The Broody Brit for Christmas (Holiday Springs #1) - M.J. Fields Page 0,45

I said, I don't even know if I’ll get the job, but it’s a job I know I’m qualified to do.”

A door opens, and a man walks out. He’s a huge man… attractive. Very attractive actually, but not like Rafferty Graham. Not to me, anyway. He’s too gruff.

“What degrees do you hold, and where was it earned?”

“Jesus Christ, Becks. First, my studio, and now my bathroom?”

“Morning, Raff.” He smiles widely. “I thought I heard my godson and came over to say hello. Then I tried to hide in the bathroom, being the gentleman I am, so that you two could sort your shit without interruption.” He looks back at me. “Could you answer my question?”

I look at Raff, and he nods.

“My economics degree is from Cornell University.”

“Ivy League.” He steps closer. “Tell me more.”

“I worked for a large, privately owned family real estate office in New York City for the past four years.”

“Is that right? Commercial or residential?”

“Both. Retail, as well.”

“Outside partners?”

“No, they never took any outside money.”

He whistles. “Deep pockets.”

“Very.”

He leans on the marble counter. “Why did you leave?”

Raff steps in. “Okay, Becks, that’s good enough.”

Becks —whoever the hell he is— walks over and holds out his hand. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Beckett Hawthorne of Hawthorne Hotels and Resorts USA.”

I stand up and shake his hand while kicking myself in the ass for not realizing Beckett was that Beckett. Especially since he had an Irish accent and I had, in fact, done my research. He’s a lot larger in person than he shows in photos and interviews.

“I’m so sorry. I should have put two and two together.” I bite my lip, hoping I didn’t just screw up my chances.

“Understand how that could be done. You’ve just woken up. You haven't had your coffee, hell, you haven't even put pants on.”

“Okay, Jesus, fuck. Fuck,” Raff sputters as he runs over and back to me with the sweats he’d brought down for me last night that I obviously decided I didn’t need.

He squats down and holds the pants for me to step into. “Turn the fuck around, Beckett.”

With his back to me, Beckett Hawthorne continues his questioning. “So why was it that you left?”

I blink, knowing that I should just get the truth out there. If he calls Townes, he should hear the truth from me first. “It was my ex-fiancé’s family's company. When our relationship dissolved, so did my job.”

Raff mutters something I can’t catch.

“How much did you make?”

I hate this question, and I hate answering it even more in front of Raff, who will no doubt feel even more sorry for me, as well as think I’m weaker than he already does.

“Not as much as I should have made, but I had perks.”

“Yet never came on his tongue,” Raff whispers softly, and I swear I want to kill him.

“That’s not a number.” Beckett pours himself a cup of coffee.

With as much strength as I can muster, I open my mouth to speak the truth, no matter how embarrassing. “I was paid eight hundred dollars a week.”

“Please tell me you’re joking,” Raff hisses, “or I will kill that son-of-a-bitch. Did he at least pay you in cash, off the books?”

“The company paid off student loans, travel, and vacations, all of my living expenses, too.”

Beckett shakes his head. His brows turned down. “The ex is a multimillionaire and should damn well have taken care of the woman he collared.”

The casual way he says collared, a common phrase used for a woman who is submissive and owned by a man, shocks me. I don't miss the look exchanged between the two men.

“I do mean gave a ring to.” Beckett waves a hand through the air as if that dismisses or erases the shock of his word choice. “I’ll start you at a hundred thousand a year, with room for growth. The first six months or so, you can work out of Holiday Springs. I’m planning to rent an office near the Shepard property, and if you can help me track the owner and get him to sell the property to me, or us,” he looks at Raff. “you’ll get a bonus and a raise.”

“I never agreed to a partnership,” Raff sighs loudly.

He rolls his eyes. “You’re local, and it may be the only way he’ll sell, and that’s if Ms. Winterfield can find him.”

Beckett looks back at me. “It’s a nice office. Three separate rooms inside. I have one woman who can train you on company policy, and then you can