Page 4 of The German's Guilty Pleasure
The man before me was well under six feet tall and well over three hundred pounds. It was three years ago when he found me sleeping in a tent at the back of the campus. He immediately dragged me home to Babette like a mangy stray dog.
I planted a hand on my hip and glared at him from where I sat. "That's basically the same thing!"
He kissed his wife on the cheek, and she shooed him to the table while she scooped her spicy chicken into bowls. "As I was saying," he said after he sat down, "the two are not the same thing. They're actually quite different."
I lowered a brow and glared at him. "They both mean you didn't tell me what I was walking into."
"The way I see it, I did. I gave you his name, the company’s name, and when to be there. I was honest about that part. I was less than forthcoming with the rest on purpose."
"You purposely wanted me to be embarrassed in Lars Jäger’s office?" My tone was snippy, and he snickered. Snickered!
"I thought it would be better for him to explain the company to you. I didn’t want you to be put off and not go to the interview."
"Put off?" Babette asked from the stove. "Put off by what?"
"Kontakt sells sensual aids, Babette. It would be my job to market them here in the States."
Her spoon clanked against the side of the metal pot. "Sensual aids? What on earth is a sensual aid?"
I threw my arms up in the air. "Sex toys, Babette! Sex toys!"
"Oh dear," she said, but I could see she was forcing back the laughter wanting to spill out.
"You both think I'm a prude.” I huffed and took another sip of my Dr. Pepper.
“No,” Maynard insisted, “but I know for sure that you’re stubborn. If I thought you were a prude, I never would have sent you to the interview.”
“You think you know me so well,” I hissed, and he sat back against the tall, cane backed chair of the less formal dining set Babette kept in the kitchen.
“Let me ask you a question. If Kontakt sold pencils, would we be having this discussion?”
“That’s a ridiculous question. You know we wouldn’t be. Everyone needs pencils. They market themselves.”
“I taught you one rule of marketing,” he said, and I rolled my eyes.
“I know, pencils and toilet paper are the only two things that can market themselves,” I repeated.
He smiled with happiness that his lessons had stuck. “Then my question is, are you afraid of a little hard work?”
I lowered my brow, and Babette snickered from where she was scooping out the rice into dishes. “Afraid of hard work? Hardly.”
“What is it then that’s keeping you from taking this once in a lifetime opportunity?” he asked. “Maybe you are a prude?”
I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m not a prude.”
He grinned and held up his finger. “Are you afraid to tell people that you market sensual aids?”
“I sat in your lectures for three years. Do you honestly think I forgot the one you gave the most?” I asked, sitting up and preparing my fake professor's voice. “If you can’t market yourself, then you better find a new career.”
He smiled and winked at me. “Someone has to market sensual aids, Serenity. Obviously, people are buying them. Lars didn’t buy an entire office building on credit.”
I tapped the table and chewed over what he said. "I guess that’s true.”
He pointed at me while wearing a smile. "You pass on this job, and you'll never get another offer like it. Ever."
Babette lowered bowls of spicy chicken down in front of us. "Did you pass on the job before you left the interview,fiy?"
I grabbed my fork before I answered. "No, I asked him for time to think about it."
