I sprawl out on a cream-colored loveseat, my legs spread and my arm on the back.
“Does she have a résumé?” I say, not bothering to hide how unhappy I am about this forced chore. If he says there’s no résumé, I’m going to send her home for being half-assed. I deserve two-hundred-percent-assed effort.
Benedict raises an eyebrow. “I emailed it to you yesterday. I believe I even marked it urgent.”
Urgent for him, but not so urgent for me. Actually, it’d be better if the résumé had never crossed Ben
edict’s path. “I didn’t see it. It probably landed in a spam folder because even the Internet knows where it belongs.”
“This is important, Declan.”
“I agree. The thing is, it’s not your ribs that’re in danger. Did you know that when a rib cracks, it never really heals correctly? It pokes your lungs until you develop an abscess.”
Benedict ignores this dire factoid I made up on the spot. “Like I said, Kim vouched for her. And if it makes you feel better, I already looked up her employment history. The Ivy Foundation is legit, and it’s like—”
“No, stop. You’re going to make it sound nine million times better than it really is.”
The Ivy Foundation single-handedly cured cancer and fed steak and caviar to every child in the world. No. Not listening to his ridiculousness.
Three firm knocks come from the door.
“Interview time,” he says, rubbing his hands like a villain.
“If she seems even slightly crazy, tell her I’m dead.”
“Of course.”
“And don’t—”
Benedict opens the door. “You must be Yuna. I’m Benedict Brown. Come on in. Declan’s waiting for you.”
Damn it. He didn’t even stop to check the crazy level on her. And he just told her my name. Actually, he probably told her when he arranged for the interview to make sure she shows. He’s that desperate.
Forget the two months off. I’m just going to fire him.
But my indignation dies away when I spot the auburn-haired woman moving toward me. All the fine hair on my body bristles, and a ticklish tingling sensation spreads through me.
It’s her.
Chapter Nine
Yuna
I stand at the door to the suite, slightly nervous, but mostly excited.
I got up extra early, since I couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t because of jet lag. Flying first class generally prevents that, because I nap enough to make sure I won’t suffer too badly. It’s that ridiculously attractive stranger at the airport’s fault. Every so often he invades my head, like some unwelcome but overly hot barbarian warrior. Then he shoots me a smile with enough wattage to melt my control and wet my lady parts.
Which is crazy, because he didn’t smile at me like that. It’s like my brain is making stuff up to drive me nuts.
At least I didn’t dream about him with his glow-in-the-dark bulge. That’s a curse reserved for Eugene’s eyes only.
Thankfully, I can’t give in to a random impulse to call Mr. Hot Underwear Model because I threw out his card. It’s like my gut knew that card was going to be trouble.
But what fun, delicious trouble he would’ve been!
Nope, nope, nope. Not going to think about that. I am not going to regret tossing the card.
I did my best not to dwell on a man whose name I don’t know and whose number I’ll never recover. Then I spent over an hour fussing with my appearance until I was satisfied. My hair’s pulled back into a sleek French twist, and my makeup is mostly coral, with a hint of brown to bring out warmth and feminine sweetness in a professional way.