Chapter 4
DAMIEN
I’m standing at the window of my office when my receptionist buzzes me. I press the button on my desk, and her voice comes through clearly.
“Mr. Morozov? Your ten o’clock is here.”
“Send her in,” I say evenly.
I turn from the large window overlooking the city and sit behind the massive oak desk, folding my hands on the polished surface. Everything in here is designed to intimidate, especially new hires.
I pull out the candidate’s resumé, but before I can really look at it, the door opens. I look up, and my perfectly crafted veneer nearly cracks.
It’s Lyra.
Her strawberry-blonde hair is freshly tamed, though I already see a curl fighting to escape near her temple. Her green eyes lock with mine, and I can tell she’s having the same realization.
Or is she? If she’s as shocked as I am, she certainly hides it better.
She’s wearing a gray fitted suit that I’m sure is meant to make her look more professional, but it does nothing to hide the curves beneath. If anything, it makes her look even more tempting than her waitress uniform.
I feel a slow, hard burn start in my chest and sink low in my gut. It’s a good thing I’ve had decades of practice keeping my face neutral, because all I can think about is how easy it would be to lean across this desk, drag her onto it, and find out exactly what color her underwear is.
She stands in the doorway for a second, eyes flicking over the office. Her gaze lands on me, and she hesitates just slightly. Then she squares her shoulders, walks in, and sits in the chair opposite me without being asked. It’s bold. I like that.
She smooths her skirt, adjusting the way it sits over her thighs. She clears her throat.
“Mr. Morozov,” she says, voice steady enough that I’m impressed.
I lean back slightly in my chair, steepling my fingers. “Miss Taylor, I presume.”
Her cheeks color faintly. Good. She’s not as calm as she wants to appear.
“Can we start over?” she blurts.
I raise an eyebrow. “We haven’t even started the interview.”
She presses her lips together, then takes a breath. “I mean from last night.”
She’s embarrassed, but I keep my face completely impassive.
“From last night?” I ask, tilting my head slightly, to mess with her.
She huffs. “At the restaurant,” she clarifies. “Can we forget that any of that happened?”
Her voice is firmer this time, but there’s a hint of pleading in her eyes that I don’t miss. It does something to me I don’t appreciate.
I shrug slowly. “It’s forgotten.”
Her shoulders slump just a little in relief. I lean forward, pick up the folder containing her resumé, flip it open, and hold it up slightly, tapping the paper with one finger.
“Now,” I say, my voice even colder than before, “tell me why someone with these qualifications is working as a waitress.”
I watch her face carefully. For a split second, there’s something like indignation there. She doesn’t like the question.
She squares her shoulders again. “I’ve got to pay the bills.”
I nod once, setting the folder down.
Short, honest, and to the point. I can work with that. My eyes don’t leave hers. I make sure of it. I want her squirming and thinking about last night. I want her imagining what else I might do to her.
My eyes flick down to her suit jacket. She’s buttoned up, neat, and professional. I wonder how fast I could have it open. How she’d look with it falling off her shoulders. My fingers twitch slightly against the armrest of my chair.
She shifts in her seat, and I know she’s feeling it too. Her thighs press together almost imperceptibly, but I see it.
She clears her throat again. “The tips are usually good, and it gives me a solid chance to practice my people skills.”
“Did you need to practice your people skills?” I tease.
“It doesn’t hurt to stay sharp,” she answers immediately.
I let the silence stretch for a beat longer than necessary. Her eyes flick to the desk, then back to me. I speak carefully, letting the words come out measured and deliberate.
“You graduated near the top of your class. You completed an advanced cryptography module. You led a team on a senior project that actually got the department head’s attention. And you’re telling me the only option you had after graduation was waiting tables?”
She bristles. I can see it in the way her shoulders tighten. I like seeing that fire in her. I want to see if she’s got enough of it to handle this world.
She lifts her chin. “It was temporary until I found something worth the degree. I didn’t want to settle.”
I nod slowly, pretending to consider the folder. She’s nervous, but she’s holding the line. I shift in my chair, deliberately letting my eyes roam over her in a way that’s just this side of inappropriate. She stiffens even more.
My cock stirs uncomfortably, and I adjust slightly, careful not to let it show in my expression. I lean forward a fraction and tilt my head, watching her. “Why Integrated Solutions?”
“Because your systems are the best. Because no one’s been able to crack them. Because you innovate instead of just selling the same packages over and over.”
She’s gaining steam now, words coming faster.
“I want to work somewhere that actually cares about security. About doing it right.” She stops, breathing hard.
I let the silence fall again.
Finally, I nod once. “Good answer.”
It’s honest and smart. She has exactly the kind of mind I want working for me. And the kind of mouth I want around me for very different reasons. My fingers curl once against the desk.
I force myself to look down at the folder again, scanning lines without even seeing them.
“We have a rigorous training period here. It won’t be a free ride.”
She straightens. “I don’t want a free ride.”
Her voice is firm.
“Let’s talk about your degree,” I say, turning the attention toward safer topics.
She swallows, nods once.
“You graduated top of your class,” I continue. “With a double major in computer science and applied mathematics. That’s not easy.”
She lifts her chin a fraction. “No. It wasn’t.”
I arch a brow. “And the cryptography module? That was advanced work.”
She shrugs one shoulder, trying for casual. “I like puzzles.”
My mouth twitches slightly before I catch it. I can’t help imagining her in that same calm, focused state while I set a new kind of puzzle in front of her. One involving my belt buckle and her lips.
I need to focus.
“Tell me about your senior project.”
She straightens, looking at her hands as she recalls the project. “We designed a new encryption standard. Used modular arithmetic and lattice-based structures to make it resistant to quantum attacks.”
I nod, impressed despite myself. “Your professor recommended you.”
“I know,” she says, a little stiffly.
She’s embarrassed. I can see it in the way she glances at her hands.
“You know you can do better.”
Her head jerks up, eyes wide. She opens her mouth like she’s going to argue. Then she closes it. “I do,” she says quietly.
I like watching her think, watching her regroup.
She’s good at it.
“I assume you have experience with Python?” I ask next.
She nods. “Four years. Mostly for scripting, but I’ve written production code.”
“C++?”
She hesitates, but just a fraction. “It’s not my favorite, but I know it.”
I snort softly. “It’s not anyone’s favorite.”
That wins me the smallest smile.
I have to look away for a second, or I’ll let something show. I flick my eyes back to her resumé.
“You worked in a lab as a research assistant,” I say.
“Yes,” she says. “I mostly did data analysis. Statistical modeling.”
“That’s useful.”
She nods.
I set the folder down. She’s possibly the perfect candidate for this job, which makes this hard. It means I can’t reject her. I also can’t let my personal feelings get in the way.
“Tell me,” I say, voice lower. “Do you handle yourself well under pressure?”
She bristles again. “I think I proved that last night.”
I smirk. “I thought we weren’t talking about last night.”
She shifts, crossing one leg over the other. The movement drags my eyes down for a second.
I force myself to look back at her face.
“I thought that would be the polite thing to do,” she answers.
“Look,” I say finally, voice going hard again. “I don’t hire people because they’re polite. I hire them because they’re better than everyone else in the room.”
Her lip trembles for a second before she bites it. That shouldn’t be as fucking hot as it is. I take a deep breath.
“Your resumé is solid,” I tell her. “Your project leadership is excellent. Your recommendations are glowing. And you didn’t fold when I pushed you.”
She’s speechless. I take a deep breath. Fuck it. “You’re hired,” I say flatly.
She stares at me for a moment, slightly dumbfounded. “What?” she asks breathlessly.
I tilt my head. “I said you’re hired.”
She looks lost for a second.
Her mouth opens again. “Are you sure?”
“You came here for a job,” I remind her.
“Yes,” she says faintly.
“I’m offering one,” I say, voice dropping to that same calm, dangerous register I used last night.
Her eyes widen.
She takes a shaky breath.
“Salary is in the high six figures,” I continue calmly. “It comes with full benefits and stock options after the first year. You start on Monday.”
I can see the calculation in her eyes. The disbelief. The suspicion.
“And this isn’t because you think I’m some damsel in distress or something?” she whispers.
I don’t answer, but I can’t help smirking at this. She is no damsel. In fact, she might be the death of me.
“Okay,” she says finally.
“Okay?” I ask, confused, my thoughts drifting elsewhere.
She clears her throat. “I mean, yes. I accept.”
I nod once. “Good,” I say simply.
She stands slowly, smoothing her skirt. I lean back, watching her the whole time. She catches me looking and flushes again, turning away quickly, but not before I get one last look at the way that skirt hugs her hips.
My jaw tightens. As she walks out, I let my eyes trail down her legs. Fuck. Monday can’t come soon enough.