Page 5 of Consumed By You

“Of course.” Her gaze darts to the antique clock hanging on the wall. “Already five and you’re still here. I’m impressed. Come on, I’ll head out with you. I just have to make sure I’m free to go.”

She picks up her petite pocketbook and I follow her out of the room. She knocks on the Greek god’s door and already accustomed to his familiar low rasp, I hear him command her to enter. I shuffle a few steps to the side hastily so he can’t see me, wanting some time to gather and recuperate before our second meeting. I’ve embarrassed myself enough today.

“All right, Ben, I’m off if you don’t need me.”

Ben? She really does know him well.

Maybe one day I’ll be able to talk to him like that.

Oh, please. You’ll be lucky to call him Benjamin, let alone Ben.

“I’m fine. You can go.”

“Good night.”

“Good night, Doris.” There’s a moment of silence, then he asks, “Doris, is Miss Fontaine still here?”

Kill me now.

“Yes, sir.”

“Send her in, please. I want to speak with her.”

She walks out of the office, motioning for me to go in. I gulp and force my legs to move forward, unsteadily gliding past her into the lion’s den. I step into the room and catch him lean back in his seat. He’s lost the jacket, and shedding down to his dress shirt, my eyes feast briefly on the way the pressed broadcloth conforms to a long torso, neck held tight by a silver tie.

“Shut the door, please,” he requests politely, and my stomach drops to the floor. I do as he asks and turn back to look at him. “Take a seat. I won’t bite.”

He gestures to the leather seat in front of him.

I sit, pulling down my dress nervously even though it needs no adjusting. “Am I in trouble?”

He regards me intensely. “No. You’re my new assistant. I’d like to know more about you since I wasn’t able to perform the interview myself.”

“Oh.”

“Let’s start with you telling me about yourself.”

“What would you like to know?”

To my everlasting horror, he waits, not offering a word.

Shit.“I’m a literature major.”

“Literature.” He contemplates that for a moment. “So why did you apply to my company? Wouldn’t it have suited you better to apply for a position downstairs in the publishing house I own?”

Crap. Was that just a polite way to say he doesn’t want me as his assistant?

“I was offered an interview for this job, so I took the opportunity.”

He taps a pen against work laid out neatly on his desk. It’s distracting. “Honest. I like that.”

I fold my hands in my lap and hold his gaze in an attempt to gain the upper hand. I doubt I’ll achieve my goal, but it’s worth a try.

“How long have you lived in New York?” he asks and I simmer down, relieved he’s asking questions now.

My head is too conflicted to think about how to make myself sound more appealing. I don’t even know why I’m trying to make him desire me. He’s my boss, we could never be together.

“I’ve lived here for seven years now.”