Page 3 of The German's Guilty Pleasure
The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine every time. It made me wonder what it would sound like moaned into my ear.
“Your duties would require you to work at any and all hours of the day or night. Germany is ahead of our time zone, so we must be available to them when they need us, whether it is lunchtime or bedtime. Understood?"
"Understood,” I answered, tapping my pen on the notepad. “However, I live forty minutes from here …"
He held up a thin, perfectly manicured finger. "That would have to change." In the next breath, he held out a binder with the company logo on it. The scripted K was gold with filigree surrounding it and gave no indication of what the company actually sold. I don’t know what I was expecting. Dildos forming the letter T? A cock ring for the O? I bit back a snort at my own joke and opened the binder. The list of duties told me they would be copious and slightly overwhelming for a new graduate. When I turned the page to the benefits section, I gasped.
"You're offering me an apartment in the building?" I glanced up in surprise, and his blue eyes were laser-focused on my cleavage. I resisted the urge to tug my top up and waited for him to answer.
His fingers steepled, and he tapped them on his lips. "I am not offering. I am insisting."
I finished reading the folder and sat in shock for several beats. An apartment, company car, full benefits, and my student loans paid off if I stay for the term of the one-year contract. That didn't account for the salary that had more zeros behind it than I'd ever seen in my lifetime.
"Wow." The word was meant to be strong, but it was high pitched and squeaky. "Sensual products must be a hot commodity. This is …"
He flicked a hand at the binder dismissively. "The package is based on your expertise in both my language and culture, as well as your marketing degree. There is little I do not already know about you, Serenity. My extensive research tells me you know the offer is fair and better than you would get working for any other company."
“On the contrary, Lars, there is much you don’t know about me.”
Like how your eyes get me all hot and bothered and how my fingers want to mess up your hair for real.
“I hope I have many opportunities to learn those things while you are working at Kontakt.” He didn’t intend for it to sound erotic, but the timbre of his voice made it so.
I swallowed and tapped the folder. "You were serious about the headhunting." He tipped his head in answer. "Can I have some time to think about this?"
"Of course, take all the time you need."
I stowed my items back in my purse and stood, reaching my hand across the desk to shake his one last time. "Thank you, Lars. I'll be in touch."
He stood from behind his desk and shook my hand, leaving little tingles of sex flowing through my veins. When he dropped my hand, I strode to the door, knowing his eyes were now trained on my perfectly rounded backside.
He called my name, and when I turned, he wore the smile of a man who never questioned if he would get what he wanted. He would. "I will see you tomorrow at nine a.m."
I didn’t respond, but I hated that he knew me so well this early in the game.
I plowed through the front door and dropped my bag on the floor. “Professor!” I yelled while I stormed through the kitchen. I didn’t notice Babette until she cleared her throat.
“You better take a moment and simmer down,” she tisked without turning from the stove. “You know Maynard won’t deal with that redheaded temper of yours.”
I huffed, but my feet stopped their mad stomp through the house. “The hair is fake, but the temper is one hundred percent real.”
Her shoulders shook with laughter while she stirred her big pot of bubbling goodness. “The hair is as real as the temper, but a valiant effort,fiy.”
My temper flickered and died with her nickname for me.Fiymeant daughter in Louisiana Creole, which was Babette’s proud heritage. I kissed her cheek and then peeked in the pot. My mouth watered at the savory scents wafting from it. “Mmm, chicken creole.”
“What else would we have to celebrate your final test at college?”
Her accent was still strong after all these years of living away from Louisiana, and it made me think of Lars. Would his accent always be as strong as it was today after living in the States for years? That thought made me think of his sexy eyes, well-defined chest, and finely filled out trousers. I rubbed my thighs together and moaned slightly. I had to stop!
I focused on the woman who, over the last three years, had been my mother and confidant. I grinned with excitement. “Can you believe it? I’m done! D O N E!” I spelled while dancing around her.
She giggled and threw her arms around me, offering a motherly hug of congratulations. “We knew you could do it. Your determination was why we let you live here and put up with that temper of yours all these years.” She winked lovingly, and I knew she was kidding, but she was actually dead on. I had a temper, and I didn’t always think before I let it rip. “Now, littlefiy, why are you mad at my Maynard.”
Her words made me think of how Lars called me his little blue bird. I stepped out of her embrace and grabbed a can of Dr. Pepper. I took a healthy gulp before I answered her question. “He sent me off on an interview today and wasn’t exactly honest about the situation.”
“That doesn’t sound like my Maynard,” she insisted, adding more spice to her pot of chicken, tomatoes, and garlic.
“Try not to think of it as dishonest but rather as not forthcoming," Professor Maynard Watkins pontificated as he strode through the door
