The Next Book Boyfriend
Xavier
Atext from Deidra flies across my screen. I snatch my phone from my desk.
Deidra
I’m running late. The stupid city-wide construction is a bitch. You’ll need to hold the fort until I get there.
Xavier
Copy that. How long do you think it’s going to take you to get here?
Deidra
If I weren’t wearing sky high heels and a pencil skirt, I’d power walk. Since I have no plans on breaking my ankles, I’m at the mercy of traffic. If I had to guess, I’d say another twenty minutes or so.
Xavier
I’ll get acquainted with Miss Mitchell until you get here.
Deidra
Try not to charm her with your sexy accent.
Xavier
I can’t be responsible for things that are out of my control.
Deidra
Speak American like the rest of us.
Xavier
I’ve been living abroad for too many years. I’d have to dust off my American accent from the recesses of my mind. That would demand far too much mental gymnastics.
Deidra
Rolling my eyes.
Xavier
It’s best if I get to it. I wouldn’t want to make Miss Mitchell wait.
Deidra
Fingers crossed she’s the right candidate for the executive assistant position.
Xavier
From your fingertips to God’s ears.
Deidra
LOL
I drop my phone on my desk, a smile still tucking at my lips.
Given Deidra Summers’s contribution, some might say my position as a newly appointed COO is nepotism.
Deidra is almost family since she used to date my cousin Gabriel, but unlike me, she doesn’t have blood ties to the CEO and the CFO.
She isn’t interested in world domination.
I, on the other hand, am dying to establish my reputation by making my mark off the pitch.
World domination tops my list––in the fashion world, anyway.
Time to meet Miss Mitchell.
I stand up, tuck my phone into my trousers pocket, stroll to the chair where I left my suit jacket, slip it on, snatched the iPad off the small circular conference table, and exit my office.
I stalk toward the small conference room located on the opposite side of the floor, near my brother Zane’s office.
Hiring an executive assistant Deidra and I will share turns out to be a lot more challenging than I expected.
So many candidates look good on paper—amazing, in fact—but when you meet them, there’s a disconnect.
Like Deidra said, fingers crossed Emma Mitchell puts an end to our search.
Interviews are one of my least favorite responsibilities as part of the COO position.
My cousin entrusted me with the position, so I have to suck it up.
When I walk into the conference room, Emma Mitchell jumps to her feet.
“Good morning, Miss Mitchell.” I extend a hand.
“Mr. Keller, it’s a pleasure.” She shakes my hand.
“Likewise.”
I wait for recognition to hit her, but Emma maintains a neutral expression.
She isn’t a hardcore football fan. Good.
I pull my hand from hers, and gesture at the seat. “Please, sit down.”
The slender brunette smiles wide before taking a seat on the modern white velvet high back wingback chair.
I place the iPad on the coffee table, unbutton my suit jacket, adjust my tie, and take a seat on the silver-gray sofa––also an import from Italy. Deidra can sit on the chair opposite to Emma’s.
There’s a proper conference table in the room, but we prefer to hold interviews in the sitting area. The fashion division is much smaller than the investment division, and we like to keep things friendly.
My eyes drop to the empty cup in front of Emma. “Would you like another coffee?”
Smiling brown eyes meet mine. “No, thank you, Mr. Keller. One cuppa is enough. As a true British transplant, I’ve already had two cuppas of tea this morning.”
“You can take the girl out of Britain, but you can’t take Britain out of the girl?”
She lifts a hand up. “Guilty as charged. I’ve been in New York for two years, and Little London is still my pieds-à-terre. Furthermore, I’m not ashamed to beg for a care package from back home any chance I get.”
“Now that I’m back States side, I’m likely to do the same with my mates.”
She fans herself.
“Water?” I say.
“I’m fine. Thank you,” she says. “This is the first interview where I’ve been offered exceptional Arabica coffee and scrumptious British biscuits.”
“We take coffee seriously,” I say. “It’s in our DNA. As for the biscuits, it’s only civilized.”
She giggles.
“Another notch to the company,” she says.
She’s witty. I like that about her. “Shall we get started?”
“I’ve been looking forward to this interview for weeks. I’m ready.” She’s practically bouncing off her seat.
I glance down at the iPad. “What would you say is the number one strength you bring to the position?”
Twenty minutes into the interview, and I’m praying for Deidra to get here soon.
Emma has this habit that’s becoming distracting. Every time she finishes answering one of my questions, she crosses and uncrosses her legs in a deliberate fashion. The come hitter look in her eyes doesn’t go unnoticed.
I loosen my tie and clear my throat.
I have an issue with her wardrobe selection, but her CV, qualifications, and answers are impressive.
If only Deidra was here, I’m sure Emma wouldn’t dare expose this much skin. I could bring it up, but that opens to misinterpretation.
If Miss Mitchell thinks she can flirt her way to the top, this isn’t the company for her.
“I’m sorry,” Emma says, “it’s really hard for me to pretend I don’t know who you are.” My eyebrows ride up. “You’re Xavier Keller for God sakes. The Xavier Keller.”
Until now, she hasn’t given the impression she knew who I was.
Sneaky Emma.
She brings her hands to her chest, like an excited kid who’s granted three scoops of ice cream for dessert. “My family just about died when I told them who I was interviewing with—”
“Emma, I’m just an executive these days. I’m no longer a—”
“You’ll always be a legend,” she says. “Just because you traded your jersey for a suit, doesn’t diminish your greatness.”
I’m in the presence of a fan. “I’m flattered.”
“Are the rumors true?” Her tone is suggestive.
“Which rumors?”
“You know…”
She lowers her eyes for a beat before meeting my gaze.
“No, I don’t know. Please enlighten me.”
She cocks an eyebrow in response.
As if that’s a bloody answer. My patience is wearing thin. “Miss Mitchell—”
“Your appetite…”
“My appetite for…?”
She stands up.
“What are you—”
The question dies on my lips when Emma undoes the sash at her waist of her purple wrap dress, exposing her naked body. “Your appetite for pussy.”
My head jerks back.
Her tits are on full display.
She came to an interview without any underwear on?
Blimey.
“Look.” She points to her bush. “X Marks the Spot.” She sings songs that last part.
Against my better judgement, my eyes lower to her pussy, and the first letter of my name is staring at me.
Bloody hell.
“I got a special waxing job yesterday… just for you.” Her tone is jovial and light.
No woman has ever done anything this ludicrous before.
I pull my eyes away from the indecent sight, and stare up at Emma. What in the actual fuck? “Th—this is harassment.” I trip all over my words. I’m usually an eloquent man, but I didn’t see this one coming. Not by a long shot.
“Not if it’s mutual,” Emma says. “And I really, really want you to fuck me, Xavier.” Her nonchalant tone mocks the gravity of the current situation.
“This was premeditated.”
“Trapped in a conference room with the sexy bachelor forever and pro footballer Xavier Keller? You bet I’m going to take full advantage of you.”
Interviews are taxing, but this is a bloody nightmare. We’re looking for an executive assistant, not the making for a sexual harassment case and potential lawsuit.
I drag my palm down my face and let out a long, exasperated sigh.
“I bet you make the sexiest come noises. Oh my God, your come face must be sooooo sexy.”
I’m out of my depth here.
Think fast, Keller.
I glare at her, my mind spinning to find a solution out of this land mine without everything exploding in my face.
No matter how you look at this situation, I’m at fault.
I’m a man in a position of power. No one will care if Emma is throwing herself at me.
All anyone will remember is I’m fully dressed, and she’s buck naked.
I expect this kind of in-your-face carnal display of overt sexuality on the pitch, not in a conference room.
In my experience, European football groupies are willing to do outrageous things to secure bragging rights.
Fucking a famous footballer is equivalent to winning the Heisman Trophy in American football for those women.
Emma slides a finger between her pussy lips and brings her drenched digit to her lips, cleaning off her juices, moaning. “I’m so wet for you,” she says. “Apparently, you’re well endowed. I want to find out for myself. Mark me, Xavier. Pretty please.”
This woman is so out of line, it’s pathetic. “Miss Mitchell, there is a grave misunderstanding—”
“No misunderstanding on my part, Xavier.” She turns around and bends over, flashing me her pussy and asshole. “I’m crystal clear in my intentions.” She has the audacity to point a frantic finger at her pussy.
She’s bonkers.
I want to put that stupid dress on her body before removing her from the conference room, but any physical contact, and I’m doomed. Even approaching her would be suicidal. It’s best if I stay where I am and try to knock some sense into her from a far.
“Emma, enough—”
The door to the conference room flies open, interrupting me, and Deidra rushes in. “I’m sorry, Xavier—”
She stops midsentence and freezes in place. Her blue eyes ping-ponging from mine to the naked woman bent over.
I open my mouth to speak, but she precedes me. “What the hell is going on here?”