a suit that must have a fancy name on the label. I can just tell by looking at it…by looking at him. It looks like it’s been tailored to fit his wide shoulders, narrow hips, and thick biceps. His eyes bore into mine. I’ve never seen eyes like that before. They’re gray, like gleaming metal. Not blue-gray but pure gray, like storm clouds. The ones that bring rain.
“What the fuck!” he growls, his eyes narrowing. At least, I think that’s what he said. I can hear my heart beating inside my head. I notice his eyes are framed with long, dark lashes. He runs a hand through his hair, which is black and perfectly styled.
All I can do is gape like an idiot. I can’t think of one coherent thing to say to him. I feel myself tremble. My heart is racing. I’ve had boyfriends. I’ve dated. I’ve never looked at someone and instantly lost my mind. It’s never happened. I once saw a celebrity while on vacation in New York. I can’t remember his name. There was a mob of women surrounding him. They were screaming and crying. I couldn’t understand the behavior then, but I do now.
I watch as he picks up a file. He flips through it, shuffling papers. He looks flustered. I watch his chest expand, stay like that a few moments, and then contract as he exhales. He makes a noise through his lips as he does. I notice how lush they are. Men aren’t supposed to have lips like that. I’ve seen women come into the bakery with plumped up lips from fillers. Fake and perfect. His are better. I watch as he gets himself together. I can’t bring myself to do the same.
His eyes are still narrowed on mine. He’s frowning hard. Is he angry? “Miss Shaw?” He cocks his head, lifting a brow.
“Um…” I can’t remember how to talk. This has never happened to me before.
“Are you Ashley Shaw?” he speaks slowly and carefully, like I’m a child or an imbecile. I’m screwing this up. I can’t help it.
“Um…I…I…” My mouth won’t work. My mind is racing, but I can’t speak.
“It’s a yes or a no.”
“Yes!” I practically shout as he gives me the word I was looking for.
He nods once. “Take a seat.” His eyes drift down my body. Is he checking me out? No! Come on! No way!
“Miss Shaw?” His gray orbs flick back to mine.
No, he was looking at my attire, I decide. Not looking at me in that way. I’m disappointed. I’m such an idiot. What’s wrong with me? I realize what he just said about taking a seat and stride into his office. I trip on the carpet edge and almost fall onto my face. I stagger a couple of steps and drop my purse.
Butterfingers.
Shit! Candice is right.
I feel my cheeks heat. “Oops!” I start to giggle but stifle the sound, which comes out high-pitched and yet strangled. I clear my throat.
He just stands there, watching me. I walk over to his desk, managing to hold it together. I notice that his desk is made of glass. There are a few files and a laptop computer on the sleek surface. His office is huge. The view behind him is breathtaking, but I can’t take my eyes off the man in front of me.
I stand there, trembling like a lamb at slaughter.
“Sit,” he commands.
I nod once and then collapse into the chair behind me. My limbs feel like they give in. I’m a wreck. I need to pull myself together.
“You’re here for an interview as my personal assistant?” He nods.
I nod back. I clear my throat. “Um…yes.”
“You don’t currently work as a personal assistant.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“Um…no…I…I’m a pastry chef. Technically a pastry chef, but I can be more. I mean…I…” I purse my lips together. I sound stupid. Like I’ve lost my mind. Which I did, as soon as I laid eyes on this man.
His mouth twitches. “You could be more? More how?”
“Yes…um…I can be anything I set my mind to.” I feel my cheeks heat. That’s something a fifth grader would say.
He raises his brows. “I see.” He nods. “Anything you put your mind to. Anything, though?” He raises his brows. His eyes look like they’re twinkling.
“I have experience in other things…I mean…not just pastries. That’s all.”
He lifts up a page. It’s my resume. “I see that,” he says, running a finger down a section of the page where I listed my skills.