Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 117408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
My thoughts crumbled instantly after.
4 Jonah Brightly
All right… Okay… all right, this guy—no, this man— was not who I expected to be interviewing me today. He was sitting across from me, the sunlight from the open window playing on his face and highlighting him like a spotlight, and I was sitting in front of him, currently wondering what the hell was going on with me.
When I found this new job opening, I envisioned working out of a dimly lit and badly furnished office with a bunch of older guys cosplaying their inner Sherlock fetishes. I had no idea I’d be working out of a beautiful space alongside a man who could easily walk outside, pose by a palm tree, and have a full-time career as a cover model.
He was wearing a gray pair of slacks that fit him pretty tight, and he was definitely gifted with an ass, that part was obvious (and kind of hypnotizing if I’m being totally honest). I had a difficult time keeping my eyes from trailing downward when Fox was leading me to his office.
He was attractive, there was no denying that. Whether you were straight, gay, bi, wherever you landed, as long as you had functioning eyes, you could see that Gabriel “Fox” was a man who commanded attention. And if your eyes were of the nonfunctioning kind, you would most likely be able to tell how handsome he was by touch and scent alone.
Fingers softly brushing up that stiff jaw, over the freshly shaved cheeks, still gray with hair already growing back. The strong brows that marked eyes shielded by impressively long eyelashes. A nose that may have been broken once, but most likely healed better than it had started as.
And those lips. They were thick enough to lay your head on for a nap.
Holy shit, this guy was hot.
Hot? I mean… he’s attractive. He’s good-looking. Hot, though?
He leaned back in his seat. This had the effect of stretching his shirt over his chest, showing a dedication to the gym through the obvious rise and fall of his muscles. His expressive hazel eyes were locked on me, and it was only then that I realized he had asked me a question and I had yet to respond.
Mainly because I forgot the question.
Shit… Yep, this guy’s hot.
I’d deal with the bullshit that came with that realization later. Sure, I had found plenty of men attractive in my past, but… well, never like this. I had never felt this kind of heat before. A heat that rose inside me at such an intense clip, matching the undeniable heat that was sparking throughout the air around us.
“Sorry,” I said, clearing my throat. “The question again?”
He smirked, and for a second I thought that the bastard was taking pleasure in knowing just what he was doing to me.
“What would you say your biggest flaw is?”
Oh, yeah, that was the question. One of the classic and universally reviled interview questions known to mankind.
“I’m too organized,” I said, giving the classic and universally reviled answer known to interviewers.
He smiled and moved on, apparently knowing the question and answer were bullshit. We had already been sitting down together for a good half hour, and time was moving fast. I didn’t even realize how much time had passed from us just talking. For the first few minutes of the interview, I was nervous that Fox was one of those hard-asses that made things difficult for no reason other than to make things difficult. Thankfully, moments into the interview, I was assured that wouldn’t be the case. Fox was warm, if not a little guarded, and seemed to be as interested in me as I was in him.
In the job. As interested as I was in the job.
“All right, so now that we’ve got some basic questions out of the way…” Fox grabbed a folder from the side of his desk and opened it. I saw a copy of my resume flash in his hands before he leaned back and scanned it. I was sitting across from him in a comfortable dark blue chair. His office was big and airy, but it lacked anything that told me about Fox. There weren’t any picture frames or mementos; there weren’t any art pieces hanging on the wall or any books on the empty shelf. There was just a sad little plant that was definitely on its last leg—eh, last root?
“It says you were a police officer for three years before leaving the force?”
I nodded, pursed my lips. It was obvious what that looked like. Fox probably thought I had some kind of disciplinary issue, or maybe got booted off for some other, more nefarious reason.
It was neither of those things. Far from it. If I could, I’d still be out there, taking calls and making sure the Miami streets were safe for everyone. But with my tremble, I couldn’t do any kind of job that required me to have a gun.