Ann

 

 

 

It's happening again.

What is it with me and handsome men? Why is it that every time an especially gorgeous specimen crosses my path, I appear to forget about everything I pride myself in? My brains, my ambitions, my strength and determination, my confidence. All of this goes right out the window as soon as a man I deem handsome comes into view.

Though, this guy in front of me now is definitely more than just handsome. For a moment, I worry he’s the person I'm supposed to speak to, even though my appointment is supposed to be with a woman.

He's tall and broad-shouldered, a man who's impossible to be overlooked. The navy blue tailored suit hugs his buff frame and defined arms perfectly, allowing me to conjure up an image of the powerful muscles hidden under the lavish fabric. His chocolate brown hair is styled in a sharp undercut, dark strands gelled to one side while the other is shaven. The cut suits his chiseled jaw line. His dark brown eyes are fixated on me as he strides toward me in wide, confident steps.

I don't know why he's approaching me, but with every step that brings him closer, I can feel my heart speeding up in anticipation.

He stops right in front of me, still not saying a word. He plants his feet in a wide stance and I notice his hands are still buried in the pockets of his form-fitting suit pants.

Instinct tells me that I should get up from my seat, if only to gain height on him, or to introduce myself properly, just in case he really is here to get me for the interview, but I resist the urge. The way he approached me is anything but courteous, and since he came up to me, I reckon that he's the one who should start the conversation.

It appears he's of the same opinion.

"Are you new?" he wants to know.

At first, I have no idea what he's trying to say and just stare at him with a dumbfounded expression on my face as I try to interpret his question.

"New?" I finally croak, tilting my head to the side.

All at once the meaning behind his question becomes apparent.

He thinks I’m an escort!

"No!" I bark at him, jumping up from my seat, only to realize how much taller than me he really is. I was hoping to gain some confidence by standing up, but with him standing so close and towering over me like this, it doesn’t have the desired effect. Instead, I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze above me.

"I'm not an escort!" I insist, a little too loudly. "I am here for the interview."

"The interview?" he asks, obviously oblivious to what I'm talking about.

"I'm here to interview Miss Barry," I explain. "For an article."

I don't know why I feel the need to explain myself to this man, but something inside me hates the idea of him thinking that I could be up for purchase.

"Miss Barry," he repeats, and a smug smirk appears on his face. "I didn't know she’s responsible for public outreach now."

"Public outreach?" I repeat his words, frowning at him.

"What's the interview about?" he asks, jutting his chin forward.

I huff with indignation.

"Who are you? What business is it of yours?"

Mr. Adonis chuckles, visibly amused.

"You're right," he says. "My name is King, Jared King. It's nice to meet you, Miss..."

"Porter," I blurt out before thinking twice. "Ann Porter."

I impulsively shake his hand with the same spontaneous knee-jerk reaction that made me automatically reply to him. It makes me angry with myself that I'd behave completely differently if he wasn’t so attractive. I hate this weakness of mine, but I don't know how to fight it. Even his handshake makes me nervous. His touch is firm, possessive, dominant - enough to knock me to my knees.

We look at each other in uncomfortable silence, me with anticipation while he continues to study me. Now what? He told me his name, but I still don't know why he approached me.

"Do you work here?"

He chuckles and shakes his head.

"No, Miss Porter, I don't work here," he says. "I'm one of the agency’s patrons."

"Patrons?" I repeat. "You mean client? You buy women?"

He regards me with a serious look as if to warn me not to overstep. "You said you're here for an interview?"

So, he chooses to ignore my question. That means my assumption was correct.

I nod. "Yes, with Miss Bar-"

"What kind of interview?" he interrupts. "Is this some kind of school project? A term paper?"

I frown at him. Is he mocking me?

"No," I reply. "I'm a reporter. I work for the Daily Liberty."

His expression clouds over instantly, but just for a split second. His eyes flicker and he presses his lips together, his face contorting in a grimace of shock for a very short moment. Is he just surprised, or did I say something that frightens him?

"Something wrong?" I ask, speaking in a high pitched voice to feign innocence.

He's quick to shake his head. It requires effort for him to appear as relaxed and checked as he did before.

"No, no," he says hurriedly. "I’m just surprised. You can't blame me for assuming otherwise when I first saw you, young lady."

Young lady?

Who does he think he is? What makes him think that it's okay to talk to me in this disparaging manner?

I swallow dryly, shaking my head at him. Well, if he's an agency client, he may just not be familiar with any other way. He seems way too sophisticated to adhere to that simple logic, but if he's used to buying women for pleasure, he simply may not know the proper way to talk to women. 

I make a point of looking over his shoulder to check the hallway behind him, even though there's no one there.

"Well, if you're not here to fetch me for the interview, I don't think we have anything further to discuss," I say, fixating on him with what I  hope is as piercing of a gaze as his. "If you'll excuse me."

I make an attempt to move past him, despite lacking an idea of where to go to, but he stops me. I jerk back when his hand closes around my upper arm, pulling me back with  aggression that I hadn’t been expecting.

"It'd be a pleasure to find your pretty face in that folder the next time I come here," he whispers huskily, his lips close to my ear. I gasp in surprise, trying to battle the ominous heat rushing to my face.

"Excuse me, wha-"

"It's a pity, really," he adds, scanning me seductively from head to toe, lingering when his gaze reaches my breasts. "You have no idea how much money you could make with this."

With that, he releases my arm. Turning his back to me on the spot, he briskly leaves me behind as he strides away.