He didn’t flinch that exquisite body. Not even a dark brow twitched. “I spoke to Mark yesterday after you left. He says he offered you a job, and you turned him down.”
Mark Douglas, a fellow Stanford alumni and Maxwell Cole’s old fraternity brother, was CEO of a large clothing chain called Wow-Wow (a name Mark’s daughter—who was two at the time—came up with). He became my mentor during my graduate studies after I worked on a project related to price elasticity for his company. We kind of clicked. Or maybe he felt sorry for me? Now, I don’t know. But he and his wife, who I’d met later on, were hands down two of the kindest people I’d ever known—devoted parents, philanthropists, and just plain cool. Mark invited me into his life, his home, and even had me babysit his two beautiful spunky little girls—Elle and Sarah, now nine and ten. College wasn’t cheap, so I was always grateful for extra money, but I felt eternally indebted for the respect and encouragement he’d given so freely. It was how I hoped to give back when I got a shot at running my own company. I wanted to inspire and mentor young women.
Then, after I graduated, Mark graciously offered me a great full-time, permanent position on his marketing team. That was when I reluctantly confessed I had my sights set on the C.C. sales team. Mark told me the door would always be open, but if my dream was C.C., then he’d call Mr. Cole, a close personal friend, and make it happen. I’d given it some thought, because I wanted a job at C.C. pretty badly, but in the end, I needed to know that anything I had was due to merits and sweat. Not as a favor to Mark.
I did take that reference letter, though. That seemed like fair game.
“That is correct. I turned the job down,” I replied, wondering where he was going with this.
“Why?” Mr. Cole asked with a hint of criticism.
At this point, I didn’t want to tell him the truth. He didn’t deserve to know what I’d done for the chance to be in his presence. Dammit. How stupid had I been?
“I have my reasons—what do you want, Mr. Cole?”
“Mark says you’re the sort of person I can trust with things of a more personal nature. That means a lot coming from him, but is it true?”
The answer depended on what sorts of “personal” things he had in mind. If it was playing Lady Gaga dress up for five hours with Mark’s sweet and wild little girls while he and his wife had to quietly deal with his drunk father getting arrested, then sure. If it was kicking Maxwell Cole in his ass on the way out of my apartment, I could be trusted with that, too.
“I repeat: what do you want, Mr. Cole?”
He ran his hand over the top of his silky head of hair and leaned forward in my armchair. I couldn’t help notice how fucking perfect he looked—masculine, elegant, handsome as hell, and freshly shaved, yet still with a black shadow across his square jaw—and I wanted to punch him in the nose for it. Then punch myself for noticing how damned hot he was.
“I…uh…” The striking expression in his hazel eyes startled me. I suddenly felt like he was looking at me again, past my face. “My proposal is this: you come work for me.”
This was my moment to tell him to shove it, but before I got the chance, he held up his hand and added, “But not the job you applied for; as a senior manager—the role you are actually qualified for.”
My mouth fell open. Senior manager was two levels above the junior sales manager job.
“And you’d be reporting directly to me, instead of to a director,” he said.
My mouth fell open a little more. I really didn’t know it could open that wide.
I blinked at him, speechless. Just yesterday, he’d said I was too ugly to work for his company, and now he wanted me on his direct staff? He must’ve been quaking in his designer boxer briefs that I’d tell everyone how he’d treated me.
Whatever. I didn’t want the job. I didn’t want to work for a man like this. A fake. A heartless asshole. Nevertheless, I had to ask…
“Why?”
He leaned back in the chair, all smooth and cool, like he was delivering a sales pitch and knew he couldn’t lose. “To use your own words: I am a superficial asshole. I did not necessarily get a choice in the matter; however, we are all dealt a hand in life and must play with the cards we’re given.”
I scratched the back of my sweaty head. “That reply didn’t come close to answering my question.”
“We can help each other.”
“Oh, really?” I spat. “Mind telling me how someone like you, who finds it offensive to be in the same room, believes I can help?” Or that I’d ever want to?
His large hand glided up to the knot on his red tie, his eyes digging into me. “You are the most unattractive woman I’ve ever met. And you are exactly what I need.”
He did not just say that to my face. I didn’t know whether to run to the kitchen and grab a knife to stab him with or drop on the floor laughing.
He continued, “Which is why I will also pay for your plastic surgery—top notch, no expense spared—if you agree to work for me.”
He’s fucking serious. “You’re fucking serious.”
He nodded with a calm stare and blinked those big hazel eyes at me. There was a hint of something behind them.
Oh my God. Is it fear? Fear I might turn him down? I knew my brown eyes were probably bulging from my head like two chocolate orbs.
“I am dead serious,” he replied. “And you’re a smart woman—prickly as hell with a surprisingly crude vocabulary, but smart—so there’s no need to point out that the role pays extremely well and will allow you to take your pick of positions at any company when the time comes. With a new face and that very beautiful body of yours, there will be nothing in your way. Nothing. You’ll have superficial assholes like me at your mercy, licking your shoes, eating out of your beautiful hand the rest of your beautiful life. All you must do is come work for me.”
I was speechless. Literally speechless. Except that it was time to say those magic words. “Go fuck yourself.”
He stood, shaking his head. “I fucking love that you fucking speak your fucking mind, but you’ll need to tone down that filthy little mouth of yours when we aren’t alone.” He glided past me as if he hadn’t heard a word I said.
“I didn’t say I’d work for you.”
He flashed an arrogant grin. “Then I’ll expect your yes in the morning.”
He left, and I remained standing in the living room, wondering if what just happened wasn’t some bizarre hallucination after hours of running in the heat. But it wasn’t. The delicious scent of his expensive cologne lingering in the room was proof.
Finally, I willed my feet to carry me to the sofa and sank down. A senior manager role at C.C.
Setting Maxwell Cole aside, it was a job that could act as a springboard for my entire career. However, what he wanted from me was…was…Well, what did he want from me? He’d said I was “the most unattractive woman he’d ever seen” and exactly what he needed.
So what the hell did that last part mean?
I covered my face and groaned.
Twenty-four hours ago, I’d felt like a stable, well-grounded person with a bright future.
Now I am a bitter, foulmouthed cynic. I don’t know who I am anymore.
And I certainly didn’t know what I would do next.
No doubt about it, I had had a long, turbulent day filled with fruitless inner debate. After Mr. Cole left, I spent an hour—or three—looking at open positions online and postings from a recruiter I knew. I still had the option of going to work for Mark Douglas at Wow-Wow Clothing, but it felt wrong taking a role knowing I wouldn’t bring my A-game passion.