Page 3 of His & Hers

“You wouldn’t be my first.”

2

ALICE

“Good Afternoon, Deacon Enterprises.”

I tapped my nails on the desk as the receptionist diligently took notes from the caller.

“Excuse me, Miss, are you being attended to?”

I turned to my right to see a man dressed in a grey suit. With his black hair slicked back, his eyes traveled up and down my body greedily.

“Does it look like it?” I lifted a brow, and he chuckled.

“What can I do for you, Miss...” he trailed off when I fixed him with a glare.

“I’m here to see Lucas Deacon.”

I ignored his question, and he suddenly changed his demeanour.

“Oh, let me take you up to his secretary. It’s on the top floor,” he informed me as we walked towards the elevators.

My heels clicked on the floor as I followed him, wishing I hadn’t bothered coming. I’d promised my mom I’d come for the interview, but I was not planning on getting the job.

Oh no.

I didn’twantto go to college. I was lazy, and I was under no illusions that I needed to sort my life out, or Mom would lose her shit with me. I dreamed of becoming a dancer on one of the cruise ships, and I was genuinely so excited aboutthatinterview. My sharp wit convinced Mom I would do well in business, and she begged me to give this a go.

Thiswas to please my mom.

“This way, Miss,” said Grey Suit, and I nodded coolly.

The desk he led me to was pristine and made of granite. The windows were floor to ceiling up here and gave a magnificent view of the city.

“Name?” Asked the secretary in a clipped tone. I noticed Grey Suit peering at me with interest.

“Miss Fallon,” I said, and she nodded.

“Take a seat.”

She gestured to the seats beside the desk, and I noticed a coffee machine. Thank God; I was dying.

I’d been out until late, and I needed coffee to keep me awake today.

Suppressing a yawn, I walked over to the coffee machine, my red nail gliding over the buttons while considering my options.

“Miss Fallon?” boomed a deep voice, making me jump. I whirled on my heels to see the owner of the voice.

Holy fuck.

A man, who had to be Lucas Deacon, held open a glass door, his green eyes appraising me as he sucked in a breath through his teeth. His hair was the color of the night, his olive skin making his eyes pop out against thick lashes, and he wore a navy suit, which clung to his ripped body.

I lost my tongue when he smirked at me.

“This way.”

Lucas held out a hand to direct me into his office, and I tried to gather myself.