Page 5 of The German's Guilty Pleasure
"How much time did Lars give you?" Maynard asked.
I smiled hesitantly and lowered my fork. "He said I could take all the time I needed. Then he said he'd see me tomorrow morning at nine."
They both chuckled, and Babette squeezed my hand the way a mother does. "Sounds settled to me then, no?"
"I want the job, but …"
"But?"
"But why me? He seriously headhunted me!" I exclaimed in a hushed voice.
Maynard leaned forward and held my eye. “I don't find that hard to believe. Neither should you. You're fantastic at marketing, brilliant at the German language, and even better at reading people. You were made for this position."
"You think so?" They both nodded in unison. I smiled shyly before I blew out a breath. "Well, then I guess you’re looking at the new marketing director for Kontakt."
Babette tapped her fork on the table twice in a proclamation. “It is official! Let's eat good food and celebrate you!”
I grabbed my fork and when the first bite of chicken hit my tongue, I moaned. My pleasure was tempered by the knowledge that accepting Lars Jäger’s offer meant I had to leave these two fabulous people behind.
Two
Lars
The view from the tenth floor varied depending on where you were standing. To the west was the concrete jungle, and to the east, which happened to be where my bedroom sat, was tranquility. The bedroom overlooked lush greenery and a trickling stream flowing through it. I ate breakfast on the balcony before work every day, and in the evening, it was a place for dinner parties and quiet dates. It was only a matter of time before I would spend much of my free time entertaining in the penthouse and I looked forward to it. The dating part, however, would not come to fruition. I allowed occasional rolls in the hay with beautiful women interested in nothing more than sex, but my life had no place for anything else.
I focused my attention to the west and trained my eyes on the empty parking spot next to my car. Would my little blue bird step up and accept the position, or would she be too afraid of what a company like Kontakt would do to both her reputation and her sex life? The look she wore during the interview I had seen many times as CEO of Kontakt. As soon as the product is revealed, the stain of either shame or embarrassment creeps slowly from their necks to their cheeks.
I noticed it for the first time when I was fourteen. I wanted to know why, so I asked mymutter. We had an open relationship, and she did not hesitate to give me an honest answer. She said women are taught their bodies are not for their pleasure, but for a man’s pleasure. If a woman were to openly admit to pleasuring themselves, they would be ridiculed. I asked why a man was not equally ridiculed for the same, and her answer surprised me. She said it was expected that a man would pleasure himself, so it was readily accepted. As a young man, I could not understand such a double standard. Those two questions resulted in the most honest conversation I had ever had with anyone in my life, even if that person was the woman who gave birth to me. She answered my questions without redness staining her cheeks or shame filling her eyes. Now, I understood it was to prepare me to run the family business, and to offer me a positive introduction to sex and sexuality. I grew up steeping in body and sexual positivity, but it was immediately evident to me that most other humans, women especially, were not. For every overtly sexual woman I met, I was aware there were hundreds of others who were hiding their true sexual desires. Now, I see it as my mission to teach women it is not embarrassing or shameful to pleasure themselves. For if we do not love ourselves, who will?
I was sure of one thing when Serenity left my office yesterday, she would be the one to move this company forward in the United States. I was also sure I would have to teach her how to love herself before that would happen. She was delightfully uptight during the interview and my fingers ached to pull the pin from her bun holder. I fantasized about watching that fiery red hair fall to her shoulders. She was beautiful. If I dated, she would be on the top of my card.
Her German heritage was evident in her blue eyes and her Irish heritage in her red hair. Her cheeks were chiseled, and her lips were pink, puckered, and aching to be kissed. The way her tongue darted out to lick them, leaving a sheen of wetness across them each time, made my cock pulse against my zipper with wanton desire. I was never more grateful to be sitting down than I was yesterday when she lowered herself to the chair and crossed one tanned leg over the other. They were shapely and thin, and her high heels displayed a set of red-painted toes that left me more than a little hot under the collar. My mind wandered to her wearing nothing but those high heels in my bed. I rubbed the hardness inside my suit pants, and my eyes darted to my dresser drawer where our latest sensual aid prototype was hidden. If only I had the time, I would work out my frustrations with it before I went to the office.
My attention back on the clock, my lips tugged down into a frustrated frown. It was well after nine-thirty and Serenity had not arrived. Either she was purposely late to prove she would not be bossed around, or she would not be accepting the position. It was a shame she did not have the common courtesy to send an email.
My desire for the woman died instantly at the thought. Finally able to walk again, I snapped my cuffs and stepped into my private elevator. There was no point in standing around waiting for her. I would have to regroup and find someone else who could do the job. I was all too aware that it was likely going to require more work than it did to find Miss Matthews. I had lucked into her rather quickly. The same would not be true a second time.
Indeed, my office was dead quiet when I stepped off the elevator, so I lowered myself to my desk chair and sighed. I had no other prospects in the U.S., and bringing someone over from Germany would defeat the purpose. I needed someone who understood the habits of the American woman in order to be successful here. I was aware my company was not typical, but with the package I put together, I was sure it would be a, how do they say it here, no brainer? Maybe I underestimated Serenity Matthews after all. I might have let her past skew my assessment of how far she would go to make a better life for herself. It was apparent I would have to do more to woo her.
I hit the power button for my computer and resolved to put together a package she could not refuse. Hating myself for it, I checked my email on my phone while I waited for the computer to load. No email and she was … I checked the clock ... forty-five minutes late. I had little time to convince her to work for me before the owner of the company flew over here and reamed me out for disappointing her. Nepotism was not in mymutter’svocabulary, and I was not about to test her leniency.
I stood and stuck my hand in my hair, determined to think of something I could offer Serenity that would convince her working for Kontakt was what she wanted. I offered her a car, an apartment, and the opportunity to be debt-free. What was left? I dropped my hand to my leg. I could remove the clause that she remains here for one year. It was a risk, but paying off her student loans as a bonus was a small price to pay.
The sun glinted off something below my window and nearly blinded me. It only took one glance at the parking lot, and my feet were moving. I was out the door and running down the stairs at a speed in which I had forgotten I could run. I pushed my way through the glass doors and never slowed as I ran toward her. She was struggling to get out of the car, one leg in and one leg out, a broken heel dangling on the one hanging out.
“Serenity!” I called as I approached so as not to scare her already shell-shocked face. “Are you okay?”
She was out of the car and limping toward me now, her messenger bag hanging at her side. Her dress was torn and dirty in multiple different places, and she walked with a limping halt on the broken heel. By the time I reached her, she was ready to collapse, and I grasped her elbows to help her into the building. Once she was sitting on the bench, I knelt in front of her. One look into her eyes told me she was not okay.
I held my hand on her shoulder and grabbed my phone. “Sit still. I am calling an ambulance.”
She swung her head back and forth. “No, I already declined one. Please. I can’t afford it,” she said desperately, struggling to stand again.
My phone still in my hand, I held her in place. “What happened?”
She wasn’t concentrating on my questions. Instead, she muttered about her shoes, her dress, and what her hair must look like. “I can’t believe I was late for my first day of work.”
My heart did a double-tap in my chest. She wants the job. I had to stop myself from doing, what do you call it, a fist yank? She wants the job! One look at her told me she was not in any shape to work at the moment, though. I stood and scooped her up out of the chair into my arms. She shrieked and grabbed at my neck when I strode to the elevator. I punched the button and waited impatiently for the doors to open.
