I don’t even know what they sell. Some product for stores or something, whatever. It doesn’t matter; I’m good to sell anything they want me to. Whether it’s toothpaste, ovens, couches, tickets, or even fucking dildos, I will work with it. Nothing’s off-limits to me, and I will promise I will do nothing short of my best to make him—whoever the hell is behind that door in the corner—happy.
Because that’s just who I am. A hardworking, restless, ruthless bitch who gets the job done while still looking pretty.
“What’s your name, please?” the woman suddenly asks.
“Lesley. Fischer.” I check my watch. “Look, can I just walk in? I’m sure he’s waiting for me.”
“Please hold on, ma’am,” she says with a snooty voice.
I sigh out loud as she continues typing.
“I’m sorry. I can’t seem to find any appointment here noted to your name.”
“Well, that’s a mistake.” I tap the desk with my nails. “I made the appointment with Mr. Morrows himself.”
“Right …” She narrows her eyes.
“Look … uh …” I check her nametag and then say, “Gillian, Mr. Morrows is waiting for me. Now you can either let me through or deal with him being pissed off when he realizes I wasn’t given a chance. Which is it?”
She chuckles. “I doubt it.”
“Oh, please,” I say, rolling my eyes. I don’t have time to let some snotty woman decide whether I get this internship, and if I don’t show up now and he’s waiting for me, I can kiss that job goodbye. “I don’t have time for this.”
I turn and walk straight to the room with his name on it.
“Wait!” Gillian scoots back her chair and scurries after me. “Excuse me! You’re not allowed to just walk in there.”
“Watch me,” I say. I don’t have anything to lose.
“Stop,” the woman says, but I ignore her as I grab the door handle and open the door.
However, my stride toward victory halts instantly the moment I see a man in a suit doing a funny dance with a cup of coffee in his hand in front of the window with the song “Sexy and I Know It” blaring.
Both Gillian and I stare in shock as he keeps going, oblivious to our presence.
I slowly bring my fist up to the door and knock on the wood.
The guy turns around and freezes, his eyes flickering back and forth between me and Gillian. He almost chokes on his coffee and gulps it down with a painful swallow before turning down the volume and setting his cup on the desk. He clears his throat, pats down his tie, and pretends he wasn’t just dancing as he sits down on his chair.
“I couldn’t stop her—” Gillian begins.
He raises a hand at her, and she immediately stops.
Then his eyes roam across my face … and body. From top to bottom, he leaves nothing unscathed, and I feel like some sexy devil in disguise has just stripped me of my clothes.
Because damn did that dance look sexy as hell.
And funny. That too.
I’m still not sure whether I should be laughing or swooning, or maybe both.
This is so damn confusing.
I clutch my bag close to my body and say, “I’m Lesley Fischer.”
“I know,” he says.
The smirk that follows is so damn bold; it feels like he just set my panties on fire.
Why, Lesley? Why do you have to be so easy?
No, I will not let that sexy smile and dark eyes distract me. No matter how much I want to stare at them and imagine nothing else exists.
Luckily, he looks at Gillian. “We have an appointment.” He casually checks his watch. “Right about now.”
“Oh …” Gillian holds her breath, looking a little flabbergasted as she realizes I spoke the truth, and I take the opportunity to rub it in by narrowing my eyes at her and giving her a fake smile.
“Thank you, Gillian,” Mr. Morrows says with a nod, dismissing her.
Yes, please.
With my head held high, I watch her step back and close the door, leaving me alone with Mr. Morrows. And the air in the room suddenly becomes a lot thicker.
Much like his body … flexing in that suit.
I wonder what it looks like underneath.
Keep it together, you thirsty bitch.
Don’t forget the mission: Land an internship.
“Miss Fischer …” He leans up and holds out his hand. “TJ Morrows.”
I walk up to him, determined not to let his good looks deter me from a professional meeting.
When I grab his hand, his grip is firm but gentle. Like a warm welcome. “Nice to meet you.”
I really don’t want him to take his hands off mine even though he does.
“Likewise,” he says, and he points at the chair next to me. “Sit, sit.”
I lick my lips and sit down on the chair in front of the desk while placing my bag on the floor. But no matter how many times I try to redo the first look I gave him, it always ends with me turning into a puddle because of his good looks.