“Pen, I was nervous, okay. It’s not the guy I researched in the car on the way to the interview. The guy, Mason, is young.Likeyoung and sexy,and his cologne was so damn heavenly that it must’ve messed with my brain chemistry. And, he had this hot assistant too, so it was a double-pronged wall of executive hotness staring at me while firing questions. I panicked.”
“Double-pronged wall of executive hotness?”
“YES!”
“And his assistant is Trystan Hynd. I know him well. "
“Oh. Well, you left that out of the brief.”
“Listen, Bri. I don’t know what you’re saying. Maybe your dad supplied you with too much whiskey or wine. But the email sent to us both requested your presence for a follow-up interview at Sercio tomorrow night.”
“Wait, what?” It comes out as a high-pitched squeal that startles the snoring man four seats over. He curses and falls back asleep almost instantly.
“I swear. Sent from Trystan Hynd, who I can only assume is part of this double-pronged wall. Anyway, he thanked you for your time on behalf of Mason and requested you meet him at Sercio for dinner at seven in the private dining room.”
“Holy shit.”
“I know! But Sercio is that newish restaurant on Third that no one can get into unless you’re a celebrity, sports star, or politician that matters. I will need you to swing by again tomorrow for cocktail dress selections. Bri, this is a good thing. A great thing. I don’t know how much that wall of hotness melted your brain cells, but you must’ve done something right, girl.”
Trystan’s tuxedo-clad frame dwarfs the doorway space to the private dining room at Sercio, where Sabrina Broe and I have a follow-up meeting scheduled in about ten minutes. She’s around eight minutes away from arriving, thanks to updates from the driver through the app we use for all our cars and security personnel.
“You didn’t have to come, you know. You could have gone straight to the opera.”
He shrugs a shoulder fitted in Armani and drags his tongue across the space between his teeth and lips; a classic tell of his. He is bored, anxious, or both.
“If your call runs long, I’m sure I can keep her entertained,” he says with a wink, showing my phone face up on the table. London has been patched in, but there is an issue with the Singapore connection, so we wait. The thought of Sabrina Broe spending superfluous time with my assistant annoys me beyond measure. Yet if she is the receiving party I choose to hire, she will spend an inordinate amount of time with both him and me.
“Mr. Mercer, sir, Singapore is available for you now, my apologies,” comes the wavering voice over the phone with a heavy British accent.
“Thank you, Lily,” I sound toward the phone, while holding up a hand to dismiss Trystan and allow him to receive Sabrina. Fuck! If this call wasn’t important, and not already running twenty minutes behind schedule, I’d doaway with it altogether. Now, my only option as the double doors close behind his retreating form, is to wrap it up as efficiently as possible. “Gentlemen.” It comes out as a purr, the rasp ratcheting up the mood I’m in, and it has nothing to do with a network call. No, no, the mood I’m in has more to do with the fantasy roaming around my mind: what delicately chic dress Sabrina will be wrapped in when she arrives for our imminent, intimate dinner. Saliva pools as I imagine those dark tresses curled over her shoulders and her pert breasts, watching them swish and sway as she walks in on heels she’s uncomfortable in, but deems necessary. Will those pouty lips be clad in a deep pink or a more brick red? Matte, or with that glossy sheen that leaves smudges on your cock long after the orgasm has subsided. Whatever she wears, or doesn’t wear, Sabrina Arden Broe has been on my mind since she entered my office yesterday morning. An anomaly for sure, but so fucking captivating I moved Wanda to tomorrow to spend more time with Bri. Well, Wanda being on a shoot and unavailable tonight had something to do with it. I am a Mercer; we set the plans and people meet them. We don't rearrange or reschedule. Only this instance, Trystan was adamant that her representative was apologetic that they needed more scenes for a special episode screening in a matter of weeks. Karma, or kismet, I don’t know and I don’t fucking care.
“Lookwho I found wandering the halls,” Trystan says with that same goddamn smirk I want to erase from his mouth. Bri has her arm looped through his as he walks them both through the double doors, just opened by wait staff, once my conference call ended.
“I didn’t realize it was black tie,” she beams up at him, hergaze fixated on the horn-rimmed glasses he wears when contacts have irritated his eyes too much.
“It isn’t,” I clap back, standing to reveal my navy three-piece suit and herringbone-patterned tie. “Ms. Broe, you look stunning. Thank you for meeting me again.”
Sabrina is wearing a figure-hugging midnight dress with tiny crystals on the inky overlay. They shine and shimmer under the light from the chandelier, giving her dress an almost ethereal feel. Her hair is down in loose waves tumbling around her elbows, face adorned with a light sheen of elegant makeup again, her lips a deep plum pink. With understated jewelry that complements the sparkles on her dress without trying to outshine them, she is a vision.
Her gaze drops as my hand reaches hers, a pink hue creeping over the apples of her cheeks as she stares back at me through sooty lashes. The contact with her soft, satiny hand sees jolting electricity course through my limb from her touch alone.
After clearing her throat, she beams, “Thank you both for having me.” Both? Uh, uh. I’m having you, not him.
“Mr. Hynd can’t join us, sadly,” I inform her, not the least bit sad about anything. “He has a date with the opera. Rest assured you will be in myverycapable hands.” That pink flush reappears before Trystan’s eyebrow arches into his hairline. Yes, something to say, old chum?
“Sabrina, Mas is right, you look stunning, but I told you that already when you first arrived. Thank you for keeping me company while boss-man was on the phone. Have a lovely evening. I’m sure we’ll be in touch.” He grasps her hand and lifts it to his mouth to kiss the back of it. Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t worry about the opera, there is enough theater going on in this fucking room. “Thank you, Tryst. That will be all.”
Sabrina and I watch him swagger through the doorswithout a care in the world. The dude is whistling, fucking whistling! But with his retreat comes my moment in time to crack the little walnut that is Sabrina Arden Broe, and I don’t intend to waste a second.
As the server disappears with the menus and the wine order, a bottle of Henri Jayer Echezeaux Grand Cru, I take her in. She scans the menu with quizzical interest and a furrowed brow, mostly asking for dishes or ingredients to be explained to her if she was unfamiliar with something. She’s not afraid to ask for clarity, which is a positive sign. This follow-up interview is only for those who have passed the first phase, the candidates I believe could be right for the position, and what better way to see how they behave in public than a formal setting. I can observe behavioral details without the distraction of other diners or staff, and if need be, take things a little further, like I intend to with her.
When the wine is poured and the entrée plates are set down, she thanks each server with a smile, a dip of her chin, or a hushed “Thank you.” She has manners, but what else does she possess, and in what magnitude?
“How is the wine?”
“It’s good. I’m not a wine drinker; I prefer beer or cocktails. My dad sometimes shares his whiskey. But that wine? I would drink again. I like it.”
“I’m glad. It’s $18,000 a bottle,” I add, taking another sip from my glass.
