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“Ah no, I was in the middle of telling you that I’m not qualified.” Why is he still going on about this? Discussing my failure to finish my degree isn’t something I am keen to do. God knows I’ve had to do that more times than I care with my mother.
“See that’s what I’m curious about, Charlize. What do you put on your resume to get jobs?”
I fiddle with a pen that’s in front of me as I contemplate what I’m about to tell him. He’s watching me with such extreme interest that it’s making me nervous. “I’ve done some work for George Donaldson. That’s the only job on my resume in this field.” And it wasn’t really a job, but I’m feeling weird about owning up to that. George has no problems with me telling prospective employers it was a paid job, but for some reason, lying to Owen isn’t something I want to do.
He whistles low. “That’s some accomplishment. It’s hard to get George to even schedule an appointment, let alone hire you. How did you achieve that without any qualifications?”
I drop the pen, irritated that he just won’t let this go. Mostly, though, I’m annoyed at the pickle I always seem to get myself into where work is concerned. Maybe my mother was right. Maybe my life would have been a whole lot easier if I’d just followed the traditional path of getting a degree and then a respectable job.
“Good God, has anyone ever told you that you’re like a dog with a frigging bone? So I never had a real job with the man. I just gave him some advice about his shares. My father introduced me to him at a party years ago.”
Owen takes that in and reclines in his seat.
He’s about to say something when Poppy chimes in. “She might not have worked for the old coot, but she sure as hell made him some money. And he’d be the first one to recommend her if you were thinking of hiring her. Just in case you were wondering.”
“What trades did you advise him on?” Owen is still watching me with the same level of interest. It appears that he doesn’t care whether my work with George was paid or not.
Poppy doesn’t give me a chance to answer him before she calls out, “You remember how he made all those millions by selling his Armor shares right before they crashed? Charles was responsible for that. She predicted that crash when no one else had it on their radar. And the Continental shares, too. She told him to buy them right before they skyrocketed, and he made a fortune when she said it was time to let them go.”
Owen’s eyes lock with mine as he listens to Poppy. If I weren’t sitting, I’d likely sway under the intensity of his gaze. I’d felt like that the night I met him, too. Sitting here, in his suit with the top few buttons of his shirt undone, watching me the way he is… Owen North is all kinds of sexy, and I can barely form a cohesive sentence in my head, let alone speak one. So, I sit in silence and wait for him to speak. In my experience, it’s always best not to speak first, anyway. I usually say something inappropriate.
“That’s impressive,” he says softly, his eyes flashing with more of the intensity that has unleashed a swarm of butterflies in my tummy. Leaning towards me again, he says, “Come work with me.”
Whoa.
I didn’t see that coming.
“Umm,” I mumble, showing him just how put together I really am. All my confidence of this morning is gone. If it were anyone else asking me to come work for them, I’d jump at the chance. Working for Owen might not be the best idea in the world. I can’t think straight around the man.
He stands, buttoning his suit jacket, drawing my gaze to his hands. They look like very strong, capable hands. The kind of hands that could steal my attention for long periods of time. Yes, I have a thing for eyes and hands. “I’ll be at the office by eight tomorrow morning. Come in then, and I’ll get you set up.”
I jump up, anxious to correct his assumption that I want the job. He’s already halfway to the front door. “Wait, Owen… I can’t work for you.”
He stops and turns to me. “You applied for the job this morning.”
“Yes, but I didn’t realise then it was you I’d be working for.”
“You don’t want to work with me?”
“Well,” I mumble, switching my weight from one foot to the other. Jesus, this is a mess. “I’m just not sure it would work out so well.”
His eyes burn with intensity again. “It’ll work out just fine.”
God.
I’m a near-thirty-year-old woman, yet I feel like a bloody teenager. He’s got me all flustered, which honestly I don’t have the time for. My landlord is looking for any reason to evict me, my phone is about to be cut off, as is my electricity, and without a job, I’ll be eating rice for dinner every night next week.
So I pull myself together, stand tall and fake it ‘til I make it. “You’re absolutely right. I’ll be there at eight tomorrow morning.” I’ll psych myself up tonight so that by tomorrow morning, the only way I’m looking at Owen North is as my boss. Not as the man I currently want to do filthy things to.
Fuck my life.
4
Owen
I enter the North & Co building and stride towards the elevators. It’s just after seven this morning, and I’ve come in early to get through some leftover work from yesterday. I’ve also come early in anticipation of Charlize’s arrival. She would have to be the only woman I’ve ever met who I can’t get out of my mind. She seems to be permanently lodged there for the moment. Hiring her is probably the worst decision I’ve ever made for my company. Not because she won’t contribute to our success. I’m sure she will. No, it’s the worst decision because as much as I want to work with her, I want to date her more.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I scrub my hand over my face. I really do get myself into some shit where women are concerned.
