Release Date: February 21, 2019
Photo Credit: Darren Birks Photography
Model: Chris Connolly
Noah Wright was not the man for me.
Tall, sexy and beautiful. He drew attention everywhere he went.
While all I wanted was to blend in—fade into the background.
Nope, Noah Wright was definitely not the man for me.
I’d heard the rumors and seen the women. He was a player, who flaunted his conquests for all to see.
Noah Wright was not for me.
Except… he was the first man to make my thighs clench and my core flutter.
Giving in to temptation once couldn’t hurt, right? I just had to avoid being seen in public with him. Easy, right? Simple.
And it was.
Until I found out the rumors about Noah Wright were wrong, and the truth… the truth was so much worse.
That’s how I felt as I sat in Mr. Taylor’s office, watching as he read through my job application. He hadn’t looked at me since I handed it to him. And even then, it had only been a couple of seconds of eye contact. No smile. No greeting. He gave nothing away.
Neither did his office. It was modern, black and white and gray, with a sterile quality to it, like an operating room, and just as chilly—a welcomed reprieve from the August afternoon heat. I’d spent all day driving up and down the PCH, and to say my thirteen year old car’s air conditioner wasn’t up to battling the scorching temperature would be an understatement. The sweat soaked fabric clinging to my back and underarms was proof of that.
But it wasn’t the fact I was sitting in front of a seriously attractive man wearing a sweat stained dress, or the fact I’d scuffed my white Chuck Taylor’s on the floor when I walked in, making that horrible high pitched screeching sound, it wasn’t even the fact that I was a newly college drop-out that had me wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole. Nope.
I was ashamed to be applying for a job—of needing a job. If anyone recognized me, it would be the same as publicly announcing failure. My failure. My parents failure. And I was terrified of seeing the fall from grace headlines and becoming a cautionary tale.
I was embarrassed to be me.
I never had been before.
And I never wanted to be again.
And that’s why I needed the job.
I needed to make enough money to get us out of the mess we were in.
Taking a deep breath, I shifted in my chair, then ran my hands down my thighs, unnecessarily smoothing out the skirt of my dress—the dress I had purchased to feign grieving for a recently deceased relative. It was a black cap sleeved, fit and flare style dress, probably too dressy for an interview at a gym.
Not that it mattered, because Mr. Taylor still hadn’t looked at me.
And that was the plan, to go unnoticed. To be invisible. And that was no easy feat with my nearly platinum hair, ivory skin, and baby blue eyes. But with my waves straightened and make-up free, I created a bright, pale spot that most people were uncomfortable looking at. I’d been asked on more than one occasion if I was albino.
I wasn’t. But you get the idea.
As the minutes ticked by, Mr. Taylor’s imposing presence, dispassionate expression and utter silence were starting to make me paranoid.
Was lying on a job application a felony?
It was really just a few… embellishments.
Work experience, ability to be responsible, name…
He finally laid my web of lies to the side and looked at me. His gaze was shrewd and accessing.
“You really need a job?” His voice was surprisingly kind, as if he pitied me. Or was about to give me a heart felt fuck-off kid.
Panic welled inside me.
I had applied at five other places, and been turned down at all of them. The gym was the last viable option for me; no more than thirty minutes from home, not open to the public, full-time, and decent pay. I needed this job.
“Yes, I need a job. I’ll take anything,” I rushed out, sounding pathetic. “I can start today.”
Without a word, he stood, motioning for me to follow him.
One of Five ARC’s for Mr. Wright
About the Author
J.C. Grant was born in Oklahoma and currently resides in Los Angeles, CA.
She writes super sexy Romance about Alpha males and the women they love.
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