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I shot out of my chair and pointed at the door. “GET OUT!” I didn’t want to hear her name ever again.
He stumbled out into the hallway, his guffaws echoing through the corridors until he reached his office.
I settled back into my seat, and moments later, the elevator dinged. My anger melted away, and that damn grin found its way back on my face. What the hell was wrong with me? My brain answered by filling my mind with a replay of my intern dancing.
God! The way she had swayed those hips. And that plump bootie bobbing around. Annnd now I was hard. For fuck’s sake. Get a grip, man. So inappropriate. This couldn’t be happening. She would be in my office in a second. Stop it, Steven, think of baseball or broccoli or hyenas…anything.
Instead, my brain bombarded me with questions. What color were her eyes? How full were her lips? Why was I asking these questions about my new intern?
I slapped my face. Hard. Snap out of it, you fool.
I didn’t fantasize about women at work. Never. Strictly forbidden. Not because of company rules, butmyrules. Although, I was pretty sure there was a strict non-fraternizing policy when it came to an executive and his intern.
This company was my life. It was all I needed. Nothing and no one could distract me from my job. My career.
And no one ever would.
She marched into my office, then passing the sofas and round table, she stopped midway, a few feet from my desk. Her chin-length onyx locks bounced like joyous springs around her pale, round face with every determined step. She was shorter than I had guessed. At least a foot shorter than my 6-foot-2 frame. Abundant luscious curves in all the right places, her petite body stood proud, her head held high as if she already owned the place.
Christ, that confidence was sexy. And those curves, begging me to explore them…
“Good day, Mr. Cox. I’m Laura Bloom, your new intern.” Her voice, full of captivating confidence, didn’t help to bring me back to reality.
“Good morning, Ms. Bloom,” I said as my gaze lingered on her beautiful features. She had an adorable button nose. And those eyes—warm deep brown, like hot chocolate. Delicious.
I snapped my head down, unable to look at her without my body reacting like a horny teenager. I eyed my drink suspiciously. Had my assistant spiked it with an aphrodisiac? Grabbing my cup, I brought it to my nose and sniffed.
The hot chocolate smelled divine, the mini marshmallows floating merrily. It was my usual. Not a drink that portrays power and intellect, but no one knew about it except my assistant, and she was sworn to secrecy. I had an image to preserve. Couldn’t let the sharks in our industry find any weaknesses to exploit, or in this case, habits to ridicule. I didn’t become a titan on Wall Street by showing weakness or being nice. I never asked, I demanded. I never said please, I barked orders. And I always stayed disciplined and in control. Except…
I shifted in my chair. My wood was still a fucking problem, so I couldn’t get up to shake her hand as I normally would. Instead, I pointed to the door on the left. “Set yourself up in the office over there through the adjoining door.”
I chanced a glance to see her reaction. Her eyebrows scrunched up in an adorable way for a moment as her eyes followed my finger until they landed on the door. Then her gaze shone with excitement, so full of innocence. You didn’t see that often in this industry, and I suddenly felt as if I needed to protect that innocence.
I swiveled toward my keyboard. My brain still in some sort of malfunctioning mode, I typed gibberish, pretending to be fully engrossed in my work, waiting for her to disappear from my office…and my thoughts.
Mr. Cox’s piercing jade-green eyes had greeted me as I walked into his huge office. Intense eyes, full of hunger. I expected nothing less from a man in a position of high power. To stay the best, you had to keep that constant hunger for success.
It took all my self-control to act professional and not fangirl over him. It was so surreal. I was standing in front of my idol. One of the titans of Wall Street. My grin must have been stretching from ear to ear like a complete weirdo.
Don’t be weird, Laura. At least not on your first day.
As I waited for him to tell me where to go, I gave my new boss the once-over. He had short, neatly styled hair in an Ivy League cut, giving him a classic debonair vibe that perfectly matched his three-piece suit. No doubt some super expensive made-to-measure designer brand, judging by the way his vest hugged his body like a lover.
The man sitting before me looked to be in his mid-thirties, except for the silver strands peppering his dark hair. But I knew he was about fifty. I knew everything about him. Well, everything that was public knowledge from the multitude of articles I had collected about him.
Now that I saw him in real life, I could confirm that the pictures never did him justice. Maybe it was because he never smiled in them. But he was smiling now, which surprised me. It was the complete opposite of his demeanor during my Zoom interview two months ago with him and the CEO, where Mr. Cox had scowled the entire time and never once looked at the webcam or the screen. Did he even recognize me?
Today, with his features softened by his smile, I saw a handsome olive-toned face with a powerful jaw. Everything about his appearance seemed to be at odds with itself. Massive, broad, boulder shoulders filled the fine stitching of his suit. His thick wrist, marred by a wide,raw scar, was adorned with an expensive-looking gold watch. Elegance versus ruggedness. If it wasn’t for his crooked nose, he’d be perfect on the cover of GQ magazine.
He must be living such a glamorous life. My mind filled with visions of him spending his evenings sipping champagne and eating caviar with gorgeous supermodels at fancy nightclubs, where the entry fee was the cost of a small car.
My eyes did a quick, discreet scan of his humongous corner office. Everything in here had opposites too, but they weren’t at odds. There were the oversized, studded armchairs in plush jade-green velvet that matched his eyes and the massive mahogany desk as big as a bed etched with delicate carvings. Sturdy, yet delicate. Rough, yet refined. There was a synergy there, and it worked.
He pointed to my office and told me to set up.
My very own office. On the executive floor of a high-rise in the heart of New York City’s financial district. I had to lock my knees to stop myself from bouncing. I had made it. Almost. A paid internship was a step away from a permanent position. From my dream.
I waited for him to get up to greet me with a handshake or offer a few words of welcome, but he stayed put in his burgundy leather chair and said nothing else.
