Page 84 of Catfish

Despite his bad impression, I’m not too proud to admit that I Googled him after my interview. Especially with how irritated his assistant was after he barged in to see what I was all about.

Because that’s what it was.

Wade Lockwood wanted to know who was being interviewed and either wanted to intimidate me or was generally curious about who I was.

I didn't apply, and he probably knows that.

His assistant, Emmy Lou, was so excited to meet me that I was a little taken aback at how much. Our business hasn't been around that long, but we have a good reputation. Business is constant and growing, but to run alongside a governor attempting to become the next president of the United States—can't say I saw that one coming.

Nor could I honestly turn it down, regardless of his judgy little attitude, but only if he agreed to my demands.

The receptionist guides me to a door then gently knocks on it (shocker). A male voice muffles behind it, and she turns the doorknob, letting me enter at my own risk.

And it is a risk.

Governor Lockwood is one of the most attractive men I’ve ever seen in my entire life. The sullen way his voice leaves his lips, the condemning way his eyes soaked me in a few days ago.

Yeah, maybe wearing a red dress to an interview wasn't the most "hire me" appropriate, but I wasn't seeking this job.

He or Emmy Lou were, which meant they wanted me.

The governor sits behind his large desk, folders and papers scattered everywhere as he sorts them out meticulously. He doesn’t bother to glance up in my direction as I step inside but, Lord, can I smell him from the door frame.

Whatever the fuck he’s wearing smells amazing, like a manly campfire with a hint of citrus. His dark hair is neatly styled, a few days’ growth stubbles over his jawline and chin. He looks like a carefully structured god, molded to the masculine room.

It wasn't what I expected. I predicted dark decor and animal heads mounted on his walls, but he's not a Republican, so I should've already known that. Ceiling-to-floor windows portray the city behind him, letting every ounce of sunlight beam into his suite. Navy blue bookcases sit on either side of the room, filled with books and various items. Pictures of old presidents in candid photos hang off the walls.

“Please take a seat, Miss Shelton,” he directs, his rich, deep tone rippling off my skin. He’s still sorting out his things as I take in the rest of his space.

Nothing else hints at what kind of man Governor Wade Lockwood is outside of ordinary and uptight. His Wikipedia page was scarce, I didn't get too much besides his birthday and that his father was a congressman, leaving much to the imagination.

Taking a seat in one of the leather chairs, the silence starts to prick at my nerves. I lean back and straighten my spine, watching him sort everything, wondering why he couldn't just fucking wait to finish until I was gone.

Anal as shit.

“I apologize,” Wade finally concedes after another minute, placing a folder aside. “I would’ve lost my spot if I didn’t finish.” He doesn’t smile, his face hard as stone as he sits back in his large chair and folds his hands over his abdomen.

His light gray suit fits him perfectly, displaying his linebacker-sized shoulders and the mold of his chest while his dark blue eyes fall on me.

Damn, why the hell did he decide to be a politician?

I mean, I get why some people do, they want to make a difference. But the governor sitting in front of me is a waste of genes and DNA to be cooped up in an office sucking faces with every shady-ass man or woman who wants something.

And a fucking tool as he perks a brow at me.

“You called this meeting because you had some things you wanted to go over with me?”

“I do,” I reply, steeling my body against his gaze. “I wanted to make sure we were perfectly clear on a few items if I decided to take this position.”

His expression doesn’t change as he continues to lock me down with his eyes. “Absolutely.”

"I'll still be running my business while orchestrating your events for the Democratic delegates. My cousin and I are still filling up our schedule for the remaining part of the year. Sometimes there are add-ons, and I don't want my business to halt while helping you with what you need done.”

“Wouldn’t that be a little hard?”

I fold my hands into my lap. “I’m very good at what I do, Mr. Lockwood.”

“So I’ve heard,” he drawls, sounding unimpressed. “Anything else?”

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