more against the door. “What is the right conversation?”
I lift a shoulder with a frisky smile. “Guess when I won’t shut up, you’ll know.”
He chuckles. “Let’s start small. Are you originally from Colorado?”
“No. I moved here from a little town in Nebraska right after college. It’s one of those towns where everyone knows how many times you shook the salt shaker at your dining room table without actually setting foot into the house. Small towns mean big gossip,” I say.
He nods as if he understands. “Siblings?”
“Only child.”
“Dogs?”
This surprises a laugh out of me and his expression softens with pleasure.
“She laughs at the boring questions,” he says with a chuckle, keeping his gaze on me. “Are you not a fan of them?”
“Not a fan of what? Boring questions or dogs?”
“Both.”
“Boring topics feel like a really bad first date. They can get pretty awkward,” I tell him.
“Sounds like you’ve had many bland dates,” he says, nonchalantly.
“I’m sure talking about my nonexistent dating life would bore you worse than the stale questions.” Cue the facepalm. Of course, I spew my lukewarm loserability to Easton Langley. The man has absolutely no clue what a nonexistent dating life is. I’m positive there’s a waiting line for a date with him.
His eyes flicker with mirth, his lips keeping a straight line.
Thankfully, before embarrassment eats me up, the car stops in front of a large gray-slated building and Clint jumps out, opening the door for us.
Two seconds—it’s how long we had to wait after Easton told the receptionist who we were. A tall brunette with amorous brown eyes pops out from behind large double doors.
“I’m Ava Jaynes,” she introduces herself with a purr. “Follow me, please.”
Her tight sweater dress is cute and shows off her hour glass figure and long legs. As she leads us down the hall, Easton’s wandering eye doesn’t go unnoticed regardless of how discreet he’s trying to be.
Pushing the door open and holding it for us, she grins with her flirting gaze latched on to Easton. If you listen closely, I bet you can hear the purr of her shameless inner whore.
Two men, both in crisp gray suits, stand. “Mr. Langley,” the man with the most silver in his hair, smiles and stretches out his hand. “It’s good to see you again.”
Easton introduces me before I take a seat several chairs away. I should only be in the background since I’m here to take notes.
I jot things down I think Easton may want to remember later, things I believe are important…or at least I hope so. Easton’s trying to convince Donnelly Developers to use him as their security in every home and business they build. The numbers are so outrageous, I almost choke on air when I hear it. I could live comfortably for the rest of my life, including my children, grandchildren great grandchildren…you get the idea.
As Easton speaks, I steal quick glances at him. He’s strikingly handsome, relaxed and unhurried as he listens to the details coolly. He oozes confidence, carrying himself with so much composure he appears imperturbable. He’s a businessman with a fierce competitiveness and a hunger to be the best of the best. He’s resting back in the chair, his large hands comfortably in his lap, and he occasionally rocks his foot under the table. He’s in his comfort zone and it shows.
Ava steps in and as she refills our drinks, Easton inconspicuously checks her out. Like ghost peeks, they’re fleeting split seconds while still appearing to be fully engaged in the meeting. The men miss them, but she doesn’t and reciprocates her own brisk flirty glances and supple smiles.
I want to roll my eyes. He doesn’t have to try for attention. His presence is enough. He radiates sexy, assertiveness, power, and calm. It’s a simple premise. What’s not to find attractive about it?
I, on the other hand, don’t have it as easy. I’d have to cartwheel and fall flat on my face to receive the same attention Ava’s getting. I’m average—my body, my hair, my skin—ordinary stuff.
Easton’s far from mediocre. His eyes are brilliantly green, prepossessing even. His lips are smooth with the top thinner than the bottom, but not by much. His jaw is strong, holding an engaging and panty-bursting smile. His shoulders are broad, his chest wide. His hips are…
“Miss Campbell will send you the information.”
My name screeches into my ears, careening me back into the chair in the meeting. I snap my eyes to him and smile confidently, like I’ve been here the whole time and know what the hell I just missed…not lost in the ocean of desire.
Shit.
He stands and we say our goodbyes before heading out, led by Ava again. Easton doesn’t speak, and when it’s time for Ava to return to whatever gates of gorgeousness she escaped from, her smoky gaze latches on to him.
“Have a great afternoon,” she purrs with a grin of seduction.
She eyes him as if he’s the last steak on the rack.
I long for those types of glances. I want to be someone’s steak.
He nods, the corners of his lips quirking up, but he doesn’t speak.
We ride in silence with only the noise of passing cars filling the void as he once again messes with his phone.
He sighs, tossing it to the seat between us. “If we’re out, you’ll not look at me like that again. Do I make myself clear?”
My heart thwacks my chest before leaping into my throat. “Excuse me?” Dammit, I squeaked.
He pierces me with an all-knowing glare. “Miss Campbell.” His tongue rides the L’s. “Can you tell me what the last fifteen minutes of the meeting were about?”
Dread coats my veins as I force myself back into the padded chair around the oval dark brown conference table and across from the two men. Desperately, I reach into the images, hoping…trying to remember something, anything being said. But I can’t. I see nothing but his image. His face. Him.
I was completely lost, distracted by his sexiness.
Back in school, they teach the steps of an essay. A meeting is a verbal one, right?
I swallow and muster up a conclusion. Here goes for hope…
“You stated you’d have someone work up the quote for a three-year contract and have me send it once it’s complete.”
Please be right. Please be right.
The corners of his eyes wrinkle and he smirks like a smug ass. “I bring you meetings to take notes, keeping me organized and able to follow up on action items. As an effective assistant, you’ll be substantial and, quite frankly, indispensable. Par the opposite, you’ll be worthless to me. Attempt to better conceal whatever thoughts pull you away. We’re professionals in meetings, in crowds, in front of employees, etcetera, etcetera. Work on that.”
My body is on fire, burning from both humiliation and anger. “Yes, sir,” I grit through a forced smile while holding his stare.
He regards me as if he knows what I was thinking, like he recognizes when a woman has him pictured in her thoughts. As ridiculous as it sounds, it’s making me madder by the second.
Ending my torture, I rip my gaze from his and peer out the window.
Dammit…