Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
He looked down where I gripped his suit jacket. He said nothing. “I can do this job well,” I pleaded. “Interview me.” I dropped my hand. “Please.”
He scowled, turning and heading into what I assumed was his office. “You have ten minutes,” he said over his shoulder.
I blinked.
“The clock is ticking, Ms. Myers.”
I shook my head to clear it, and I followed him.
BANE
I watched her struggle out of her coat, pulling down the cuffs of her ivory-colored blouse. It was an old-fashioned affair with lace and ruffles on the long sleeves.
It was oddly sexy on her.
Her skirt was black with a slit on the side. It drew attention to her shapely legs and the fact that she wasn’t wearing shoes. Her stockings had holes on the feet. I tried not to laugh at the mental image of her darting around Pete downstairs and rushing up the steps. I was surprised he hadn’t called up to warn me of a security breach and imminent attack.
Then again, he was old, had trouble seeing from his left eye, and probably didn’t notice her sneaking past him. None of us had the heart to fire him. He was retiring in a year, and the “assistant” we’d hired to help out did most of the work. He must have been absent from the desk when Ms. Myers showed up.
She sat down with a small huff, smoothing down her skirt. “Ready.”
I knew without looking that her feet didn’t touch the floor. Again, a wave of amusement hit me, but I refused to show it.
“Why should I hire you? You’re late, unorganized, and, frankly, a hot mess.”
“You think I’m hot?”
I blinked, once again fighting a smile. “I didn’t say you were hot. I said you were a hot mess. Broken shoes, wet coat, ripped stockings. You look like an orphan.”
“I am,” she said in a small, broken voice. “I have no one in this world. I’m all alone.”
I was at a loss as to what to say next. Then she laughed. “Gotcha. Oh, the look on your face. Priceless.” She giggle-snorted.
The sound made my lips twitch again, but I schooled my expression, scowling at her. “You’re wasting your ten minutes.”
She straightened her shoulders. “I am normally very organized. I don’t know much about plants, but I can revise your calendar, make your days seamless, your files perfection, and deliver an awesome cup of coffee and lunch every day without fail. I can work late if needed, be available to accompany you on site visits or out-of-town business trips. I’m very good with numbers and spreadsheets. I’m an Excel genius, and no one will get past me if that is what you tell me to do.” She drew in what I assumed was a much-needed breath. “And I am very cordial and friendly on the phone.”
I resisted laughing at that. I had a feeling this woman was way too friendly all the time.
She cast her eyes around the room. “I know how to use a 3-D printer, and I am familiar with CAD.”
I liked those attributes. No other candidate had them. I didn’t need for her to know about plants. As a landscape architect, that was my job. I needed her to run my office.
“Who says I need my calendar revised or that there is anything wrong with my files?”
“Why would you be looking for an assistant again so soon?”
“So soon?” I repeated.
“I have applied for this job four times. This is the first interview I’ve gotten. I assume none of the other hires have met your exacting demands.” She lifted her chin, the light catching on her lovely hair. “You’ve been waiting for me.”
I liked her spunk, although I preferred my assistant less exuberant. I pulled a sheet of paper from a file, handing it to her. “You have a minute to tell me what is wrong with this budget.”
I studied her as she looked over the paper. Her lips moved as she read it, her eyes darting from line to line quickly. She bit one corner of her mouth, drawing attention to the shape of her lips. Pouty. Full. Sensual. She ran a finger along the columns, narrowing her gaze, then tapping her cheek. Her skin was creamy and looked soft—much like the petals of the tree she was named for.
Magnolia.
It was pretty.
So was she.
She was different. She wore little makeup, allowing her natural beauty to shine through. Her long, straight hair was chestnut colored. Reddish in the light. Dark in the shadows. Her eyes were a deep brown—so dark it was hard to see where the iris ended and the pupil began.
Her skin was smooth, kissed with a pinkish undertone. My gaze dropped to her mouth again. Her lips were full and soft-looking.
Inviting, if I was interested.
Which I wasn’t.
But it was the band of freckles across her nose that caught my attention. Gold in color, they were a perfect symmetry that swept over the bridge and diluted to a fan of dots along each cheek in flawless alignment. I could easily see that when she blushed, the band would be brighter than anywhere on her face.