Blah, blah, blah. God, business was sometimes incredibly tedious.
At least it was until a nearly silent knock on the door sounded. The woman didn’t wait for him to respond, but instead pushed open the door and stepped inside.
“Ummm… so I know we were told that we’d get called in here, but I- I’m really nervous and I was just wondering if it’s possible to- uh- get my turn over with. I just want to know if I’m going to be fired or not. Is that okay?”
He’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t noticed her before. She was the female version of stacked. Or was that a unisex term? Ross didn’t know. He’d sworn off women. All women were trouble. The pretty ones. The ones who weren’t so pretty. Women of all shapes and sizes and ages. All. Trouble.
He wasn’t some male pig or anything. He’d just had his fair share of shit experiences. Since he’d made his money, he hadn’t had a single girlfriend who ever wanted to be with him for him. Even before he had money, they were using him for sex- which was a compliment at first and just got old as shit after a while. He was done with the drama, the tears, the moods, the fighting, the blame games. God knew if he couldn’t do a thing right, it was perfectly fine for him to keep to himself and not spread his particular brand of misery amongst the female population. He was doing the world a favor.
But if he did want to spread it, he’d spread it with her. His brand. Of misery. And everything else. Maybe spread her too- okay that was way the hell too far. The dark haired, green eyed goddess who stood shyly clasping her hands in front of her, barely managing not to lean against the door. Velvet. Her hair was like black velvet. Rich and soft and shiny even in the piece of shit overhead fluorescent tubes that kept humming and shimmering.
If this particular velvet haired vixen wanted to call him an asshole and yell obscenities at him, he’d take it. Hell, he’d do just about anything to see her worked up and full of passion, anger or otherwise. Mostly otherwise, but he’d take a little bit of rage.
What the hell am I thinking? Seriously?
Women were trouble. Relationships were shit. Disaster could easily be averted if he steered clear of both. Ever since he’d hit that Forbes list of Billionaires, it was so much worse. People, male and female flocked to him, but he didn’t trust a single woman who said they could love him for him and not want anything in return. That was just plain, straight up, ass-hat, wishful thinking bullshit.
The velvet goddess opened a set of pink, perfectly shaped lips. She wasn’t wearing makeup, but she didn’t need it. She had a face that people could probably have worshipped had their culture been just a little more primitive. A delightful pink sheen darkened her high cheekbones. Her skin was flawless. With her dark wavy hair and hourglass figure, she was totally reminiscent of a 1930’s Hollywood star.
Ross stood slowly when he realized that he was intimidating the hell out of the woman. She looked pale, he realized. It wasn’t just a trick of the lights. The blush put some luster back into her cheeks, but no, she was too pale below it.
He might have sworn off women, beautifully tempting and otherwise, but he wasn’t a completely heartless bastard. Just mostly heartless. There were still a few broken shards functioning somewhere in his chest.
“Have a seat.” He indicated the broken-down desk chair that was missing a few wheels. They were all broken down and missing a few wheels, so he didn’t have a choice.
The woman didn’t bat an eye. Why would she? She was used to it. She tugged out the chair, fought with it a little, but strong armed it into submission, and sunk down. She let out a dainty sounding sigh that, fuck him with a stick- okay, definitely not- where did that saying come from anyway- hit him right in the chest.
And right in the dick, if he was being honest. His happy stick sure as hell wasn’t in the mood to behave. The bastard was doing a wild dance that was supposed to be something maybe to convince his brain that the fairer sex wasn’t just in it as a wild cash dash. He’d been used as a bank account and an ATM too many times to believe otherwise. Even when he wasn’t rich. Go. Fucking. Figure.
Rich green eyes the color of a lush field of grass right after the rain swept to his face. She’s trouble. I maintain, TROUBLE. Her dark lashes fluttered a few times and Ross nearly panicked when he noticed the moisture gathering in her eyes.