Page 41 of Mr. Hook-up

And what the partners needed now, what they desired in a candidate, was something I knew I could provide for their company.

Once I heard the door handle turn, my neck straightened, my body stiffened. The heavy wood slowly swung open, and after a few hard blinks, I connected the face with the pictures I had seen online and across the walls in this room.

Easton Jones.

As he came in, his focus was on the piece of paper in his hand. “Drake, hi, it’s nice to meet—”

His voice cut off the second his stare connected with mine. Each of the three men had a distinct look about them, but Easton’s was pure sex.

Even more so in person.

A detail I wished I hadn’t noticed.

But it was impossible not to.

Just like it was impossible to miss the shock that came across his face.

“I’m sorry ...” He glanced down, returning to the paper he was holding. “Either I have the wrong room, or you do.”

The ...wrong room?

“No, I’m sure it’s me—yikes, I’m sorry about that. This is just where the receptionist brought me for the interview.” My voice was scratchy enough that I cleared my throat to fix it, my hands so unsteady in my lap.

He stopped halfway between the door and the table.

When he looked up, licking his lips, my breath hitched in my throat.

A hint of familiarity tugged at me.

Something I couldn’t place or figure out.

“Which position are you interviewing for?” he asked.

I continued to dig through my memory, trying to locate those lips, and continued to come up blank, so I pushed those thoughts away. Whoever this position reported to, I hoped the boss wasn’t as sexy as Easton.

I smiled. “Director of app development and engineering.” I pointed at the door. “Should I go back to the reception area and find out where my interview is?”

“You’re Drake Madden?” His brows lifted, and so did the corners of his mouth.

“Yes.”

The noise he let out sounded like a half cough, half sigh. “I apologize, it’s just ...” The intensity in his gaze continued to build with each second that passed. “It doesn’t matter. You’re in the right room. I’m Easton Jones, it’s great to meet you.” He moved closer, his hand outstretched.

The moment our fingers locked, two things happened.

The first was a feeling.

A hot, spicy tingle that shot through my entire body, humming as it circled my chest.

The second was the way his scent enveloped me, how it reminded me of a night in the mountains, an aroma of burnt citrus with a heavy dose of fall.

My God.

“Nice to meet you as well,” I replied when my voice decided to return.

He released my hand, and as he moved to the head of the table, I took my time studying him. Six three, I estimated, with hair as dark as black ink and eyes that were lighter than baby blue. They were piercing, fierce, the shade of ice, like a husky’s. His strong, square jaw was covered in thick, delicious scruff. He had broad shoulders, arms so wide that his short sleeves hugged them, with forearms that were just as muscular and veiny.

As if that weren’t enough, he smiled.

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