Page 4 of Voyeur

I smack my hand down on Christine’s desk, startling her as she drags the nail polish she’d been applying across her knuckles instead of her nails.

“For fuck’s sake, sir,” she spouts.

“I’m ready for my interview, send her in,” I tell her, continuing toward the door that leads into my office.

“Ms. Eder, come this way, he will see you now,” I hear Christine say as she holds the misted glass door open. A woman heads toward it, her heels click and alert me that she’s dressed for the occasion.

Christine moves back, giving the woman a wide berth to enter, and when she does so,shewalks into my office. If I’d have been anyone else—Conner, perhaps—my jaw would’ve dropped.

She’s in a two-piece suit with pencil skirt that hugs her full figure. Bright red pumps lift her at least five inches off the ground. Her blonde hair is up in a clip of some sort, spilling over the top. She meets my gaze with her blue orbs, and I want very much to lick my parched lips, but I don’t.

I clench my fists, instead, trying to get my shit together as I prepare to interview the knockout. The woman, I mean.

I stand. “Nice to meet you, Ms.—" I trail off, hoping she’ll add her name into the gapped space.

“You don’t remember me? Oh, why would you, football stars rarely look away from themselves in the mirror, I guess,” she mutters. I startle at her words, grappling for what in the hell she’s talking about. She cuts my thinking off by putting her hand out. “Carina Eder.”

Why does that sound familiar?

I place my hand in hers, ignoring the slightest tingle of spark as our skin touches. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Eder.”

She sits down, plopping her briefcase on the floor before crossing her feet at the ankles and sitting at an angle. When her hands are placed very matter-of-factly in her lap, she looks toward me. Her features give me clues that she’s very put off by me—and very annoyed.

I don’t know what I’ve done, but I want to grovel at her fucking feet for whatever it is. And if I’m a good boy, maybe she’ll stomp on me with those sinful shoes. A shiver snakes through me. I brush it off.

I shake my head. No good can come of thoughts like that. Those are rabbit hole thoughts. They lead nowhere but the deep darkness that dwells beneath.

“So,” I say, picking up her application that was strategically placed on my desk. “You look overqualified for this job. What makes you want to work here?”

I hadn’t really meant to say it in such a manner, but I had.

She lifts an eyebrow. “I need the money. We all need a job, sir. I don’t have one, and you have an empty spot.”

Well, this is going swimmingly.

“Have you done advertisement editing before?” I ask.

“I’m a professional editor with multiple degrees. I’ve worked everywhere from newspapers to publishing houses. Most recently, the publishing house I was working for, abruptly went under, laying off all employees.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Ms. Eder. Well, no, I’m not, because it’s my gain. You’ll be our only editor on staff, my father really didn’t believe in needing one, so you might be asked to work on other projects from time to time, but like I said, you’re overqualified. I’ll snag you up and hope you stay,” I tell her, standing and buttoning my suit like a pompous ass.

She notices, her blue eyes tracking every movement of my hands before she stands.

She reaches across the desk, and I hesitate before clasping my hand into hers.

“Thank you, sir.”

I’m caught in her alluring stare for a moment too long, and she lets her eyes drop first, rolling them before she picks up her briefcase.

I clear my throat. “If you’ll have Christine show you to Human Resources, they’ll get you all set up and ready to go for Monday. It was nice to meet you, Ms. Eder. I look forward to working with you.”

She mutters something under her breath I can’t quite hear, moving out of the room in a whoosh.

I slump down in my chair, loosing a breath as well as my suit jacket for the fiftieth time today. I twirl the chair to look at the darkening sky outside of my office, placing my hands on my head as I’d seen my father do a million times, if not more.

Perplexing women will do that to you, I guess.

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