7. Marlowe
CHAPTER 7
Marlowe
O kay.
Brendan Sullivan is ridiculous.
Like, the kind of ridiculous that would make women more at ease than me with their sexuality (read: anyone) drop their panties just like that but makes me want to let out some kind of high-pitched, nervous titter, because I’m here to interview with some kind of bad boy, alpha-hole romance hero come to life for the well-paid honour of sleeping with him.
If I allow myself to think about it like that, even for a second, I will probably faint.
Or pee myself.
I mean, I realised he was extremely attractive that night at the exhibition, but I was more focused on meeting Athena’s new boss-with-benefits, if I’m honest. And Brendan seemed shy that night, so I didn’t really give him much of a second thought.
But now that I’m in his crazy corner office that’s conservatively three times bigger than my entire flat, and I’m alone with him, and he’s in CEO mode, and he’s found his voice—and his swagger—it’s absolutely impossible not to be affected by him.
First of all, he’s big.
Bigger than I realised, and bigger than his brother.
I used to play rugby and now lift serious weights big.
The breadth of his shoulders and the heft of those arms under his beautiful navy suit are unmistakable.
I’m tall, and I’m in Athena’s four-inch pale-pink suede Gianvito Rossi’s, but he still towers over me.
He must be six-three or six-four.
I find myself wondering if he’s built proportionally all over and have to talk myself down with a blush.
Stop it.
Second, he totally has a playboy tan.
I bet he works his way all around the women of the Med over the summer, and I bet he’s disgustingly successful at it—so successful, in fact, that I wonder why the hell he needs a Seraph EA.
If it wasn’t for those sky-blue eyes, the tan and almost black beard would be giving serious Mob vibes.
Third, I may have googled him far too extensively in the days since Athena suggested this gig, and I can’t conclude that I did myself any favours.
I told myself it was purely for interview research purposes, but there’s context and there’s context .
The penchant-for-blondes thing?
Helpful.
The penchant-for-blonde actual, literal supermodels thing?
Unhelpful.
Acquainting myself with his career history and his rise through the ranks at Sullivan Construction?
Helpful.
Acquainting myself with his net worth?
Unhelpful.
As was happening upon a Tatler article citing him as the second most eligible bachelor in London last year (the current Duke of Oxford pipped him to the post), and reading a tell-all in the Daily Mail by a—platinum blonde, obviously—reality TV star he’d dated and allegedly dumped.
The article reeked of sour grapes while also being a blatant plug for her new line of planet-friendly yoga mats, but she didn’t hold back on slagging off his bedroom behaviour (“demanding bordering on aggressive”) or his maturity levels (“a spoilt five-year-old on a good day”).
A bratty kid by day and a wannabe porn star by night?
Fucking excellent.
From what I can tell, having done far too much of this “research”, I have two advantages over all the other women who cross his path and throw themselves at him.
One. I will do anything to make him happy and keep him satisfied.
Anything.
Two. My only agenda is saving my daughter’s life.
Unlike the rest of them, I have no interest in trying to become Mrs Brendan Sullivan, so he can rest easy that I’ll fuck him to his heart’s content without angling for a proposal.
Which brings me to the other elephant in the room—our questionnaires.
I will fully admit to having completed mine while being half a bottle of wine down, a move that was as necessary as it was ill-judged.
I answered yes to far too many things, even if Athena, who guided me through it over a video call, seconded Camille’s words: that I absolutely did not have to roll over and say yes to everything.
The problem is that neither Athena nor Camille have a daughter who needs hundreds of thousands of pounds’ worth of medical care yesterday.
So they can discern all they want, but I know that the more boxes I tick yes to, the more likely Brendan will offer me this job.
Is it irresponsible to opt in to potentially indulge in sex acts I may not be comfortable with?
Are you crazy?! Of course it is!
!!!!!
But when you have purposely put the glossy Duke Children’s Hospital brochure directly in your line of sight as you fill out a sexy questionnaire, you will damn well complete said questionnaire in the way that has the best chance of getting you through the doors of that hospital.
Also, I was at home in my flat at the time.
I was in my little sanctuary.
It was a not dissimilar experience to watching 365 Days and idly wishing someone hot would bundle you up and kidnap you.
It felt safe, like a distant fantasy that your nervous system is so confident is impossible that it’s happy to stand down and let you fantasise about.
But now? Now my pulse is skittering all over the place and my breakfast is reconsidering its home in my stomach right as my nervous system reconsiders the is impossible part of this situation.
I’m watching the curves of Brendan’s moving lips as he gives Elaine his coffee order, and I’m noticing the muscles flexing right beneath that expensive wool jacket, and every part of me is sensing his bulk, his strength, his proximity, and all those filthy things I glibly signed up for suddenly feel shockingly real.
Terrifyingly imminent.
I won’t even get started on all the things he mentioned, because I absolutely will not be able to focus on selling my tenuous assistant skillset in a pleasant and convincing manner if I think about the fact that he wrote ANAL in capital letters on his questionnaire.
Capital letters.
I have strong and easily digested—haha—views on anal.
In a nutshell, that hole back there is an exit hole, not an entry hole.
I value my digestive health, thank you very much.
In fact, it’s the one sodding area of my life where everything is shipshape.
It all runs like clockwork.
Never will a man get back there, and definitely not a man of this guy’s size.
No, sir.
Ten bottles of wine wouldn’t have been enough to make me tick that box.
If Mr Brendan Sullivan wants to stick it up the wrong ‘un, he’ll have to do so out of office hours with someone who categorically isn’t me.
‘ S o, Marlowe,’ he says, settling into the opposite end of the couch with casual confidence after Elaine’s left us, ‘tell me what brings you to Seraph after your time at the Royal Academy.’
His tone is conversational, but those blue eyes are assessing me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle, because the way he’s checking me out is most definitely outside of the remit of this interview.
He’s not playing fair, and I have to remind myself that nothing about this situation is fair.
If I’m going to get flustered the second my potential future boss eye-fucks me, I won’t last a day in this job.
‘I was there for five years,’ I say as steadily as I can.
‘It felt stagnant. It’s a wonderful place to work, but it’s quite set in its ways.
I’m looking for a new challenge.
’ This may be my first job interview in years, but even I know that I’m looking for a new challenge is as desperately cliché as it gets.
I clear my throat and channel my inner Athena.
‘I got tired of not learning new things. I know that an executive assistant position will give me so much access, and I imagine the work is different every day. I love the idea of that. I may not be the most experienced EA you’ll ever meet, but I’m really hardworking and seriously focused.
I’d just love the opportunity to show you.
’
Okay, I might have gone in a little hot and heavy with the pitch right then, but I’m not leaving anything to chance here.
I’d rather he thought I was an embarrassingly keen “pick me” than someone who was apathetic.
I wait for him to say something, but he’s staring at my mouth like a man on drugs.
The realisation hits me that this part of the interview may just be a technicality.
While it stings, it’s also a relief.
Today I’m not the good girl who wants goodwill and validation and gold stars, who wants her every effort recognised.
I’m a grown woman who has a clear goal and a very compelling motivation for that goal and who, most importantly, is not above using every trick in the book to reach it.
I lick my lips. Not in an overt, porno way; just in a subtle way, but his eyes track the flicker of my tongue, and the first surge of power hits me in the gut like a shot of tequila.
He wants me.
Of course he does.
Athena’s told me so over and over.
I’m so stupid. I’ve been so stressed about how high the stakes are, and how much I need this guy to take a chance on me, and I’ve let that freak me the hell out.
I’ve let it make me feel completely disenfranchised, but perhaps my looks, something I can’t take credit for and something I’ve deliberately underplayed since Joe chewed me up and spat me out, give me far more agency here than I’ve accepted up until now.
Sometimes, catching a man’s eye is a bad thing.
Joe told me so in as many words, over and over again.
My little prize.
My gorgeous little secret.
If my colleagues could see me now, buried inside the most beautiful student on campus.
Being the woman whom men want to conquer, to claim, is a liability.
I learned that the hard way.
But it’s dawning on me that sometimes, in the right circumstances, it’s a breathtakingly powerful currency.
At the end of the day, Brendan is just a guy.
A stupidly hot, stupidly rich guy who’s clearly very smart and successful but is probably also quite straightforward.
If he’s interested in taking this forward, then all I have to do in this interview is ensure I give him zero reasons not to.
This approach goes against every feminist bone in my body.
My and Athena’s former headmistress would die if she knew I was using my physical attributes to land a job—but then she’d die if she knew that two of her most studious alumni were selling their bodies in the first place.
I cross my legs in as ladylike a fashion as I can, and Brendan’s gaze drops to linger on my bare knees.
It’s been so long since I’ve entertained the slightest bit of interest from a guy that this feels completely alien to me, but the feeling is not unpleasant.
‘You asked why Seraph in particular,’ I continue softly, and his eyes flash up to my face.
God, they’re striking.
Being the focus of his attention is really full on.
‘I realise it’s not the most conventional agency.
’ I give him a little smile that I really hope is coquettish, because I’m far too rusty at this flirting business.
It’s a relief when the sight of it has his eyes widening a fraction.
‘But I love their philosophy. I love the idea of working alongside a man who’s as insanely busy and stressed and prevailed upon as you and being the person who can make some of it go away.
Not all of it, obviously.
But I think it’s the full-service element that appeals to me, and by that I mean the holistic nature.
I want to help you.’
I spread my hands wide.
‘I’m a natural-born helper.
So if there are stressors or headaches or obstacles that stand in your way, whatever they are, I’m going to make it my mission to make them go away.
I’m scrappy and resourceful and fierce and really, really hardworking, and I promise you I’ll do my utmost in every situation to give you every last thing you need and want.
’
Except anal, you know.
I’m not sure where all this stuff is coming from, but I mean it.
I may not be Athena-level smart, but I’m like a dog with a bone when it comes to fighting for the people in my corner.
If there’s a pit bull element to this job, I’ll excel.
Every CEO should think about hiring the mother of a sick child—we’re resilient as fuck and tough as old boots and we don’t take no for an answer, because we’ve fought every fight and challenged every no and hustled every single medical body with laser focus and indefatigable commitment to a single cause.
He leans forward. ‘Elaine’s been doing a joint PA-slash-EA role for a while now, and it’s become clear that I need dedicated personnel for both of those roles.
I won’t insult your intelligence by pretending that’s the only reason I signed up with Seraph.
But while the role is complex and ever-changing, the ideology behind it is pretty simple—and you’ve just nailed it.
’
He allows himself a leisurely peruse of my body, and I force myself to relax as he mentally undresses me.
‘I’m tired, you know?
I work hard and play hard.
Sometimes it feels like everyone’s an idiot.
I’m looking for someone who can protect me from the idiots and make my life easier.
Someone who can anticipate problems and make them go away, and help me work through the stress when they can’t.
’
He licks his lips after the last part in a not unsexy way, and there’s no denying that he’s referencing both sides of the job.
I nod with what I hope is an understanding smile, though I’m rolling my eyes internally.
Oh, please. I’m sure this guy doesn’t lift a finger.
He probably has chefs and drivers and minions galore.
I bet he hasn’t put a wash on or stepped foot into a dry cleaner or opened his own mail for years and years.
Sure, he has a huge job, and I’m sure he works his arse off at it.
But we all work hard, and some of us come home from our jobs and cook and clean and then find ourselves in A&E at all hours of the night.
For most of us, playing hard is unfathomable.
But I’ll suck it up, because him needing a glorified nanny equates to the biggest opportunity I’ve ever had.
This overprivileged playboy is Tabby’s lifeline, and I won’t forget it.
‘I can be all those things for you,’ I tell him.
‘I’ll make it all go away.
If you hired me, your wellbeing would be my sole focus, I promise.
’ During office hours only, pal.
I have someone whose wellbeing is far more worthy of my attention in real life.
There’s an eight-year-old girl with insufficient oxygen circulating in her body, and she’s known stress and pain the likes of which you can never, ever imagine.
Stress is your body shutting down because your lungs are being slowly suffocated.
It is not fending off unwanted attention from society gold-diggers.
He closes his eyes briefly and presses his lips together in a weirdly earnest way, as if he’s carrying the weight of the world but is trying to be a big brave boy.
If you remove the sex, this gig is sounding more and more like a nannying role.
And I may not be an experienced EA, but I have raised a child, albeit one with more problems and more resilience than this guy will ever have.
Placating and enduring tantrums and making the pain go away are second nature to me.
And if that’s what Brendan essentially wants, I’ll deliver it in spades.
I flick my hair back over my shoulder, and it jolts him out of his spontaneous little pity party.
His handsome face turns predatory again as his gaze lingers on my hair.
‘You know,’ he says, his voice gruff, ‘you’re making it very difficult for me to keep this professional.
If I had my way, we’d be moving onto Round Two right now.
’
My smile turns coquettish, and my insides dance at his tone as much as his words.
Bring it.
It seems the terrified clutcher of pearls in Camille’s office is on her way out.
In her place?
A mama bear who’s just caught her first whiff of victory.
And boy, is it heady.