Page 21 of Bonking the Billionaire

She squeezed me into a quick and suffocating hug, squealed, then practically skipped inside the building.

I watched her disappear.

Slow steady gusts of hot air assailed the back of my neck—breathing.

“What’s your look supposed to say about your personality, gorgeous?” Chaps Guy said from way too close behind me.

Heat carried up my cheeks. My fingers went all jittery over the inevitable confrontation I was being forced into.

“I’m going for stay-away-from-me vibes,” I said, without turning around. I kinda hoped he didn’t hear me.

“Hard to get,” he said. “I’ve never tried that.”

That much was obvious, given his exposed butt. I wrinkled my nose. “You should. Try it right now,” I said, turning to meet his glossy gaze. “Start by taking a few steps back.”

This back and forth was making my insides twist. I seriously debated making a run for it. I didn’t want to be here. If I ran back to the car, Layana would find me when she was done. No harm, no foul.

Chaps Guy raised his hands in the universal signal for surrender and took a step back.

I exhaled the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

The headset man appeared in the open doorway. He looked me in the eye and said, “Morgan Montrose?”

I practically dove at him to get away from Chaps Guy.

“This way please,” the headset man said without missing a beat. He simply stepped to the side and let me pass.

The hall was cold and dark compared to outside. We went around a few turns, passed a few people with suits and clipboards, and rode an elevator up to the second floor. There were probably questions that I should have asked, but I didn’t. All I could focus on were the nerves that had my whole body trembling and my stomach queasy.

Blinding white lights assaulted me as the headset man led me into what I assumed was the audition room.

“Break a leg.” He shot me two thumbs up and backed away into the darkness.

I hoped not to break anything, including my head, which was pounding harder and harder with every moment that passed. It felt like an eternity before my eyes adjusted, but it was probably only a few seconds.

A panel of middle-aged men in suits sat behind a long table at the side of the oppressively white room. A woman with a camera stood behind them, staring down at the screen. I guessed this was being recorded, whateverthiswas.

A cart sat in the middle of the room. On it sat my crafting hammer with its bejeweled purple handle. Beside it was a pile of costume fabrics and my sewing kit. Apparently Layana had packed more than just my hammer.

“Name,” one of the men said.

It took me a second for the meaning to register, especially since it had sounded more like a burp than a question.

“Are you asking for my name?” I asked. “I assumed you knew, given the guy with the headset knew, and given these are my belongings on the table.”

“You have to say it for the camera,” the woman standing in the back said with a weak smile.

Oh.Was it too late to run? Too late to pretend to faint and get out of this whole situation?Goodness me, I’m weak in the knees. Must be my fragile constitution. Sadly, you’ll have to proceed without me.

I licked my lips and stepped up to the cart with my crafting supplies. My whole body trembled, and my voice came out weak and foreign to my ears. “I’m Morgan Montrose.”

“Tell us about yourself, Morgan,” the camera woman said. “What do you do?”

There’s nothing to be afraid of. There are zero stakes. You don’t want to be on TV anyway.

“What do I do? Nothing like this,” I chuckled softly. “I’m a Delymo gig worker.”

“Is that…something to do with sandwiches?” the woman asked, spinning her hand in encouragement.

---