Page 14 of Audacity

I’ve been in training for moments like this my entire life. Every gala I’ve attended in the kind of icy imperial splendour that only Vienna can boast; every visiting cultural delegate with whom I’ve had to make sparkling small talk; every opening night at L’Opéra in the presence of artists and money men alike: they’ve all taught me how to produce precisely the right social reaction for every given situation.

‘It’s Gabriel or Gabe, please,’ he says, turning and gesturing towards the corridor from which he appeared. ‘Don’t make me feel any more like my father than I already do.’

He takes my coffee order and relays it to the receptionist before ushering me down the corridor and through an antechamber featuring an empty desk to his office. I take it in quickly: it’s a large, well-lit room with the same panelled walls and cream carpet as in reception, except that these walls are painted a rich midnight blue. I assume that space we just came through is where I would sit if I worked here. There are two doors off to the right, both shut.

I’m here to sell my powers as an executive assistant, but I can’t help but run through in my mind how the sexual side would work. The partition between this room and my area is glass, but the door and wall leading out to the corridor are solid. It’s a good start. His desk is huge and solid oak, with presumably ample room for me to slide underneath it if I wanted to suck him off, and there’s a large sofa against the far wall.

I’ve worked with worse.

At his signal, I take a seat in front of his desk and cross my legs, placing my handbag on the ground next to me. I’ve opted for my interview staple of a fitted navy shift dress in supple wool crepe from Victoria Beckham. It’s just as formal as a suit, and squarely work attire, but the exquisitely sharp tailoring is most definitely cut to celebrate a woman’s body.

The main agenda of this meeting may be defined, but there’s a shitload of subtext, and I intend to make that subtext speak very, very clearly. I have good reason to be confident about my prospects if I nail this morning’s interview. Camille reported back to me that Mr Sullivan—Gabriel—emerged from perusing my portfolio somewhat gruff of voice and with his overcoat held firmly in place in front of his crotch.

So he was turned on, but he didn’t avail himself of the tissues. How very Catholic of him. Every sperm is sacred—isn’t that how it goes?

I’ve also seen the full notes from their meeting. I know how out of his depth he feels, and I sympathise. He’s emerged from what was supposed to be a lifelong vocation only to spearhead a company that’s loaded with potential but is really a bit of a mess. He was probably severely institutionalised in the priesthood, and I imagine his business degree feels far, far away.

All I have to do, therefore, is wow him with my understanding of his needs and my business acumen and persuade him that I can take every single professional headache off his plate—and that’s all before we get to the next round—the part where I fuck him free of everypersonalheadache, too.

CHAPTER 6

Gabe

If this was a usual type of interview, I’d be berating myself for objectifying my interviewee quite so shamelessly. As it is, I allow myself to be just a little transfixed by the assured, beautiful young woman sitting in front of me.

I draw the line at pulling up that provocative image of her naked and holding herself open from my spank bank, though. That’s a bridge I absolutely will not cross this morning.

Even so, it’s the oddest thing to know that she’s essentially interviewing to fuck me as well as to work for me. It feels equal parts miraculous and profoundly wrong that a princely sum of money is all that’s required for me to get intimate with her.

Because there is no denying she’s a prize of the greatest magnitude, but it’s my bank balance, rather than my worth as a man, that will ultimately dictate my success here.

I really must concentrate, because I am in dire need of a fine strategic brain to assist me with the multitude of responsibilities I face, and while the team I inherited is perfectly fine (the ancient Gladys aside), I’m yet to make a senior hire since I took over.

Putting the right team around me is vital to the success of this legacy I’m stewarding, and everything coming out ofAthena’s mouth tells me she could do this job standing on her head. She’d preempt everything I need; I can just tell. She’d nail her allocated workload, and it wouldn’t surprise me if she jumped into a whole host of extra projects just for the thrill of it.

Still. It’s surprisingly hard to concentrate, surprisingly difficult to separate my search for the perfect executive assistant with the strictly off-limits part of this interview: the knowledge that I’m essentially sizing someone up to be my main fuck buddy for the foreseeable future.

Athena’s beauty, you see, is the kind that’s impossible to ignore. It’s everything her portfolio promised and more, because static images can never compete with the perfection of features like these when they’re in motion.

It’s not just the size of her big, thickly lashed hazel eyes that’s captivating but the way they shine when she summarises a particularly taxing analysis she undertook recently on hydrogen fuel cells.

It’s not just the lustrousness of her long, thick auburn hair, but the way she keeps flicking it impatiently over her shoulder as if it’s cramping her style.

It’s not just the lushness of her body, swathed in enough expensive wool to be perfectly professional, but the expressive grace with which she uses her hands to hammer her points home.

It’s not just the pink rosebud mouth, which was appealing enough in the photos but now undulates in a way far more sensuous than her businesslike delivery probably intends.

That’s the thing. This woman is not flirting in the slightest. She’s solely in business mode, and it’s compelling. It’s compelling partly because of her staggering looks, which feels unfair to her because her allure in this moment is so much more than that.

She’s not manic—not in the least bit. She’s far too assured for that, too self-controlled. But there’s an energy there, a drive that’s impossible to miss. She’s dynamic in a way that’s seriously impressive. The extensive prep she’s done for our interview shows, and her enthusiasm is undeniably infectious. In this moment, she’s every inch the star MBA student from one of Europe’s best schools, and I know she’s exactly what this fucking place needs.

That her face and her voice and her body are one bewitching siren’s call should be beside the point.

Should be.

But she’s not a stereotypical MBA student, and this is not a stereotypical position, and those looks of hers aren’t incidental. They’re integral to this pitch she’s making to me that she’s worth a salary tens of times higher than this position would otherwise warrant.

None of this is to judge her. Lord, no. After all, she’s playing to her strengths in spectacular style. She’s the real deal, the fantasy that’s equally intoxicating to the businessman in me who’s drowning professionally and to the flesh-and-blood man.

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