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He laughs at his joke and Kevin fumes. I don’t laugh, I just stare like an idiot.
“It’s no shame to get lost, this is a pretty big building, huh?” Kent smiles. “You must be looking for reception. I heard we were hiring a new secretary, but I had no idea they found someone so attractive.”
Ew.
Well, sort of ew.
It’s not a terrible thing to be hit on by a handsome man, but he thinks I’m the receptionist.His hand is still in mine, and I quickly finish an awkward and overly firm handshake, before staring him furiously in the eyes.
“I’m not—”
“See, she’s not the secretary. She’s the intern,” Kevin pipes up, solving the mystery. “We haven’t had any coffee yet. Do you mind grabbing a couple, sweetheart? I like mine with cream, Kent likes his black because he hates himself.”
Kent shoots his brother a look.
“Oh that’s right,” Kevin rolls his eyes, “it’s not because he hates himself, it’s because he’s watching his figure.”
I hate to admit it, but I’m watching his figure too. He’s extremely well built, something his expensive suit can’t begin to hide. I clear my throat to try again.
“I’m not the receptionist, and I’m not an intern.”
“Oh?” Kent looks at me, surprised.
“No,” I say firmly, finally composing myself. “I’m—”
The door swings open, and Mr. Breckenridge enters. The men snap to attention, Kevin nearly falling out of his chair to stand up straight.
“Morning,” Mr. Breckenridge says, giving the men a hard stare.
“Good morning, father.” Kent smiles.
Holy shit!I take a step back.
The elevator assholes are Mr. Breckenridge’s sons! Of fucking course!How did I not see it before? They have the same thick brown hair and strong jawlines. They’re even built like him.
“Ah, I see I was a little late for introductions.” Mr. Breckenridge smiles at me and extends his hand. I take it, glad to finally have a friend. He’s the only person in this room I’ve actually seen before or had a conversation with.
“No, actually you’re right on time.” Kent laughs, “We were just trying to place our little friend here. We were hoping she was the new receptionist.”
“This little friend,” Mr. Breckenridge says darkly, “is not a receptionist. This is Monica Vale. My new hire and the best damn real estate agent I’ve ever seen. Present company included.”
