4. Ella
4
ELLA
I don’t know where we’re going, but I’m following Mr. Thorne like a lost puppy, nipping at his heels as he strides at a pace I’m struggling to match. For every step he takes, I need two to keep up.
I hardly notice the rest of the office space as we breeze through corridors, navigate the mazes of cubicles, and jockey around the streams of people rushing by us. But I can’t ignore the heads turning our way or the hushed conversations directed at us.
I have no idea what he meant when he said he had a proposal for me. He just met me. Is it something to do with that creep? I don’t know. But I’m not sure I should’ve entertained the proposal, whatever it may be. I should’ve left like I planned. Gotten out of here and put that meeting and this place out of my mind.
But I couldn’t. There was something about Mr. Thorne’s commanding presence. The way he looked at me. Spoke to me. And how he turned on his heel and started walking, expecting me to follow him without question.
I swallow hard.
He was right. I fell in line, following him without question, and I have no doubt he’s used to people complying with his demands, kneeling before him like he’s some god. I guess I’m no different.
But why wouldn’t I want a meeting with one part of the BlackeThorne namesake? People would kill to have a meeting with him. And with a face like his? I doubt he’s used to hearing ‘No,’ unless it’s followed by ‘please, don’t stop.’
Ugh.
My body was certainly saying ‘Yes’ from the moment I smacked into his solid frame. A damn brick wall underneath that suit. I hardly had a chance to look at him before butterflies fluttered everywhere inside me. The urge for him to grab my face and kiss me. That was a new feeling, but I’m blaming my frayed nerves. My body’s all out of whack from that horrible, horrible meeting.
I stare at Mr. Thorne’s back as he continues to stride in front of me. Whatever spark I felt is one way. He hasn’t so much as looked back to see if I’m still following. A part of me wants to break off and see if he notices, but I’m sure he will. You don’t reach such great heights in the movie industry, or any industry for that matter, without an eye for detail.
“Push my meeting with Everett back a half-hour,” Mr. Thorne says without breaking his stride as we approach a woman standing next to a desk a few feet from a towering set of mahogany doors.
I wasn’t expecting Mr. Thorne to have an assistant a few decades his senior, but when she opens her mouth, it makes sense.
“Your funeral,” she says flatly, handing him a stack of papers.
I like her. And when she smiles at me and rolls her eyes at him, I love her. “Can I get you anything?”
“I-I’m… no, thank you,” I respond as the doors to Mr. Thorne’s office swing open, and he marches through them.
I pause, mouth agog as I peer into the space in front of me. His office looks straight out of a movie. It’s so cavernous that I’m afraid I’ll get lost if I don’t follow him inside right now. Is there a map somewhere? Headphones for a guided audio tour? This wasn’t what I expected when I walked into BlackeThorne Entertainment this morning, but then again, neither was that horrible interview.
I take a few tentative steps inside as nerves swell in my belly. My heart is hammering so hard and fast that I’m surprised it’s not echoing off the walls.
“Should I shut the doors?” I ask weakly as Mr. Thorne slides into the chair behind his desk. He doesn’t respond. He sits, staring at me with those dark eyes that cut through me like a warm knife through butter.
“Good luck,” his assistant whispers, closing the door behind me. They shut with a solid thud the rattles in my chest.
Thanks. I guess.
I clear my throat, staring at the man behind the massive desk. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me since he sat down. Hasn’t spoken a word either. I’m not sure how this meeting is going to go, but I’m feeling a little uneasy, especially given my history with meetings at BlackeThorne.
“Sit,” Mr. Thorne says, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.
The god deigns to speak to a mere mortal.
I try to ignore the heaviness in my limbs as I walk toward the chair. I’ve never felt so self-conscious walking before, so vulnerable to someone’s gaze. Although the room is cavernous, I feel claustrophobic with him. His presence is imposing, looming over me like an impending thunderstorm. It’s in the air, thick and heavy. Tension that refuses to release.
The leather chair is as cold against my skin as his gaze. I fold my hands in my lap as I meet his eyes. I’ve seen Adrian Thorne in magazine profiles and online, but they hardly hold a candle to the real thing. Dark eyes stare at me from under a darker brow ridge. His lips soften the brutal edge of his jawline. It’s hard to pretend his face isn’t igniting a fire in me. And I can’t ignore the addictive scent of sandalwood and spice and man that permeates the air in front of me. He could bottle it and sell it as the world’s most potent aphrodisiac.
And I’d be first in line… Ugh.
“Why are you here?” His voice slices through the air. My nipples pebble under my bra as goosebumps ripple across my skin. I’m both scared and aroused by this. Scaroused? Is that a thing? I don’t know. Everything about my interaction with this man is new territory for me. I don’t know what to feel or think. I’m just going along with it.
I swallow hard as I rub my arms softly. It feels like I walked into the wolf’s den, trading one predator for another, but this predator is of a different variety. He’s not trying to rip my clothes off. He’s dissecting me, wondering if I’m worthy to grace his presence. Ready to chew me up and spit me out.
“Why am I here? You invited me. You had a proposal. You’re the only one who can answer that question.”
A ghost of a smile on his lips.
He leans forward, and I lean backward, but it does nothing. His presence envelopes me like thick fog, and every breath I take has a bit of him in it.
“We’ll get to that. Why are you at BlackeThorne? What do you want, Ella?”
There’s not a shred of emotion in his voice. It’s flat, cold, and commanding.
“I was interviewing for a Production Assistant job. That’s what I want.”
At least, I did. My mind returns to the uncomfortable interview, and I make a pact with myself that I’m not leaving here without addressing it with Mr. Thorne.
“Production Assistant,” he repeats. There’s an edge of amusement in his voice as he leans back and raises a brow. He seems to be mulling something over, tapping his fingertips together as his eyes refocus on me.
“You seem surprised.”
There’s a hint of a smile, but it falls away. “There’s very little that surprises me,” he says, leaning forward again.
I lean back again, dragging my hands along the armrest, cooling my warm skin.
“The job’s yours,” he says. “But I can’t help but wonder if there’s something else you’re after. You don’t seem like the type to settle for something so… unambitious.”
I can’t help but feel the not-so-subtle dig in my chest. The rumors about him are true. His name isn’t the only prickly thing about him. But, he’s right. Partly. I do want something more than this job, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of being half-right.
“Not all of us have the same privilege as you,” I bite back. “Sometimes we peasants have to take on roles we don’t want in order to make progress on our unambitious dreams.”
I throw his word back at him, and when I see his jaw flex, I can’t help but feel some satisfaction. I’m not about to lie down and take what he’s dishing, even if it comes from lips as enticing as his.
“And what makes you think I want the job after today?” I say, plowing on. “If my interview with that mountain troll was any indication of how you run BlackeThorne, then I want no part of it.”
His hands tighten around his armrest, leather moaning under his grip. Thoughts of those hands all over me spring to mind, but I swallow them down. Never going to happen.
He releases his grip and repositions himself on his chair. “Eugene has been dealt with, and in a few days, he will no longer be employable.”
“But what’s to prevent someone else from taking his place?”
It makes me uneasy knowing that I probably wasn’t the first woman Eugene preyed on. He was too practiced, as though he was running through an entire routine, waiting for someone to take the bait.
“It’s in the works,” he says simply as he reaches into his pocket. “And I assure you, nothing like that will happen again.”
There’s something in his eyes that makes me believe him. In his voice. But it could be that gorgeous face of his or his self-assured demeanor that’s lowering my defenses. It’s hard not to get caught up in a man as confident and composed as him. He has the appearance of a movie star and the composure of a surgeon. And when I look at his hands again, I can’t help but have those same thoughts, the ones that add kindling to the fire building in my lower belly.
“And what is this job offer? A way to keep me quiet?”
He shakes his head as he toys with a large coin he retrieved from his pocket, rolling it over his knuckles back and forth. Dextrous fingers, too. I can’t help but wonder what other talents he might possess.
“Not at all,” he says as he flicks the coin, snatching it out of the air before it hits the desk. “I have no desire for you to be quiet.” Something dark and sensuous flashes in his eyes, and I feel it all over my body. My skin prickles at the sound of his words as though they skim across my skin.
“However, the offer is contingent on one condition.”
I laugh, releasing some of the tension building inside me. “I don’t think you’re in the position to make demands.”
His lips form a devastating smile that sucks the air right out of my lungs. The tension comes back tighter than ever, pooling in my lower belly as I watch the muscles in his jaw tighten. It’s not fair that someone can be so effortlessly handsome that a single smile could turn the tables on any encounter.
“Tell me what you want,” he says, rolling the coin over his knuckles again. I can’t stop looking at it. Back and forth. Over and over. Why is he?—
“Is that one of your Horcruxes?” I blurt without thinking. It’s the only explanation I can think of for how a man like this could exist—so sinfully sexy and ridiculously wealthy. He’s sold his soul, bit by bit.
He stares at me, a mix of confusion and amusement on his face.
“Never mind,” I say, shaking my head. “What do you mean by ‘What do I want?’”
“I’m offering you whatever you want,” he says. “It’s simple.”
“But I’m not willing to bargain if I don’t know the condition.”
He stops rolling the coin across his knuckles, a half-smile on his lips that makes my stomach flutter. “Don’t worry about it. It’s only a few days, maybe a week, of your time. You won’t find a better return on investment, I guarantee you. Just name your price.”
I’m more confused now than I was ten minutes ago, but I’ll play along for now. If he’s offering me anything I want carte blanche, then I seem to be the one who holds the winning hand.
“Anything?” I ask, testing the waters. I lick my lips absently as I hold his gaze.
“Anything,” he says, flames licking behind his eyes as his gaze drops to my lips.
God, why am I indulging him? Why can’t I say no?
He stands up abruptly, removing his jacket and laying it neatly on the back of his chair. It’s hard not to stare at the hard muscles rippling underneath his white-collared shirt. And it’s hard not to admit that I’m more than a little interested in hearing him out because I’m more than a little interested in him.
“I’ll let you think about it,” he says, walking over to the wall of windows to my right.
“How generous,” I mutter, eyes trained on him.
He presses his forearm against the glass, resting his head as he looks out on the city below. I don’t know what to think as I study his outline, every ruthless edge contrasting with the soft curve of his muscles pressing against his shirt.
There’s something weird about this entire situation. Why is he offering me not only the job but anything else I want? He’s holding the condition close to his chest, so it must be a big ask. So I don’t see why mine shouldn’t be just as large.
“Okay,” I say after a few minutes. “I know what I want.”
He turns around and walks toward me, taking a seat in the chair next to me. If I thought his presence was imposing before, it’s downright suffocating right now. I can hardly take a breath as every muscle in my body clenches.
“And?” he asks, his voice raspy, rattling in my chest.
I swallow as I spot the smattering of hairs peeking from under his collar. The way his chest presses against the buttons of his shirt. The bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.
My eyes flit to his lips and then to his eyes as every nerve ending inside me fires. “My entire year’s salary as a bonus. Upfront. Meetings with all of your directors. Casting agents. Everything. Auditions, too.”
I’m going for broke, but I have a feeling it’s hardly a drop in the bucket. A superficial glance around his office speaks to the surfeit of wealth this man and company possess. I’d bet his outfit costs more than my asking price.
He laughs—a deep rumbling noise that ignites a mixture of annoyance and need inside me. I love the sound of him, but hate that it’s directed at me. When he finally stops and that cool demeanor returns, he says, “Consider it done.”
Apparently, my demands, like his appraisal of me, are unambitious.
I cross my arms. “Not until you tell me the condition.”
“My plus one to my brother’s wedding. My fake girlfriend.”
The tension snaps, and I feel weightless. It’s my turn to laugh. It rumbles out of me so hard and fast that it’s difficult to breathe. And the expression on his face? I wish I could frame it and hang it above my nonexistent mantel.