Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
LOGAN
H er speech moved me so profoundly that I couldn’t let her see. She knows my story. At least, I assume she does. She knows I grew up in the system, though I’m sure she doesn’t know the full extent of the horrors I experienced and witnessed.
Still, the basics of what she said affected me. Big time. Hell, it inspired me. I’ve felt the same as she has since I was her age—keen to make my mark on the world but unsure how I would do it.
For years, I flitted between jobs. Personal trainer. Salesman. Martial arts instructor for a brief time. On the day she left for college, I was working as a social media manager, with no idea how I’d ended up in the job, not particularly hating it, but not loving it, either.
Then, Piper inspired me, and everything changed. I finally found something to fixate on.
Reaching into my top desk drawer, I take out an envelope and slide it across the table.
“Inside are the details for our latest product, which is still in development,” I say, finding it difficult to look at her. “Review everything. Then, we’re going to do a reverse interview. I’ll ask you about the product, your feelings about it, and your ideas, and we’ll go from there.”
As I nudge the envelope toward her, and she reaches for it, our hands touch. She makes a soft gasping sound that goes right to the base of my dick, tension making my thickness throb as I try to keep my cool. She bites her lip and quickly lets it go.
Is she struggling to keep this tame, too?
I stand, hands behind my back, walking to the tall windows as an excuse not to look at her. She’s gorgeous, perfect. There’s no denying it. Her shirt clings to her supple mounds, her pencil skirt outlining her wide hips and drawing tempting attention to her thick thighs.
But her face, her natural beauty, has the most significant effect. It’s the hope in her eyes, the enthusiastic smile, the vivacious energy she brings to the process.
“There’s a questionnaire in there, too,” I tell her. “Please fill that out.”
“How long do I have?” she asks.
“Thirty minutes. Would you like a coffee or something else to drink?”
“Just a water, please.”
“Sure. I’ll be right back.”
I don’t look at her as I walk from the office. It’s like there’s an energy in the air, a tension that makes me ache all over. I wonder if she’s also experiencing it or if I just need to get a grip.
Apart from the hunger blazing in me, the interview is going well. Her speech was far more convincing than any other interviewee’s. She doesn’t want any handouts. So far, she's gotten none.
“I can do that, Mr. Wolfe,” Clive says when he sees me walking toward the drinks trolley.
“Don’t sweat it, Clive,” I reply.
“How’s it going? She seemed impressive when I was leading her in.”
“You got it: impressive. She’s keen to do a good job. Determined.”
It feels like a bonding point already. Sure, I knew her story, and she knows shades of mine, but it’s not like we had any reason to discuss this in depth when she was a kid. She was mostly a background figure, a girl with her nose buried in a book, the younger sister who was just there.
Until the party.
Then, it was like she became somebody else. It was as if I saw her for the first time: her curves, her beauty, her passion.
Back in my office, I set her water down. She leans over my desk. My hungry instincts beg me to drink in the sight of her curvaceous globes as they subtly shape her shirt, but I don’t allow it to happen.
As she works, I sit on the other side of the desk, answering some emails. I try not to watch her as she works, but her concentration makes her even more beautiful. She furrows her eyebrows, hurriedly taking notes.
“And that’s time,” I say once the thirty minutes are up.
She looks up, and her cheeks redden like they did at the party. It gives her an animated look that makes every exchange exciting.
“We’ll start with the questionnaire,” I say, offering my hand.
She passes me the piece of paper, and again, our hands touch, sensation dancing up my arm. I try to ignore its effect on me, but I fail.
A laugh of appreciation escapes me when I see the answer to the first question. She tilts her head, smiling and somewhat shocked. I’m shocked, too. I’ve smiled and laughed more with her than I usually do in a week in this office.
“Your favorite novel is The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck,” I say.
“Yeah…”
I open my bottom desk drawer and take out a dogeared copy of the novel. Piper’s eyebrows shoot up adorably. “Whoa,” she mutters.
“I suppose when you’ve struggled and strived and want to find a better life, it’s a natural choice,” I say.
She nods enthusiastically. “My thoughts exactly.”
I want to ask her more and discuss this further, but I have more work to do today. And this is supposed to be an interview, not a date.
“You can type ninety words per minute.”
“I taught myself in college,” she says. “I know it’s unnecessary for copywriting, but it could help if there’s a tight deadline and we need to get moving.”
“And you’re willing to work overtime… for free.” I shake my head. “Piper, you shouldn’t tell employers things like that. I’m glad you’re willing to put in extra effort if our timeline calls for it, but you will be paid, and paid well, for your work.”
She shrugs, seeming suddenly na?ve. “I just want to do a good job.”
“And you will—for a fair wage.”
She reaches up and twists a strand of her hair around her finger, then lets her hand drop when she realizes what she’s doing.
“You’d be willing to give presentations to clients,” I say, nodding.
She wraps her arms across her middle.
Fuck .
It makes her body shift so temptingly I almost lose it. It’s like I’m existing on two levels. The CEO who’s interested in her talent as an employee, and the goddamn savage who wants to tear off her shirt, make her buttons pop, bring my mouth to her perfect…
“I’d be nervous, but yeah, I’d do it. After college, I’m done letting nerves dictate my actions. It’s like in Wrath . I have to try. I have to keep moving.”
I nod, placing the questionnaire down. I don’t want to be over the top with her, but it isn’t easy. Every word speaks to me on a deep level. We share something fundamental, something that goes beyond the physical.
I thought this interview would mean resisting my desire to kiss her, touch her, own her. I didn’t know it’d mean resisting her emotionally, too.
“Let’s move on to the product,” I say. “Tell me a little about Forever Love.”
“It’s a dating app that uses advanced algorithms to match lovers,” she replies, sitting up and uncrossing her arms. Her subtle blush betrays her nerves, but she pushes bravely and impressively through them. “It’s designed for the users to find their one and only, so the app will ideally delete after it has done its job.”
“What do you think about it as a concept?” I ask. “Imagine you were a potential customer.”
She taps her finger against her chin without any self-consciousness. She probably has no clue how gorgeous she looks. “I don’t know if it would apply to me.”
“How do you mean?”
“I’m not looking for my one and only.”
A brutal, possessive thought fires into my head.
Good.
If I can’t have her, I don’t want anybody else to have her, either. I push it deep down into the graveyard of thoughts and desires I can never acknowledge.
“A man might be forgiven for saying you’re too young to be so pessimistic about love.”
She stares into my eyes with meaning. I’m almost certain she’s thinking about the kiss. Am I? How? It happened so long ago.
“Imagine,” I growl, making her flinch, which wasn’t my intention.
“If I was interested in dating,” she says softly. “Forever Love would be the perfect app for me. I’ve never wanted to play the field. And I’d want to find somebody who matches well with me.”
“What does ‘matches well’ mean to you?” I ask out of pure professional curiosity. That’s the fiction I need to believe stubbornly.
“I think it would mean somebody who wants the same thing out of life. It would mean somebody who supports me, and I want to support too. I think the main thing would mean being a team.”
I nod, captivated, wondering if she’s doing this on purpose.
“What about you?” she asks.
Her question shocks me. “Me?”
“In the information packet, it says you’re the mastermind behind this product. Some people might say that’s surprising.”
The edge of her lip twitches in one of her enthralling smiles. Is she teasing me? The desire to flirt with her is almost physical. I yearn to smile but somehow stop myself.
“Market projections show that dating apps will see an uptick in the near future and that apps specifically geared toward genuine relationships and connections will be of interest as more and more people become disillusioned with hookup culture. It has nothing to do with me.”
She looks down at the table. “Oh.”
“Anyway,” I say, standing and going to my office door.
She looks up in shock. “We’re done?”
“I’ve heard everything I need to,” I tell her. “Somebody will be in touch.”
She stands, brushing down her shirt, triggering feral thoughts inside me. But now, after this meeting, I don’t just want to grab her, kiss her, massage her curvy body—I want to gently bite the thickness of her thigh before kissing her sex, tasting her, owning her.
I want to take her on a date to discuss Grapes of Wrath . I want to bond.
This isn't good. It’s dangerous.
But I can’t deny that she’s the best person for the job.
At the door, she turns to me. “I didn’t mean to pry, Logan, at the end. I hope I haven’t ruined the interview.”
“Like I said, somebody will be in touch.” She hangs her head as she walks away. I can’t let her leave like that, though. “You did a great job, Piper.”
Before she can reply, I shut the door and dash to my desk.