“I am…very flexible.” I swallow nervously and glance at the window again. This doesn’t feel like an interview. “What other questions do you have, Mr. Douglass?” I try to recover control and concentrate on even breathing.
“More than we have time for, Miss Evans.”
The rest of the interview goes a little more like a normal one. I try to ignore the heated looks he gives me and the way he bites his lip when he’s supposed to be paying attention to my answers and not my chest. I like the attention, but I know I have to be careful that he doesn’t recognize me. If he does, I’m sure he’ll point me toward the door. He likely won’t be too keen on hiring Jeff Donovan’s little girl as his assistant.
It’s a good thing I have my mother’s maiden name. I started using it right before the start of college. Relying on Dad’s money is better than relying on his name. Especially when that name comes up a little too often in business deals that are technically good, but morally questionable.
He doesn’t know who I am—I repeat it over and over again, trying to calm myself. Even though a small sliver of me hoped he would remember, that somehow I wasn’t totally forgettable, and unremarkable.
I force my face to stay professional despite my mind basking in the heat of my favorite high school memory.
“Dismiss the other candidates.” He says into his phone. Mr. Douglass pauses and arches an eyebrow at me. “Unless you’re not interested?”
“Who said I wasn’t interested?” I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
He tries to hide a smile. “I’m verifying.”
“I’ll take the job, but with my experience,” not that I bring up the embarrassingly short time I spent at each job, “I think that I have earned a little more than the starting pay.”
He smirks at me and leans back in his chair. “You’re going to negotiate?”
“You already dismissed the others. I’m all you have left.”
James chuckles. “Well played Miss Evans. Let’s talk.”
“Seven thousand more a month.” I cross my arms over my belly, pushing my breasts up. If he’s going to look, I’m going to abuse it. “I’m sure you, as the boss, can approve something as small as that.”
“I will agree to that kind of raise, if you attend all work events with me. No questions asked.”
“Then I’ll need a budget for clothing.”
“Very good, Claire. I’m impressed.” He tries hiding his smile.
I try to keep my face even. “As I’m assuming your events are formal.”
“Or more.” He nods. “Very well. A credit card with no limit. However, if you cancel on an event, we will have problems.”
“Unless I use sick time or I’m on PTO, of course. Because you’d never put me in an undesirable position,” I protest.
“Of course not. Think of the events as a perk of the job—afunposition to be in.”
“I think that depends on the company.” I feel my lips curl up.
He reaches for my hand. “Well done, Miss Evans. I look forward to seeing you Monday in the office.”
I agree, sliding my hand fully into his. Rough and calloused, his fingers envelope mine easily. I feel short, almost dainty in his presence. His eyes roam over me, and he nods with the slightest of smirks at the corner of his mouth.
Do not blush. Do not blush. I beg my face to cooperate.
I don’t think I would have gotten the job if he knew who I was. Not after the falling out he had with my father. From best friends to nothing at all. Dad never cuts people out of his life entirely, but I haven’t heard the name James in our house since then. Dad won’t be happy if he finds out I’m working for James Douglass, but I know it’s the best move for me. He’s become a billionaire and he’s going to pay me more than I hoped. Whatever issues there are between James and Dad belong to them; it’s really none of my business. And now that Dad has forced me to get a job, where I work and whom I work for is none of his business.
“Go fill out all the HR paperwork so we can get it out of the way. You’ll be too busy come Monday and I want to have all of your attention.”
“Yes, sir.” I nod and smile politely.
I complete the paperwork carefully, then head home. The drive doesn’t help. Neither does the hot water rolling over me in the shower. I’m still a fidgeting mess. I can’t stop thinking about Mr. Douglass. God, if only he knew it was me. Closing my eyes as I scrub shampoo into my hair only brings me back to his handsome face, leering at me with only a desk between us. He’s better than I remember. The years only added to his sex appeal.
My hand slides down, following the trail of suds, over my breasts, my hard nipples, and between my legs. How many times have I touched myself over the years to thoughts of him? How many times had I used a dildo thinking of his hard cock, still wet from the shower?