Page 3 of Dirty Nasty Billionaire: Part 1

A voice clears from the back of the room, and that’s when I see the fourth in our group. He’s in khaki pants, a plaid button up, and what I’m guessing must be his formal hoodie.

“Hi, I’m Colin,” he says, having to clear his throat about three more times just to get the words out. He runs his hand through his wild curly mop before offering a handshake. Jenna grimaces and nods at him by way of greeting. Amber continues to pretend her phone is the only sentient being in the room. So I guess that leaves me. I reach out and take his hand, only slightly greasy from his hair.

“Nice to meet you, Colin,” I say with a smile. I may be plotting how I’m going to defeat all three of them, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be nice while I’m doing it. I’m not a monster, after all. And besides, Colin has a friendly smile that makes me like him immediately.

“Now that we’re all friends, it’s time to get down to work, don’t you think?”

We all spin around to the front of the room, and standing there, looking every inch of his six foot three frame, is Nixon Blake. And let me just say that staring at his photo on a screen for more than a few hours of research does nothing to prepare me for the actual sight of him.

Jenna drops into her chair, Amber’s phone is forgotten, and Colin sits down so quickly he nearly misses the rolling office chair and hits the ground. I’m the only one still standing, and that’s because the sight of him momentarily paralyzes me. I’m standing on the polished concrete of the sleek office floor, but it feels like I’ve stepped into quicksand, and I’m sinking further under his gaze.

Holy shit does this man command a room.

He’s in dark denim jeans that look like they were tailored to every muscle of his body, and a white oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up, which give a stunning view of his tan, muscular forearms. But it’s his eyes — ice blue and piercing, that are the real stunner. They act like laser beams, demanding and captivating attention from beneath a head of dark, tousled hair. Everything about the man says, I’m smarter than you, richer than you, better looking than you, and we all know it. So pay attention.

And we do.

“Welcome to Scour,” he says, his voice full of steel and bravado. “The four of you were selected from a pool of candidates so large it could have crashed our servers, if we were dumb enough to have servers as shitty as the ones over at Twitter. Every applicant had stellar grades, incredible recommendations, and outstanding test scores. You four are the best of the best.”

Amber sits up even straighter, if at all possible, and leans forward onto the conference table. It gives Nixon Blake a front-row seat to Victoria’s proverbial Secret, that Amber seems ready to spill to the world. But if he notices, though, he opts to ignore. Which makes me like him even more, if possible.

And then he seems to drop the sliver of welcome wagon he was presenting. The hammer drops. “If you think that means anything now that you’re here, you’re sadly mistaken. You’ll be spending the rest of the summer — every moment — proving to me that you deserve to be here, both for the duration of the internship, and, for one of you, as a new employee at Scour.”

I can feel pricks of sweat starting at the back of my neck. Please god do not let me get sweat stains right now. First of all, I’m wearing silk. Second, I have a strong suspicion that Scour employees do not sweat. Help me Jesus.

As if to confirm my suspicions, Nixon arches an eyebrow. “Now, I want to start off seeing how you perform under pressure. I want you to introduce yourselves to me. Not your resume; I’ve got that. I want you to tell me something about yourself that would surprise me.” The word sounds loaded on his lips (oh my god, those lips), and it causes my heart to immediately start beating at roughly the rhythm of cha cha dancers on Dancing with the Stars.

Nixon glances around the table, leveling his gaze first on Jenna. “You. Go.”

I swear, all the blood drains from her face, but she quickly recovers. She squares her shoulders and opens her mouth, the squeaky voice and New York drawl suddenly gone.

“My name is Jenna Andrews, senior at Columbia, and not only do I have my pilot’s license, but I flew a Cessna over an active volcano.” Then she flashes a smile, her eyebrows raised. I admit it, I’m impressed. I certainly wasn’t expecting that from the tiny brunette sexpot. But when I glance at Nixon, he only nods. He’s unmoved, his eyes already moving on.

Next they land on Colin, who withers under his stare, and unfortunately doesn’t recover quite as quickly as Jenna. “I’m Colin Lewiston, MIT.” He stops to clear his throat twice, but when he starts speaking again, there’s a bit more confidence there. I’m silently rooting for his voice not to crack (even if he is my competition). “When I was a kid, I traveled with the Ringling Brothers as a clown. I can juggle sabers and fire — and once, flaming sabers.”

Whoa. Ok, did not see that coming from our crew’s resident nerd. But Nixon still seems remote. It’s like Colin just told us he likes the color blue and his favorite food is spaghetti. What is it going to take to impress this guy?

Amber is next, and everything about her says I got this. I steady myself. I can already tell she’s going to be more competition than her bathroom conversation would lead me to believe. Something tells me that she fights dirty.

“I’m Amber Rizetti, Columbia University. And I have an Olympic Gold Medal in archery. I hit a bullseye in Rio.” She says all this while staring Nixon Blake straight in the eye. And still, he doesn’t blink. Not even a flinch.

Okay, so flying over a volcano, juggling swords, and winning a fucking gold medal while cosplaying Katniss from The Hunger Games won’t do it. If I want to shock Nixon Blake, I’m really gonna have to go for it. Like, really go for it. After all, he told us we were supposed to surprise him. That’s the task. And I want this job.

I don’t have anything nearly impressive on my resume as some of the others, so if I’m going to make myself stand out, I have to try something different.

At least, that’s the only explanation I can give for what I’m about to say. I swear, if I had half a second more to think about it, I would have gone with my season spent playing roller derby sophomore year of college. That was always good for a game of two truths and a lie back in the dorms. I know full well that with my blonde hair, porcelain complexion, and curvy body, I look like the girl next door. I look like someone who avoided sports in favor of the debate team and student council (state champion and class president, thank you very much). No one ever expects me to play a full contact sport on roller skates. I might have even gotten a reaction out of that one.

Instead, I open my mouth and say this.

“My name is Delaney Masterson. I’m a senior at New England College, right here in Boston. And I’ve never had an orgasm.”

Maybe I thought it would make people laugh. Or even raise a few eyebrows. Break some ice. Something. Instead the room goes deadly silent. Jenna’s mouth drops open, but no sound comes out. Colin turns red as an apple and immediately stares down at his feet. Amber looks like she just won a second gold medal and had ten orgasms just this morning.

I force myself to look at Nixon, who is looking straight back at me. There’s a tiny shred of hope that maybe, though I humiliated myself in front of my fellow interns, I will have at least accomplished the task. Maybe, just maybe, I’ve surprised him. But those blue eyes turn the blood in my veins to ice.

God, I think. Should I laugh and try to play it off as a joke? I can’t decide, and the moment passes.

I don’t let myself look away. This is the worst thing I’ve ever done, but the only thing that could make it worse in this moment would be to look away. So I hold his gaze. I won’t let this break me. Not in front of him, at least.

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