None of this would bother me if I wasn’t attracted to him. If my rebellious gaze wasn’t stupidly stuck on his sharp, gleaming eyes. If I didn’t admire his strong, square jaw. If I didn’t want to know what a kiss from his fleshy slash of a mouth felt like. If I didn’t feel drawn to touch his steely shoulders and sink against his wide chest…
But I’m here for an interview, not a hookup. I need a chair, and I suspect Chad Force is waiting on me to think outside the box.
“I’ll be right back with one.”
His smile as I exit and turn the corner tells me I made the right choice in not whining about the lack of a seat or wasting his time by asking. I’m following directions while solving the problem.
The bedroom across the hall is a mirror image of his in terms of layout, but the décor is decidedly feminine. Still elegant, of course. I doubt Mr. Force would allow anything less in his domain. But I’m deeply curious why the single CEO has a bedroom clearly intended for a woman beside his.
It’s not important now. Since I don’t see a chair that suits my purposes, I tiptoe down a floor and venture up the hall. I find a stylish, entirely masculine home office. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in black dominate an entire wall of the space, built around a matching modular desk, accented by sleek pulls. A giant iMac sits in the alcove. Two of the office walls are painted pristine white, which is only broken up with canvases of subdued abstracts in gray. In the middle of the room sits a sleek writing desk with geometric gold legs, a glossy black top, and a desk lamp with a base that doubles as a globe. Behind it sits a tufted chair in a shade of blue that reminds me of a rainy day. It’s big and it will be hell to lug, but it’s on wheels.
Not indulging the fear that I’m somehow desecrating Mr. Force’s personal space, I roll the office chair down the hall, grunt as I lift it up the stairs, then drag it behind me back into the man’s bedroom.
“You found it, I see.”
I position it a few feet from the bed, sit, then cross my legs. “Yes.”
“It’s heavy.”
“But not unmanageable.”
“You carried it up alone.”
I eye him. Why is he stating the obvious? Probably to shove me down some conversational rabbit hole he wants me to fall into. “I’m not easily deterred.”
His smile creeps a little higher. “You didn’t ask permission.”
“That’s one way of looking at it. But I also solved a simple problem on my own. I see no reason to disturb people, especially busy ones, when I can handle something myself.”
The rise of his brow tells me he’s impressed, but he’s not going to give me the satisfaction of admitting that out loud. This is some kind of game to him, and it frustrates me. He’s amused, while I need to eat and find a place to sleep.
“Tell me about you,” he begins, glancing at the sheet of paper in his hands. “Not what’s on your résumé. None of this tells me what I really need to know.”
I wonder what he’s after, but nothing in his face gives his thoughts away. “I love the financial world because I’m addicted to puzzles and I strive every day to understand what really makes the world turn.”
His smile tells me he likes my answer. “Go on.”
“School was a way of gathering fundamental information so I could get my foot in the door, but bottom line? I believe that working at Force Financial could genuinely teach me what I need to know to excel.”
“I have no doubt of that, but what’s in it for me?”
The primary rule of any sales pitch: Tell the customer why you can be the answer to their problems. I can’t really answer that without more information.
“Why are you looking for a new assistant?”
“Because my last one quit.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Apparently, I’m a workaholic bastard. Who knew?”
“Well, I have no interest in bars, parties, mobile games, or whatever the rest of my peers are into since I’m a workaholic, too. I’m assuming you’d prefer someone like that at your side.”
“Yes, but that’s not all I need in an assistant.”
I try not to squirm in my seat. If he’s looking for sex, I know it’s not smart, but I’m leaning toward sign me up. On the other hand, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t risk his billion-dollar-plus empire for a sexual harassment suit and a piece of ass.
“You require other qualities.”
“Yes.”
And he’s not going to tell me what they are. “You want me to figure them out.”
“Astute of you.” He looks pleased.
Hades chooses that moment to wander into the bedroom with a meow, rub up against me, then leap onto the bed before nudging Mr. Force’s hand, demanding attention. I’m fascinated when the man pets the sleek black animal, who looks back at his human with an expression that suggests he should be grateful for the attention. Then the feline walks in a circle, curls up against Mr. Force’s thigh, and closes his eyes.