Page 2 of Total Abandon

“Forgive me, Miss…?” he drawls, and I see the subtle movement of him shifting back in his seat out of my periphery.

I tip my nose up, feigning interest in my fingernails, freshly manicured in a shade of the palest pink that really isn’t me at all. “Devlin.”

A pregnant pause. “Forgive me, Miss Devlin, that was rude of me. May I ask why you feel an axe would assist you in your job interview?”

I almost laugh at the polished delivery after how he just mauled me with his eyes. In that moment, I silently dub him Mystery Sex Addict—a lonely, stupid-handsome man who leers at women he doesn’t know. A door opens, sliding audibly across the plush beige carpet. White and beige. That’s all this place is. Maddening.

“Not that it’s any of your business.” I cast a sharp look his way before averting my gaze to the tall, smartly dressed woman who is now walking toward the receptionist. The fleeting glimpse I get of his carved features before I look away again is laced with a muted humor. “But the man I’m being interviewed by is renowned for being one of the world's most spectacularly gigantic assholes.”

The woman, Dr. Sandra Pierce, slides a file across the shiny patent desk toward severe Barbie on reception. A low, amused hum draws my attention back to the man. He slides one large hand along the line of his jaw, palm scraping on the stubble. The space is quiet enough that it sends a shiver cascading down my spine.

“If he’s such a spectacularly gigantic asshole, why do you want to work for him in the first place?”

I huff, smoothing the lines of my skirt to give my itchy hands something to do. “Becauseniceandtalentedare rarely synonymous. And suave man-whore that he is, he single-handedly built the biggest software firm in the city.” I stand as Dr. Pierce turns to face me.

“I’m ready for you, Chloe.” She smiles kindly, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she scoops another file—presumably my own—off the desk.

That infuriating chuckle reaches my ears again. “Well, I’m sure if you just be your charming self, he won’t know what’s hit him.”

I force my feet to move, irked to no end at this man’s easy arrogance. I’ve been anything but charming, and he knows it. I’m a few feet away when I throw over my shoulder, “If I wanted advice from a sex addict, I’d have fucking asked for it.”

I follow Dr. Pierce into her office, not missing the shake of her head and definitely not missing the soft chuckle from behind. “Anger management it is, mi fuego,” I hear before the door snicks shut behind me.

***

Two hours and a questionable amount of caffeine later, all I can think is that Zeke Guerra’s personal secretary is not at all what I imagined. With a place like this, all sleek edges and chrome fixtures, a just as sleek and polished blonde woman springs to mind. The smartly dressed handsome man that sits across from me outside Guerra’s office, however, is not that. I mentally check my prejudice and smile politely as we catch eyes.

“Mr. Guerra won’t be long—he’s just finishing up a meeting.”

“Sure, thanks.” I twist my lips up into that tight-lipped smile that probably makes me look like a psychopath but somehow I can’t stop doing, and glance out of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Light spills in, glistening over polished marble floors. My fingers smooth nervously over the edges of the black portfolio balanced on my lap. I don’t want to acknowledge how important this job is to me, because it feels like the moment I do, the prospect of walking into that room will swallow me into its gaping maw and chew me up. But I want this job. I really freaking want it. No, I need it. With college bills piled up to my eyeballs, and very little zeros left on my bank balance, this feels like a do or die moment.

Do I defy the odds and succeed? Or do I scuttle back to my parents with my tail between my legs, nothing but another sad girl who failed to make it in the city that never sleeps? My eyes cast over the tips of Manhattan skyscrapers, at eye level on the ninety-eighth floor of Guerra Enterprises, their beaconed tips so sharp they might pierce the clouds hanging in the sky. I bet this view is fantastic at night.

One of the large, black mahogany doors in the center of the wall cracks open and two people appear. One is a man who looks like he’s so relieved to get out of the room he might cry, and theother is a tall, feline brunette with killer heels and a chest so impressive it could save a family of four in a car crash. Air Bags, I dub her, nodding quietly to myself. She’s laughing, a high-pitched tinkling sound as she looks over her shoulder.

“I’ll be sure to do that, Mr. Guerra.” Her smile is smug as she closes the gargantuan door and strides across the marble, heels click-clacking in time with my frazzled heartbeat. Why do they have such big doors in places like this, anyway? Perhaps to account for the size of Mr. Guerra’s ego. I barely manage to suppress a snort, which earns me a confused sideways glance from Air Bags.

My interview was meant to start forty minutes ago, so I’m feeling a little on edge. The only thing that’s worse than waiting the nerve-wracking fifteen minutes you turned up early for an interview? Waiting an additional forty.

“Send her in, Jacob.” A deep voice crackles over an intercom system tucked away in the expansive white desk, and Handsome Secretary Boy—Jacob—glances up.

“You’re up, kiddo.” He beams, all boyish dimples and dark floppy hair.

I decide I like him. “Any parting words of advice?” I smooth my skirt as I head toward the doors, my own heels now accounting for every two beats of my choppy heart.

“Just don’t ask him about the scar and you’ll be fine.” He winks, motioning me in with his head.

I nod, my hand resting on the cool iron handle.Perhaps I should have Googled photos before I came, is my first thought as the door swings open. My second thought?Yes, I definitely should have researched photos.

Because staring back at me from behind an enormous black desk is the same set of sparkling chocolate eyes from the therapist’s waiting room.

Chapter 2

Chase:Beers tonight?

Zeke:Can’t. Working.