"I can only imagine," she starts, slightly out of breath. "I can only imagine how incredible the rest of your work is. How long have you been set up here?"
"Going on three years. I started with five employees, but I had to fire Michaela.” I run my hand over my mouth and lift my shoulders. “This past year has been good to us—really good, to be honest. We’ve been making waves."
She keeps her face neutral, but I can tell she has something smartass to say. Do your worst, love. "You’ve been making waves, but you want more.”
"Isn't that the American dream? More. Better. Bigger?"
She shivers and glances away from me for a second to gather her thoughts. "More, better, and bigger is the human dream, Mr. Exley."
"Jace,” I correct. I want to hear her say my name. Need to hear her say it.
"Sorry, it's a habit."
"One I'd quickly break if you were with me."
“Right,” she whispers. Her movements are short and jerky as she opens her portfolio, and I know I’ve gotten under her skin. I’ve been there before, but I’ve never enjoyed it this much. Never wanted to see how much deeper I can push. I’ve also never had my dick react to her so quickly. She passes a stack of papers across my desk, keeping her fingertips at the edges, so she won’t have to touch me. I accept her letters of recommendation, unleashing a harsh laugh because she snatches her fingers away.
"Germaphobe?" I demand. I was counting on touching her. To see if her skin’s as soft as it looks. "Might not go over well around here, Williams."
She juts her narrow chin out defensively. "I can promise you I'll fit in just right. Even though I've never worked for a company quite like yours, I—"
"If you don't know what you're selling, why the fuck did you apply?" My crass response echoes through her body, and she releases an angry shudder from her nose. "Well, Williams? Or should I call you"—I cast my eyes down to her resume—"Duncan?"
The color drains from her face. "No … it’s Williams now."
I wish I could enjoy learning that—that she’s no longer married—but I don’t. I’m not sorry nearly as often as I should be, but I feel like a rat bastard for goading her, and her hurt expression shoots a sharp wedge right through my chest.
I don’t like that she’s made me feel any more than I enjoy being attracted to her.
"All right, Williams,” I say, softening my voice. “Why did you apply if you don't know what you're doing?”
"Because I know how to get things sold, and that’s all that counts. At WLC, I marketed everything from electronics to toys.”
The ghost of a smile hovers over my lips. "Toys, huh?"
"Yes, you know the playthings parents purchase for their children." My shoulders shake with silent laughter, and she gives me a confused frown. Fuck, if she only knew. I motion for her to continue, so she takes a deep breath. "Most recently I did branding and spearheaded the launch of an organic coffee company."
"Java-Org," I read from her resume, my brow tugging together because I recognize the name of the company. If it’s the same one I’m thinking of, it’s no wonder she quit. Their coffee is rubbish. "Daisy's ordered their stuff a time or two—the coffee that comes in the green tins, yes?"
"That's the one." She beams with pride, so I swallow the insult I was prepared to hurl at the liquid shit Daisy forced on my unsuspecting employees and myself. "It's been incredibly successful. That's why there's no doubt in my mind I can make your business even better if you let me. For starters, we'd get you a functional website. Not having one is hurting you."
I ponder that for a moment, tapping my fingers to my chin, before I ask, "Why did you leave? If it’s so successful, why would you leave?"
She looks like I’ve just shit on all her hopes and dreams as she peers down at her hands in her lap. "The owner and I had a falling out that couldn't be resolved.”
I imagined she’d say she wanted a change of scenery. Or that she’d tasted her own product and decided to stop peddling shit. I never expected her to admit she couldn’t get along with her employer.
She’s full of surprises today.
"So if I were to hire you, and I pissed you off—and I can almost guarantee I will because I've been told I can be a tosser—"
"A tosser," she interrupts.
"An asshole." I roll my eyes. She knows exactly what I mean because she called me that once, and I responded with a comment that made her flush all over. Just like she’s doing now. "For fuck’s sake, Williams, as I was saying, when shit hits the fan, are you just going to walk out on me too?"
"No.” She doesn’t hesitate to add, "It's a completely different situation."
“And what makes it so different?” My snide undertone gets to her because she jolts to the edge of her seat, her nostrils flaring as she grips the edges my desk.
"For starters, you are not my husband."
Ah, hell. I watch her, studying the harsh angles of her expression and half-expecting her to cry. She’s pissed me off more times than I can count, but I don’t want to see her in tears. My mum cried so much over my prick of a father when I was young that the sight of a woman sobbing still makes me feel helpless.
“And you're not cheating on me with someone we work with. So, with all due respect, I'd say our situation is very, very different."
For a moment, she looks stunned. Like she can’t believe she’s told me so much. Then her shoulders sag, and she squeezes her eyelids together. "I’m so sorry,” she gasps. “That was unprofessional, and it was too much information that—"
"Don't." She starts to speak again, so I interrupt her, holding my hand up. I don’t want her to make excuses for leaving her husband. "I mean it, don't apologize. I'd rather you be honest than give me some smiling, happy-go-lucky shit you’re pulling out of your arse about wanting to try something new. You left because your husband is a miserable piece of shit. That I can understand. And just so you understand, there’s no such thing as TMI.”
Her hazel eyes fly open. Breathing deeply, she trails her fingers from my desk and returns them to her lap. "Tom is definitely … a piece of work.” Her voice is soft, almost a whisper. “And you're wrong. There is most certainly such a thing as TMI."
"Not in this building there isn’t,” I counter. “Working here, that's all you'll get."
She rakes her teeth over her bottom lip. "Are you telling me I got the job?"
Now that she’s told me Duncan is no longer in the equation, there’s nothing I want more than to hire her so I can make her blush and stutter all day long without the presence of a guilty conscience. That’s also why I can’t give her the job. No fucking the employees, and Lucy Williams is two hundred percent fuckable.
"No, I’m not. I’m just giving you the facts, Williams."
“Oh. I see…”