His Good Girl

Fuck. Me.

If I thought his voice was delicious, it was nothing—and I do mean nothing—compared to the man himself. He. Was. Gorgeous. Icy blue eyes narrowed at me as his sharp jaw flexed. He had a shadow of a beard as dark as his hair and soft lips which seemed at odds with his otherwise hard features. His shoulders were broad, and his arms bulging with muscle. I had the feeling that if he were standing, he would tower over my five-foot-three stature.

“Ms. Rivers,” he drawled, gesturing to the seats across from his, “I said you can sit.”

I blinked, too late realizing I’d been staring at him with my mouth wide open. My face was on fire as I scurried to settle in one of the chairs.

“Um … hello. I’m sorry, sir, I just …” Can’t breathe, can’t think clearly, because—holy shit—you are stunning.

Everything a man was supposed to be and more.

“Take a breath, Ms. Rivers,” he ordered, though in a gentler voice than before. “There is no reason to be nervous.”

Flicking the tip of my tongue over my lips, I moved my head up and down slowly. “Y

es, sir.”

The muscles in his broad shoulders tensed. Glancing down at his immaculate desk, he picked up a single sheet of paper and scanned through it before clearing his throat. “Your resume is very interesting, Ms. Rivers. I can’t say I expected a Philosophy major from Boston College to be interested in a personal assistant job. Especially at an architectural firm. Tell me, what drew you to the position?”

Desperation.

Obviously, I couldn’t say that. Couldn’t divulge my real motives, or risk losing just about everything I cared about. Still, I was good at reading people, and Mr. Maslow read as someone who appreciated blunt honesty. So, if not the whole truth, maybe he would be more willing to give me a chance if I gave some of it.

“To be honest, there isn’t a lot of work out there for a Philosophy major with no Masters or PhD. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m in need of just about any job right now because I have bills that can’t wait.”

His beautiful blue eyes narrowed to thin slits. “I see.”

Shit! He doesn’t sound impressed.

“Bu-but I’ve always had an interest in architecture.” Not totally a lie. At one point, when I was young, I’d thought being an architect was the coolest job ever. Then I realized the woefully limited extent of my design talent. Clearing my throat, I continued, “When I saw the position online, I thought it would be a great opportunity to get involved in the field despite not having the formal training and education specific to it.”

He didn’t respond immediately. He rested his elbows on his desk and clasped his hands together in front of his full lips. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing his forearms. They were so muscular that I could see veins bulging beneath his bronze skin. I was a sucker for forearms, and his were exceptional.

Just like the rest of him.

“Ms. Rivers, let me cut to the chase. I do not care whether you are interested in architecture or not. You’re obviously intelligent, and I have no doubt you’ll pick up the parts of the business I need you to know quickly. My personal assistant will not only be involved in my business, however. I need someone I can count on, who won’t balk those times I call outside of work hours. Who will do what I ask, when I ask, without question or hesitation.”

“Yes, si—” I started, but the words died on my lips at the sharp look he gave me.

“I am a very particular man, and I like things done a certain way. I need whoever I hire to understand and respect that. It will not be an easy job, as I am not, nor will I ever be, an easy man to work for. But if you think you can handle it, the position is yours.”

Wait, what?

I probably looked like a fool when I blinked rapidly. “I … just like that?”

The corner of his mouth quirked as he nodded. “Just like that.”

“Why?” I knew it was probably an idiot move to question such a fortunate turn of events, but I couldn’t help myself. This man didn’t know me. Before today, we’d never spoken—his HR department had reached out to me with the interview request. All he had to go off regarding my character and abilities was a resume and a cover letter, and even those probably weren’t the best since I couldn’t afford a resume service.

Why did he just blindly believe I was good for this job?

Leaning back in his chair, he studied me for several moments, the intensity behind his stare turning my breath into ragged wisps.

“I have rather fine-tuned instincts when it comes to people, Ms. Rivers, and those instincts tell me to hire you,” he said at last. “If you do not think you’re capable, you simply have to say so and be on your way. The choice is, ultimately, yours.”

No, it’s not. I have no choice.

If I had a choice, I’d be enrolled in grad school right now. I wouldn’t live in a shitty apartment or need to wear other people’s old clothes. I wouldn’t be going home to a dinner of instant ramen, or spend the night praying I could pay all the bills that were piling up on my kitchen table. I would be able to give my mother the home she deserved after all she sacrificed for me.