Molly
Everyone stares at me as I walk down the elegant office hallway.
This place is my second home.
And my normal is being looked at, admired, and appreciated.
My friends tease me all the time by calling me a ‘head turner,’ which I take to mean that I have the blonde bombshell type of look.
To me, yes, I’m confident―but not because of my looks. I’m a firm believer that it’s what’s on the inside that really counts.
If I can engage in a thoughtful discussion about problems of the world or the best way to get a business up and running, then I’m having a great fucking time.
Yes, I’m Type A all the way―and yes, I garner attention and jealousy from onlookers who wish they were me or wish they could be with me.
But let’s just say my standards are high, like exceedingly high.
Anyway, back to the fucking present. I walk over to my secretary, who sits in a cubicle right outside of my office.
“Hi, Katrina.” I greet her with a positive smile to start out the day on the right foot.
“Hi, Molly,” Katrina responds.
She’s in her late forties. She isn’t married, and she has no children. I think she’s a crazy cat lady but I love her and respect her. Hell, I’ll probably turn out just like her one day.
Just kidding. That will never happen.
Katrina has salt and pepper hair that she wears in a really super chic yet classic short style, and she always wears loud and vibrant colors. I have to hand it to her; the girl really pulls off the wacky style flavor.
“I’m really sorry,” Katrina says apologetically as she winces in what is apparent embarrassment.
“Sorry for what?” I chuckle and look around the office trying to figure out what she’s talking about.
“I couldn’t handle him, nor could I send him away,” she states vaguely.
I look over to my open office door and notice that the light is already turned on. This in itself isn’t completely curious, because sometimes Katrina will go into my office when I’m not there to file papers or to find some documents she might need that I have.
“Is there…is there someone in there?” I whisper and point to my open door.
“Yes,” Katrina grimaces. “I’m so sorry, Molly, he’s adamant that he needs to speak with you right away.”
“Who is he?” I ask, feeling ominous intrigue.
Katrina shrugs. “He won’t tell me.”
“Hmm,” I say, and narrow my eyes. “I guess if I start screaming, call 911,” I joke.
Katrina gulps hard. “Okay.”
I walk into my office not knowing what to expect, but I’m prickling with interest.
I have to bite my tongue to prevent myself from letting an audible gasp escape my lips. When I swing the door open all the way, I see the body of a Greek god standing before me, facing me from where he’s standing by my glass windows.
I examine him carefully, scrutinizing every feature and aspect of his appearance and body language. He has jet black hair that he has intricately parted at the side, and he’s clean shaven with a gorgeous face.
I don’t even know who this guy is, but I’m deducing by the way he’s grinning at me with his hands in his pockets that he’s a powerful person with tons of influence that he’s not afraid to use on anyone he encounters.
He has enough swagger in his movements to stop any woman dead in her tracks, and that—unfortunately— seems to include me.
“I think you might be in the wrong office,” I joke, trying to break the ice with this mysterious yet totally fuckable hunk.
Yes, I’m extremely embarrassed to even fucking admit that I have an instant attraction to this man. But I’m still a warm-blooded woman, after all.
“Oh, trust me,” he grins slyly and takes a step closer towards me, “I’m exactly where I need to be.”
“You sound pretty confident.” I snort, although I don’t mean to. “Can I help you with something?”
I lay my purse down on my desk and stand directly across from him. He looks deep into my eyes, and as fucking cheesy as it sounds, I swear I nearly get lost in their delicious, swirly caramel color.
I take a deep breath and then clear my throat, waiting for him to state the reason for his presence. “It’s not every day I get the pleasure of having a visitor greet me when I arrive at the office,” I joke further, thinking that it’s helping me relax, even if I’m not that fucking funny.
Like at all.
He laughs anyway, I guess to appease me, which makes me feel even more pathetic.
He approaches me and takes my hand, startling me. He softly kisses the top of my palm and winks at me.
Who the fuck is this guy, and did he just jump out of a 1920s black and white movie?
All joking aside, his tender and soft lips make me tingle between my legs when he makes skin-to-skin contact.
I try to level my body’s out of nowhere reactions and keep my poker face holding strong.
I pull my hand away. “Please, take a seat.” I motion to the chair opposite my chair behind the desk.
He does as I ask and continues to grin at me as if he’s God’s fucking gift to women or something and I should be honored to be in his presence.
Maybe I am. Who knows? He sure is fucking hot. I feel like I’m under a spell or something with this guy.
“So, who are you exactly and what the hell are you doing in my office?” I get right down to the pressing question of the hour.
He laughs again. “You aren’t afraid to be blunt, are you?”
“Not particularly…” I say, meeting his gaze dead-on.
“I’m Owen Wolfe, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He extends a hand for me to shake this time, and when I take it, I get that warm feeling again, melting my skin just with his touch.
“Why does that name sound familiar?” I ask, and contemplate the answer.
“I get that all the time.” He gives me a cheesy grin that’s ridiculously full of macho arrogance.
“So, what makes you special?” I tease.
“I’m the founder, owner and CEO of Lone Wolfe Pictures,” he says with pride.
“I love your movies!” I exclaim. “How do you get all the A-list celebs to play roles in your films?”
“Easy,” he says, and winks at me again. “I have the charm they all flock to.”
I laugh. This guy is just too fucking much. “Is that movie about the two people who get lost in the woods on a camping trip and then fall in love yours? You know…what’s it called?” I snap my fingers and try to rack my brain.
“Hunted.” He nods. “Yep, that’s us.”
“Great film.” I nod nostalgically with a smile.
I’m totally becoming distracted right now. I still need to get to the bottom of why Owen Wolfe of Lone Wolfe Pictures is here in my office. And I definitely don’t need to be acting like some star struck fangirl.
As if reading my mind, he finally drops his reason for being here. “I want to take you to dinner,” he says with enthusiasm that is…surprisingly hard to resist or say no to.
But I’m still surprised.
Dinner? Where the hell did that come from?
Confused, I do what comes naturally and scoff at his proposal.
“Are you kidding?” I laugh.
“No,” he states, looking confused.
“I don’t even know you.” I shake my head, wondering when the practical joke will be over.
“That’s the point of the date,” he says as if he’s stating the obvious. “I’m actually being serious here,” he adds. “I know tons of trendy scenes to check out for dinner places. I know so many people, we can just walk right in, we don’t even need a fucking reservation,” he brags.
I stare at him in bewilderment for a few seconds. “I can’t, I’m sorry, my schedule is full at the moment.” I need to shut this down, especially with the way I’m still reacting to him.
“I insist,” he says, and I notice some firm undertones in his voice.
“I can let you know when my schedule clears.” I look him in the eye, unwilling to back down.
Owen sighs and stands up. Yes! I think that means I’m winning this battle.
He takes a pen off my desk and lifts a Post It. He scribbles his number across the center of the paper. “If you change your mind, here’s my direct line. I don’t usually give out my private number to people,” he says as if I should feel fucking honored to receive it or some shit.
“Okay,” I stumble.
“Call me when your schedule clears,” he says, and without another word, he disappears as quickly as he arrived.