ryanne
After tossingand turning all night long, I miss three of my alarms and end up rolling out of bed thirty minutes late. Things only went downhill from there. My unruly hair refused to cooperate, and I barely managed to corral the rat’s nest into a messy bun before skipping makeup altogether. The next hit came when I rushed to my closet and realized I had forgotten to pick my clothes up from the cleaners. Looks like I’ll be wearing something from the “slightly already worn” pile. My cruddy luck holds out when I find a mile-long line at the coffee shop. Knowing I’ll never survive without my black gold, I force myself to ignore the time and wait.
As the elevator takes its sweet time up to the fifth floor, I promise myself I’m going to get my life in order. Tomorrow. I swear I’m rolling out of bed on the first alarm. I duck coworkers and rush down the hall to my office. In my haste, I fumble my way through the door and attempt to fling my backpack into the chair. Too bad my coffee doesn’t cooperate with my struggles, and I end up spilling the sticky brown liquid all over the front of my light blue silk blouse. Grumbling under my breath, I grab a Kleenex and attempt to blot out the spot. I look down at my ample chest and groan. The darn stain appears to have grown during my efforts and is covering my entire left boob. Just freaking great.
Time to forget about my typical early morning issues and get to work. I blow out my breath and turn on my laptop. My heart drops when I see the urgent email flickering on the screen. Shoot. I really picked the worst possible time to have the morning from hell. Glancing down at my watch, I realize I need to get my rear end into gear. The new CEO might frown upon his marketing director showing up late to our first meeting.
Taking a deep breath to calm the butterflies in my tummy, I grab my laptop and make my way to the conference room. Meeting the new boss first thing Monday morning before my caffeine kicks in really sucks. The rumor mill has been churning with speculation about the company’s future since our CEO and founder, Earl Benton, went to prison for tax fraud. As the Marketing Director for the Bent Out of Shape chain of gyms, I’ve been expecting to receive news that we are closing. Instead, I got an email asking me to meet with the new CEO and owner at nine-thirty today.
I glance down at my gray slacks and light blue blouse with the faded brown stain and cringe. A little notice would have been nice. Everyone knows I’m not a morning person. I barely make it out of bed and into the shower without my much-needed caffeine infusion.
Standing outside the conference room door, I gather my scattered wits before pasting a fake smile on my face. I walk confidently into the room and am shocked to realize there’s only one other person in the room. I expected a meeting full of department heads. A second later, I feel my pulse accelerate as my body overheats. Oh, wow. If this is the new CEO, I know the universe has it out for me. Blinking, I attempt to check him out without being obvious. This dude is massive. Not fat at all but ginormous. His shoulders are at least twice as wide as mine, and I’m not a tiny girl. His long, dark blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck, and I barely resist the urge to let it loose. My boss’ dark green eyes meet mine, causing my girly parts to tingle. How in the world can anyone expect me to work with the Greek god and not jump his bones? I step closer to the table and stumble, barely catching myself before I fall flat on my face. My hot new boss stands and rubs his bottom lip while staring at me. His dark eyes move slowly over my abundant curves and pause to stare at the stain on my chest.
Swallowing, I give my head a shake to clear the crazy thoughts and extend my hand. “Hi,” I blurt out, trying to dispel the heavy atmosphere surrounding us. Oof. My voice sounds like a bloated frog croaking. I clear my throat and try again. “I’m Ryanne Collier. Bent Out of Shape’s Marketing Director.”
His massive paw engulfs my hand, and I feel sparks shoot down my spine. “Derek Wescott.” He smiles. “Please have a seat.” His deep voice sends goosebumps following the sparks.
“Thank you, Mr. Wescott.” That’s better. I sound almost normal.
“Call me Derek.” His deep, husky voice sends my pulse soaring as he smiles at me.
Clearing my throat, I smile back. “I’m sorry for my appearance,” I apologize, attempting to get my needy girly parts under control. “I had a fight with my coffee cup and it won.” I wince as my caffeine-deprived brain shuts down and lets my mouth run away. Before I’m able to stop myself, I rattle off my long list of earlier catastrophes.
“We all have those mornings.” My new boss smiles, and I watch a dimple flash in his right cheek. His square jaw and the dimple in the middle of his chin remind me of Superman. “I hate Monday mornings. Actually, I hate all mornings,” he admits as I sit in the plush chair next to him. “I used to be a cop and worked night shift to avoid getting up early.”
I process the information, realizing Derek is not only hot, but he’s freaking perfect. Thankfully, he changes the subject before I’m able to embarrass myself further. Forcing myself to appear relaxed, I listen while he explains his plans for Bent Out of Shape. After making notes of his requests, I glance up and his movements catch my attention. My pulse hammers away in my chest as I watch his long, thick fingers tapping on the glass-top conference table. My virgin hussy side rears her head, demanding that I beg him to use those fingers on me.