Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Another reason why working for them would be a horrible idea is that I’d have to wear a blindfold and earplugs to keep from being in a constant state of horny arousal, like I’ve been ever since they walked in.
Just as the interview is winding down and I’m preparing to thank them and say my goodbyes, Mr. Bennett, who hasn’t done much talking, turns his beautiful smoky green eyes on me. “Tell us, Ana, are you a hard worker?”
The dance party inside me gets out of control and momentarily takes over my brain, because instead of describing my work ethic, my voice lowers to a purr, and I say, “Yes, Mr. Bennett. I like being worked hard.”
CHAPTER 2
ANA
Whoooops! How did that slip out?
This is why you shouldn’t read smut right before a job interview!
The energy in the room shifts immediately, and the men’s eyes narrow in a way that no longer reads as irritation.
Shit! They did not miss the double meaning in my response, and they’re not going to politely ignore it and let me save face.
They’re looking at me differently now, their focus drifting down to my lips then returning to my eyes with an intensity that nearly knocks me back in my chair, and I love it.
They still look grouchy, but more in a “you’ve been naughty and I need to turn you over my knee” kind of way—or am I just imagining that and projecting my own dirty thoughts onto them?
“I’m very dedicated, and always willing to go the extra mile,” I say, trying to pretend I didn’t just imagine both of them bending me over the table. Even though I don’t want to work for them, I also don’t want to completely ruin my professional reputation. I need to keep it together.
As stubborn as I suspected, they don’t let it drop. Elbows on the table, hands clasped under his chin, Mr. Brooks leans in. “Tell us more about how you like to be worked … hard.”
Okay, deep breath. This is my chance to redeem myself and get this interview back on track. “I’m a hard worker because I’m not afraid to lean in and get really hands on.”
One of Mr. Brooks’s brows arches, making me realize that didn’t sound much better. My brain is scrambled, but for some reason, I try again. “I’m not afraid to get down and dirty to get things done.”
Oh shit, oh shit! Quick as I can, I reach across the table and retrieve my resume copies. I can’t leave any trace of myself behind, because I need to pretend this never happened. “Thank you for your time. I’ll just show myself out. Have a good evening.”
I’m halfway to freedom when one of their deep voices stops me in my tracks. “Not so fast, Miss Flores.”
“You can call me Ana.” Why did I say that? I’m leaving. They don’t need to call me anything.
“Maybe you should show us exactly how you like to be worked.” It’s Mr. Brooks—Derek—talking. Both men have turned in their chairs to face me, and I’m unable to take another step toward the door. My attraction to them is too strong.
“We need to be sure you’re a good fit for the job, and we want to be sure we’re a good fit for you,” Jansen Bennett says.
Oh, if I thought I was making things sound dirty, I have nothing on Derek and Jansen. They have filthy, filthy things on their minds.
Part of me is still clinging to one last little shred of professionalism, but it’s like a rope frayed to a single fiber. This interview is actually over, and I know I’m not going to work here, but I need to see where this goes.
It’s not every day that two men this hot come on to me. Not any day, actually. This has never happened, probably never will again, and I don’t want to leave with regrets.
The conference room door is closed. There are no internal windows, only the ones facing out to the far-off vista. The receptionist was going home, and hopefully the rest of the office is empty, too.
“What would you like me to do?” The words come out of my mouth as if someone else is controlling my voice.
“You can start by undoing a couple of buttons on your blouse.” It’s Jansen speaking, and it feels like he’s issuing a dare.
Can I do this? Should I do this? It’s ridiculous, and so very inappropriate, but my fingers are apparently under the same control as my voice.
Keeping my eyes on the two men, I find the top button on my blouse and slip it out of its slot. Derek’s nostrils flare. Jansen’s eyes go dark. I undo another button, and both men shift in their seats.
Nothing that’s happening seems real, except for the way the two of them are watching me.