Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
I smile in delight. “Have I? I didn’t even know there were phases.”
“It’s an internal process. The first phase is informal, more about getting a handle on the interviewee’s character and whether they have the right attitude. Now, we’ll move on to phase two. Are you ready?”
I lean forward with determination. “Hell to the yes.”
He laughs, then, just like his smiles, smirks, and lingering looks, he quickly stops it all. It’s like he feels guilty for showing me any emotion.
I don’t have to guess why.
CHAPTER 3
LOGAN
Her speech moved me so profoundly that I couldn’t let her see. She knows my story. At least, I assume she does. She knows I grew up in the system, though I’m sure she doesn’t know the full extent of the horrors I experienced and witnessed.
Still, the basics of what she said affected me. Big time. Hell, it inspired me. I’ve felt the same as she has since I was her age—keen to make my mark on the world but unsure how I would do it.
For years, I flitted between jobs. Personal trainer. Salesman. Martial arts instructor for a brief time. On the day she left for college, I was working as a social media manager, with no idea how I’d ended up in the job, not particularly hating it, but not loving it, either.
Then, Piper inspired me, and everything changed. I finally found something to fixate on.
Reaching into my top desk drawer, I take out an envelope and slide it across the table.
“Inside are the details for our latest product, which is still in development,” I say, finding it difficult to look at her. “Review everything. Then, we’re going to do a reverse interview. I’ll ask you about the product, your feelings about it, and your ideas, and we’ll go from there.”
As I nudge the envelope toward her, and she reaches for it, our hands touch. She makes a soft gasping sound that goes right to the base of my dick, tension making my thickness throb as I try to keep my cool. She bites her lip and quickly lets it go.
Is she struggling to keep this tame, too?
I stand, hands behind my back, walking to the tall windows as an excuse not to look at her. She’s gorgeous, perfect. There’s no denying it. Her shirt clings to her supple mounds, her pencil skirt outlining her wide hips and drawing tempting attention to her thick thighs.
But her face, her natural beauty, has the most significant effect. It’s the hope in her eyes, the enthusiastic smile, the vivacious energy she brings to the process.
“There’s a questionnaire in there, too,” I tell her. “Please fill that out.”
“How long do I have?” she asks.
“Thirty minutes. Would you like a coffee or something else to drink?”
“Just a water, please.”
“Sure. I’ll be right back.”
I don’t look at her as I walk from the office. It’s like there’s an energy in the air, a tension that makes me ache all over. I wonder if she’s also experiencing it or if I just need to get a grip.
Apart from the hunger blazing in me, the interview is going well. Her speech was far more convincing than any other interviewee’s. She doesn’t want any handouts. So far, she's gotten none.
“I can do that, Mr. Wolfe,” Clive says when he sees me walking toward the drinks trolley.
“Don’t sweat it, Clive,” I reply.
“How’s it going? She seemed impressive when I was leading her in.”
“You got it: impressive. She’s keen to do a good job. Determined.”
It feels like a bonding point already. Sure, I knew her story, and she knows shades of mine, but it’s not like we had any reason to discuss this in depth when she was a kid. She was mostly a background figure, a girl with her nose buried in a book, the younger sister who was just there.
Until the party.
Then, it was like she became somebody else. It was as if I saw her for the first time: her curves, her beauty, her passion.
Back in my office, I set her water down. She leans over my desk. My hungry instincts beg me to drink in the sight of her curvaceous globes as they subtly shape her shirt, but I don’t allow it to happen.
As she works, I sit on the other side of the desk, answering some emails. I try not to watch her as she works, but her concentration makes her even more beautiful. She furrows her eyebrows, hurriedly taking notes.
“And that’s time,” I say once the thirty minutes are up.
She looks up, and her cheeks redden like they did at the party. It gives her an animated look that makes every exchange exciting.
“We’ll start with the questionnaire,” I say, offering my hand.
She passes me the piece of paper, and again, our hands touch, sensation dancing up my arm. I try to ignore its effect on me, but I fail.