Chapter 6

My stomach plummeted to my feet. My palms were already slick with sweat, and my feet? Glued to the damn floor.

"You’re the vomit girl, right?" He leaned back in his leather chair like he had all the time in the world to enjoy my suffering.

I straightened my posture, trying to salvage whatever dignity I had left. "Pardon? W-who is that?" I feigned ignorance like my life depended on it.

He arched a perfectly sculpted brow. "Aren’t you the girl who threw herself at me at the club?"

Oh, fantastic. That’s how this asshole remembers me?

You did throw yourself at him, my inner voice reminded me.

Yes, but hearing it from him made it sound ten times worse. 

I mean, could he at least pretend to remember me as the sexy goddess who had him speechless? Yeah, speechless—with her vomit. My inner voice was officially a traitor. I don't know whose side she is on.

I snapped out of my spiraling thoughts when he narrowed his eyes.

"Uh… no, I think you’re mistaken," I lied through my teeth.

"No, I’m not. You owe me $68,000, right?"

My survival instincts kicked in. "Nope, not me. I mean, how could I possibly owe that much? My bank account has never seen that kind of money."

He went quiet, staring at me like he was deciding whether to call my bluff or just enjoy watching me squirm. My pulse skyrocketed.

Then, after an eternity, he shrugged. "Alright then. If you’re not the girl from the club, I must be mistaken."

I exhaled way too loudly. Thank God. He bought it. That was way too close.

"So, what’s your name?"

"Aria Jones." My voice came out stiff, like I was a robot sent to infiltrate human society.

"Well, don’t just stand there, Miss Jones. Have a seat."

"Thanks," I muttered, lowering myself into the chair like I was sitting on a ticking bomb.

He slid a form across the desk. "Fill this out. Quickly."

I grabbed the application and got to work, jotting down my educational background, work experience (which was tragic), interests (not vomiting on my potential employer), and references.

Meanwhile, I could feel his gaze on me, like he was still trying to place me.

If he remembers, I’m jumping out the nearest window.

After filling out the form, I handed it over to him. As he skimmed through it, I took the chance to study him.

Yep. Still sinfully gorgeous. Seriously, how is it legal to look that good? Someone needs to pass a law.

"I see you’ve worked in quite a lot of companies in the past," he suddenly said, breaking my thirsty train of thought.

I nodded. "Yes, sir."

He set the form down and looked at me, eyes sharp. "So, why did you leave those jobs?"

"Uh… personal reasons."

He hummed, unimpressed. "And will those personal reasons affect your job here as well?"

"No, not at all," I replied quickly, sitting up straighter.

His eyes flicked between the form and me again. "It says here you’re a college dropout," he said, giving me a look that made me want to sink into the floor.

Shit. I hate this part of interviews. It always feels like they’re silently judging me for not finishing college.

"Yes, I dropped out in my second year," I admitted.

"And why is that?"

"Uh… just…" I trailed off.

"Personal reasons?" he finished for me, his tone making it clear he wasn’t buying my vague answers. I nodded, biting my lip in frustration. Great. Now he definitely thinks I’m a joke.

"Can I see your college grades?" he asked, way too calm for my liking.

My soul left my body.

This bastard wants to see my grades? My actual, terrible, life-ruining grades?

Suppressing a groan, I sighed, already exhausted, and fished out my transcript. He took it, his dark eyes scanning the pages like a professor grading a failing exam.

And then he shook his head.

Oh no. Here it comes.

"What the fuck is this?" he deadpanned, staring at me like I personally offended his ancestors. "This is terrible! Do your hobbies include collecting Fs? And how the hell did you manage to land your previous jobs?"

I shrugged. "Uh… luck?"

He exhaled, rubbing his temples like I had physically pained him. "Well, I’m sorry, Miss Jones, but you’ll need more than luck to work in my company." His gaze never wavered, dark and intense.

And that’s when my very unhinged brain decided to go straight to the gutter.

Is he saying what I think he’s saying?

No, dumbass, he means he needs more qualified people in his company! my inner self snapped.

I wish she’d shut up, because right now, all I could focus on was the way he was looking at me—so intense, so commanding. My eyes dropped to his long fingers, and before I could stop myself, my mind went places. Very inappropriate places.

I bit my lip, my thighs pressing together as heat pooled between my legs. God, my body is literally weeping for his touch.

"Why are you squirming in your seat?" he asked, frowning slightly.

"Uh… my panties are wet," I blurted before my brain could catch up.

Silence.

Then, he blinked. Slowly. "Your panties are wet? Why would you even tell me that?" His brows lifted, like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth.

I swallowed hard. "Well, you asked, and I gave an honest answer," I muttered with a shrug, pretending like I wasn’t currently dying inside.

He looked at me like I had personally offended his entire lineage. "That is highly unprofessional. And why the hell would you wear wet panties to an interview?"

"No, no! I didn’t wear wet panties! You’re making me wet—because of you," I corrected, desperate for him to understand.

He just stared, deadpan. "You're… wet because of me?"

I nodded. "Yes."

He blinked again. "I don’t understand. You’re aroused in the middle of an interview?" His tone was pure disbelief. "Is this interview a joke to you?"

Oh no. I definitely pissed him off.

His voice was low, controlled, but I could tell he was this close to kicking me out.

"No! I was just being honest!" I defended.

He let out a sharp exhale. "I don’t even know what’s worse—your IQ or your honesty."

My jaw dropped.

"Excuse me?!" I snapped, my anger flaring.

"Look, if you don’t like my honesty, then deal with it!" I huffed. "And—for your information—I am a very smart girl!"

He cut me off with a smirk that was anything but amused. "Your grades say otherwise."

I gawked at him, speechless.

"Look," he continued, tone bored, "this job isn’t for you. Instead of wasting my time, why don’t you just use the door? I have actual candidates waiting."

I wanted to throw my hands. Or crawl into a hole. Maybe both.

My blood boiled as he blatantly ignored me, picking up a random file like I was nothing more than background noise.

Oh, I hated him. The arrogance. The audacity. The sheer nerve.

I wanted to punch his stupidly gorgeous face—except that would be a crime against humanity, because, damn, he was fine.

Whatever. Who even needs this stupid job?

I ground my teeth, stopping myself from saying those exact words out loud. There were plenty of other jobs out there. I didn't need to work for some insufferable, rude, ridiculously attractive man.

...But I did still want to fuck him.

I stood up angrily, ready to storm out dramatically, but then—shit.

Katie and Sky were going to kill me. And the salary? It was so good. Ugh.

I froze mid-step. I couldn't just give up so easily. Maybe—just maybe—I could convince him to give me the job.

Slowly, a mischievous smile crept onto my lips.

He was a man after all. And no man can say no to me.