Stephanie had her chin held high with her fingers steepled. Her slender legs were crossed over the other and if anyone were to look at the young woman, they would think she seemed like a very confident person but that's highly incorrect. The woman wasn't as confident as she seemed to the open eyes, if not even confident at all.
Because in reality, the girl's gentle face was twisted and screwed in fear, fear for a man that made all women weak in the knees with a simple smile if he ever were to.
That man would be her boss, at least Steph could only manifest that fantasy.
Mr. Oliver Blackthorn was a man of rare words with a cold stare and rested pout that would make anyone squirm in the likes of him. But as for Steph, she felt like she could claim the position like an object in a store, just simply take it off the shelf and drop it into her shopping cart butall objects are at cost, aren't they?
She felt the sweat creating a puddle between her stapled thighs but she didn't want to break her position as she didn't slouch.
'No man likes a slouching woman, Steph.' Stephanie reminded herself of the lesson she's been taught in the past. She was no princess as her sisters and unlike her they seemed to have listened to their mother's advice. Steph only wished she did because now she was stuck with a somewhat giraffe's posture.
It was no comfortable situation for Steph as the bra pads she applied this morning kept moving against her chest. It only added to her long list of why she shouldn't have come for an interview in the afternoon.
'Where is that CEO?' The man's assistant said that he would be with her in no longer than ten minutes. It was now, if Steph was in the track of time, twenty one minutes later. She actually counted every minute. Again, she wasn't in a pleasant situation. Her makeup she spent half an hour on that morning was starting to fade like wet ink dripping down a post paper and not to mention her hair — it kept sticking to the sweat on her forehead. All in all, Steph more resembled more of a wet cat rather than the sexy magazine look she was going for.
"Why did I think I could pull off Ariana Grande out of all looks?" She tried blowing the sticky hair from her face, 'Perhaps I can make him focus on something else." She removed the red matte lipstick from her fake Louis purse and smeared it all over her thick lips. As she outlined her lip, the lipstick snapped in half, falling through the space in her thighs and smearing the white carpet.
"Oh, no…" The girl's eyebrows pinched together. She slapped her hands over her mouth and stared at the red on the carpet she was sure cost more than her, "What do I do, what do I do?" Stephanie resembled an owl when she searched her surroundings before she dropped onto her knees, going further onto her elbows when she started scrubbing the carpet with her palms. She arched her back, putting more strength into the movement but didn't hear when the door opened.
She continued to roll her hips back and forth, her skirt riding up her thighs until the underwear she told herself that no one would see was revealed.
Mr. Blackthorn on the other hand did. His eyebrows furrowed when he closed the door behind him, his eyes landing on the woman...well not the woman but her plump tan ass that was arched in front of him.
He blinked, "Lace…pink? Interesting choice, Miss…" He paused, "I actually don't know who you are." He licked his lips, anger clearly setting on his face.
Stephanie's entire body went into shock and when jumped her head crashed against the table over her. Groaning, she turned around and her soul officially left her when her eyes landed on a glaring Mr. Blackthorn.She immediately went to her feet and for a person who hated sports she changed position rather effortlessly.
"Oh Mr. Blackthorn? I didn't see when you got here." She removed a strand of hair from her face before she placed her hands on the table behind her, not knowing what to do with them but also at the same time remembered that they were painted red from her lipstick incident earlier.
Nothing was going as she planned.
Screw her life.
Why did she have to mess everything up? She couldn't get one simple task of keeping her butt against a single cushion chair.
He shut the door with quiet precision, his gaze steady and unreadable. There was no smirk, no overt interest in his expression. But the fact that he'd noticed at all made her pulse trip over itself.
"Miss Anderson." He crossed the room, his steps slow, controlled. Up close, the photographs hadn't done him justice — his features were sharper, his presence heavier. "You're late."
Her brows pulled together. "I've been here twenty minutes."
"Late in making an impression." he said, crossing the room toward her with measured steps.
"I wasn't aware I was supposed to perform."
A flicker of something — amusement? — crossed his features. "Everyone performs in this building. Even if they don't realize it."
He stopped in front of her, close enough that she caught the faint scent of clean cologne, tempered by something darker. He looked her over once, not lingering anywhere, yet she felt as though he'd catalogued every detail.
'Take a seat." The words ran off his tongue like a steady stream and Stephanie shivered. They were right about this man, he must be thinking of killing her?
"Why are you so tense?" He asked the bewildered girl, walking ever so closer just so that he could intimidate her. He didn't need a child to work for him.
"Because I…"
"You?" He raised a perfectly shaped brow and tilted his head down to her tiny level. Steph swore she would have a heart attack, the man was simply too gorgeous. Seeing him up close, she felt she immediately achieved so much in life. He deserved to be in a museum and no, she was not being dramatic. She had seen him multiple times in the magazines before but through the magazines his good looks were not shown justice.
She bowed her head, the man standing in front her was highly above her and she was not referring to his above six feet height.
"Please forgive me, sir." She sealed her bottom lip between her teeth, an act of nervousness and slightly pivoting fear. "Your carpet I—" The man lifted his hand to her chin, claiming it so gently that Steph barely would have noticed if he hadn't lifted her face to his. She had not expected such and her eyes almost widened. His touch shivered the skin on her chin and continued to her stomach. Whatever feeling she felt could not have been butterflies, surely it was different.
"Take. A. Seat." His tone shifted to demand, his voice edged with euphonic rasp and baritone.
"You want me to sit?"
"That would be appreciated." He said with furrowed brows, "This is an interview is it not? I do not have time for this."
Sure, the girl finally admitted to herself that the man was gorgeous but his attitude and angered demeanor was uncalled for and rude, reminding her that he was an asshole. A dangerous one at that. She crossed her arms and walked over to the chair.
"Must you be so hoity-toity." She pursed her lips, "Rich men and their attitude." She murmured the last of her sentence.
"Hoity-toity?" The man dragged out his chair and took a seat at his desk. Though they were separated by a table, Steph felt as though she could still feel his heat on her body. "Alright then, pink lace." A smirk pulled at his lips.
'Great, so he did see it…"
However Steph did not back down, "You're wearing a donkey's buttock for a face." He was not, he was gorgeous, she knew it.
"The ladies don't think that." He scratched the scruff on his chin.
"Well I am not one of your ladies." She made quotations with her fingers.
"Are you sure because I'm sure you'll be begging for it just as much as they do." The words came out of his mouth effortlessly, the monotone in his voice making it seem as though it was sweet honey rather than spicy.
She covered her mouth with her palms, but could not deny that his erotic gaze had caused her face to heat. "That is vulgar. This is an i-interview." She gulped. "I should try suing you." She was only rambling now.
"This is my building," He practically boasted, "And I own multiple districts here in New York. Your threat does not perturb me."
She rolled her eyes, "Then I may leave. I always found Canada better. Much better men there anyway."
He scoffed out a laugh and her brows knitted, "I demand to know what's so funny?"
"You know about men?" He asked, somewhat finding her statement humorous.
"I do in fact. I prefer my men, kind and content and without attitude."
"And that is why you have not any." He uncapped a pen cap with his teeth and began writing on what seemed to be her resume.
"What." She shimmied her buttocks in the seat, anger riling up her body, "I've had lots of men!" She blurted a lie.
"Sure." His eyes slid over her, "Do you expose your undergarments to them on first meetings as well?"
Her face heated, "I have nothing to say to you. You change women like you change clothes in your magazines. You would be most compatible with a stone. You're a…a smug, pompous—"
"Done?" He asked bored, and silence followed.
"Yes." She exhaled. He was about to stand when he spoke again, his next few words draining the red from her face.
"Good." He set his pen down. "You will be my wife."
Her eyes widened, to her the man was speaking utter nonsense. She waited for him to laugh, to say that he was simply being humorous but his expression was stoned. "Excuse me?" She blinked, taken aback, "Are you insane? You can not possibly be sane if that is what I heard you say."
The man continued to scribble on the paper, disinterested in the girl's outburst. "You will marry me, I fell in love with you, my assistant." He said casually as if it was somewhat ordinary. "That means that you're hired, by the way."
Steph grasped her knees, "This is sending me insane. I did not sign for this. I will not be one of your subjects."
"Trust me, shortcake, I wouldn't want you to be. Bite-size isn't my type." He opened his desk drawer and searched through his files, took out a folder and placed it in front of the enraged girl, "I thought you would be a little more excited that you're being hired."
"Hired?" She repeated, incredulous, " Is this what this is? How is marriage a part of this position? I was assigned to be an assistant? A secretary. Since when does a secretary position come with a ring!?'
"And you will be, any position you want " He leaned back into his chair and crossed his legs, "You will be my assistant in name yes. But I need you to be more. Like I said, you will be an assistant whom I fell in love with. Sweet office romance, a story everyone loves." He then sighed once staring at her blank expression, "I am being blackmailed. A rumor is supposedly to be released about me where I can possibly lose my company if it were to escalate. I do not have much time." His gaze flicked to the folder, " If you open that file you will have the information on Samantha Campbell, she is the one trying to sue me," He huffed, a regretful snicker on his face. "I need you to be my counter narrative."
Stephanie's brows furrowed, "And you chose me, why?"
"Because I can't use someone who will tremble or flatter. You won't." He paused. "You're sharp. Defiant. You push back. It will look real.", "And how does having a wife be of any help?"
"It was a misunderstanding, one I do wish to explain further. I trust that you should have caught on by now; I need you to be my wife to disclose the rumor."
And if I refuse?" she challenged, standing abruptly, ready to leave.
"You won't refuse." His voice cut through her protest like steel. "Six months. A salary you can't ignore. When it's done, you walk away with your name intact—maybe even stronger for it."
"And the catch?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
"One," he said, his tone calm, unyielding, his grey eyes dark and casted, "Do not fall in love with me. I will not return it. Strictly business. No strings."
"Fall for you? Who the hell do you think I am? You really are what those rumors say you are, a self centered…man." She paused, her hands gripping the strap of her bag, "I did not sign up for this. I'm leaving."
She stood abruptly, each step toward the door sharp, deliberate, her chest tight with a storm of fear and fury.
But as she glanced back, he was watching her, chair tilted, muscles relaxed but radiating a quiet , undeniable power. A smirk played on his lips—controlled, knowing, and impossible to read.
Trouble, she thought.