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My eyes widened in surprise upon hearing the name.

No way. It can’t be the same guy. Mr. Blue Eyes. Mr. Keep-me-up-all-night-dreaming-of-sapphire. Impossible.

Then the light bulb went on, a blinding glare that almost knocked me flat on my ass, as I remembered all the things I knew about Alexander Stone.

Stone Enterprise. Stoneworks Foundation.

My stomach dropped and panic began to set in. The building I stood in was Cornerstone Tower. And I was about to interview for a position at Turning Stone Advertising.

It has to be the same Mr. Stone. How can I be so ridiculously obtuse?

I cursed quietly under my breath, knowing the intelligent thing to do would be to leave immediately.

If I can’t figure out what one plus one is, I’m obviously unfit for the job.

“Forgive me, Ms. Kaufman, but I assumed I would be interviewing with you,” I said with a wobbly smile, scrambling to think of a way out of the situation.

“I’m sorry?” She looked confused by my statement.

“I, um…” I tried to think of something—anything—that might prevent me from coming face to face with Alexander Stone again. “I didn’t realize I’d be interviewing with Mr. Stone. I assumed since you were a large company, you would have an HR department to handle your hiring,” I explained, not able to come up with anything better. I could only hope this actually was a large company.

Realization dawned on Laura’s face.

“Mr. Stone must be considering you for an important position, or else that would normally be the case. Our human resources department usually handles the initial applicant screening. However, Mr. Stone personally conducts all the interviews for high-potential candidates,” she clarified with a smile.

High potential?

My palms began to sweat as I silently followed the strawberry blond Laura to the conference room. Her subtle red hair was a reminder of all the articles I had read online about Alexander Stone’s preference for redheads.

But surely that can’t be a prerequisite for working for him? Or can it?

My stomach constricted into a nervous knot. Everything about the situation was terribly wrong. Not only was I a fool for not connecting the dots, but I also had the wrong hair color for the job.

Someone like Alexander Stone would want to hire someone competent and witty—not someone whose tongue got stuck to the roof of her mouth every time he was near. This was a disaster in the making. He was too distracting, nothing but sex and sin and every girl’s spiciest fantasy. I couldn’t imagine the thought of going through an entire job interview with him.

I felt like I was walking through a tunnel, my nerves gradually taking over every rational part of me. Apprehension caused my steps to lag slowly behind Laura as she walked to the door at the end of the corridor.

I toyed with the idea of bolting right then and there, but my window of time for a quick exit had ended. We had reached the conference room. I took a deep breath and made a conscious effort to still my fidgeting hands.

Keep it together—it’s a job interview. I’m overreacting.

Feeling only slightly more composed, I stepped through the door Laura held open for me.

Maybe it’s not even the same Mr. Stone.

But it was.

Chapter Six

Krystina

Alexander Stone stood facing away from me at the far end of the room. Even though I couldn’t see his face, there was no mistaking his powerfully built physique. He was on the phone, with one hand in his pocket, looking out through floor-to-ceiling windows at the Manhattan skyline.

He turned and motioned to me to sit down. I looked at Laura for direction. She smiled and pointed to a chair near the end of a large, etched glass conference table. I sat down, taking a minute to calm my nerves further, and took stock of my surroundings.

The furniture was sleek and modern. The table was large enough to seat at least thirty people. The center of the table held a long, boat-shaped glass bowl filled with blue, white, and black stones. Tablets were arranged to create a high-tech video conferencing platform all around the table as well.

The walls were all painted the same bright white as the waiting area. Two enormous flat-screen television panels adorned the wall to my right, one of them tuned in to Bloomberg TV with the volume muted. On my left, recessed shelves held a collection of blue vases, all varying in shade, size, and shape. The far wall was nothing but glass, revealing an impressive view of New York. The room undoubtedly exhibited power and wealth, but it was nothing compared to the man who stood in it.