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“Is an interview even necessary if we’re just going to hire him anyway?”
Dec sighs, running a hand through his tawny curls. “Formalities. It looks good on paper in case Dad audits me, you know?”
Grinding my teeth, I glance down at the resume waiting on the table between us, shoving away my guilt.
Shilo Reed, age twenty-one.
Junior at UDub, Computer Engineering program. Perfect GPA. No work experience, but volunteered at the local humane society as a teen, with references to back it up. Honestly, his resume is almost identical to Paige’s when we hired her five years ago.
The conference room doors open, and a flash of purple hair catches my eye. As I lift my head, all the blood drains from my face.
And rushes to my fucking dick.
Because the Uber driver from months ago—the one who’s been haunting my subconscious—has just walked into my conference room like a waking nightmare.
He hasn’t even looked at us yet, his light blue eyes fixed on the potted plants lining the shelf as his fists work nervously in his pockets.
Fists that had gripped my couch when I’d fingered his tight ass.
Faded purple strands fall over his brow, wavy locks that I know feel like silk—because my hands were tangled in them just weeks ago. His teeth sink into that bottom lip I kissed, and I have to shift in my seat, struggling to keep the raging hard-on in my pants under control.
Jesus Christ.
The whole experience had been disappointing, a sexual encounter that I should have forgotten by now, and yet nearly every night when I dream, it’s about a pretty boy with cracked porcelain skin.
A broken, blue-eyed doll.
Declan kicks my leg under the table, throwing me a perplexed look as the silence stretches on. I quickly clear my throat.
“Shilo Reed?”
He freezes, his face going impossibly pale. Those wide, terrified eyes meet mine, and Paige’s words from last week hit me like a gut punch:
“He’s always been unique, super shy.”
Declan glances between us, confusion etched across his face. “Please, take a seat. We’re excited to meet you.”
Shilo’s complexion turns sallow—almost green—and before either of us can say another word, he fucking bolts. Spins on his heel and slams through the doors like he’s on fire, leaving behind a flurry of shouts from Paige.
“What the fuck just happened?” Declan mutters.
For a beat, we just stare at each other, stunned, before scrambling out of our seats to chase after him into the lounge. At first, he’s nowhere in sight, but Paige’s frantic voice directs us around the corner to the bathrooms, where she’s pleading softly through the door.
“Shilo, please, come out. It’s okay. Nobody’s upset with you.”
She turns when she sees us, her tear-filled eyes swimming with guilt. “I’m so sorry. He has horrible social anxiety. I thought if I stayed, he’d be fine.”
“Hey, shh, it’s okay.” Declan leans down, pressing a comforting kiss to her nose and gently wiping away her tears. “Is he alright?”
“I don’t know, I think he’s in there throwing up. I just... I don’t know what to do anymore. Everything’s been a mess for him since August.”
Her words snap my spine straight, a cold wave of dread curling in my stomach.
“What happened in August?” I ask, my frown deepening.
She sniffles, glaring at her feet. “That whole thing I told you about during lunch, remember? His first time with a guy. His first time ever, really. I think it messed him up.”
The ground shifts beneath me, my head swimming.
