Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
“It’s gong to be fine.”
“I guess.”
I tried to take her words to heart, but I still slept fitfully that night. I tossed and turned half the night, wondering about my interview with the rich old asshole who’d hold my future in his hands.
Chapter 3
Holy shit.
The foyer of Camelot Holdings was all steel and silver trim with rich, marbled mahogany wood finishes. I took a seat in the modern, yet deeply rich lobby with four other women, all quite pretty and dressed identically to me in shades of gray and black skirt suits and formal blouses.
I swallowed, feeling my pulse race. Why was I so nervous? Okay, it was a job interview — a job interview I needed pretty desperately. Yes, Sasha had made it quite clear that she had more than enough space, not to mention finances to basically have me stay with her, Luke, and Jordan indefinitely, but I knew I’d go nuts if I didn’t at least try to do something job-wise.
But I shouldn’t have been so nervous.
I glanced up at the silver-inlay lettering above the receptionist’s desk.
Camelot Holdings.
I rolled my eyes, imagining the old dork who thought that up.
A soft metallic clunk of a door made me glance back to the boss’s office besides the receptionist’s desk. A pretty, young woman about my age left the office looking flustered, breathless, and pink in the face.
She looked scared.
I swallowed.
“Ms. Holloway?”
I stared, blinking at the scared girl as she got into the elevator.
“Ms. Holloway?”
I blinked again and turned back.
“Yes?”
The older receptionist glared at me from her desk.
“They’ll see you now.”
A shiver ran up my back.
“They?”
She gave me an exasperated look.
“The bosses.”
I frowned.
Bosses? As in plural?
“Bosses?”
She all but rolled her eyes at me.
“Yes, dear. Mr. Black, Mr. Caldwell, and Mr. Harlow.” She frowned at me. “The men you’re interviewing with in order to personally assist, Ms. Holloway.”
I felt that shivering chill creep down my back again.
Jesus there were three of them? Three old assholes I was going to have to report to? God, no wonder the position paid so well!
“Can’t keep them waiting, dear,” she said thinly, gesturing at the door.
“Through there.”
I swallowed heavily as I rose and smoothed down my skirt and blouse before slowly stepping to the thick wooden door.
The long hallway past the door from the reception area was lowly lit and endless. My heels clicked loudly on the marble floor as I slowly made my way closer and closer to the office.
Their office — the office of Mr. Black, Mr. Caldwell, and Mr. Harlow, apparently.
I suddenly wished I’d done my homework a little better before coming to the interview.
“Enter.”
The deep voice resonated through the door as I knocked. I took one final breath before I placed my hand on the silvered knob, turned it, stepped into the room…
…And promptly almost tripped over my jaw.
I’d been picturing three stuffy, crotchety old men — three bent-over, grey-haired senior citizens with bifocals and walking canes.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
The three men waiting for me in the room were simply gorgeous. Young, ruggedly handsome, built men. One stood by the window, the other leaned against a thick wooden desk facing the door, and the third sat to one side on a sofa with his feet up on a small coffee table. But all three of them stared right at me with intense, burning, hungry stares.
I swallowed again, feeling the heat pulse to my cheeks under their gaze.
“Close the door, Ms. Holloway,” the man leaning against the front of the desk murmured, his voice smooth like leather and dark wood.
I did as I was told, shivering as I shut myself into the room with these three intense men.
“Sit,” the man on the sofa said sharply, gesturing at a chair in the middle of the room between me and them. I nodded quickly and made my way to it, smoothing my skirt down nervously as I took a seat.
“You seem surprised,” the man by the window growled out, his sharp blue eyes flashing and only accentuated by the dark, slightly curled hair on his head.
The man leaning against the desk — blonde and also blue-eyed with a chiseled jawline — chuckled darkly, crossing his arms across his chest.
I took a shaky breath, and started to open my mouth when the dark-haired man on the sofa shook his head, holding a hand up.
“You aren’t the first woman we’ve met with today who was expecting to meet with perhaps somewhat older interviewers.” He smirked, his dark eyes flashing at me.
“We keep ourselves and our company out of the media light, Ms. Holloway. We prefer to keep things personal.” He purred the last word in a way that only warmed the flush in my cheeks more.
God, they’re so attractive.
I mentally admonished myself for the thought that crept into my head — well, that and the other highly unprofessional ones that followed involving the men in front of me. And yet, it couldn’t be helped. The men were stunningly good looking, in that unfair, biological way. They were attractive in that magnetic way that pulls at you on an evolutionary level, and they were certainly pulling at something deep inside of me.