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knee-length black skirt and light blue shirt. I can’t help feeling overdressed, especially considering what I’m applying for. I feel like I should be wearing a G-string and some hooker boots.
    “I’m Jaxon Murphy.”
    “Yes, I know. Lovely to meet you.” I squawk the words out. Any hope of me sounding confident and in control evaporated the moment I laid eyes on him.
    I have no business being here. If my feet didn’t feel like they were bolted to the floor, I’d be running for the door.
    “Sorry about that, but unfortunately in my line of work interruptions are plentiful. Come through to my office.” He waits as I stand up and ushers me through to his office, his hand resting on the curve of my lower back. I can barely concentrate with him touching me.
    His office is a large room just off from the dining room. I wonder what he does for a living? He seems professional, and very business-oriented. He walks around the large oak wooden desk and sits down, motioning for me to do the same. I place my résumé on the desk and sit too, my heart in my chest. Exactly what I am being interviewed for, I still have no idea. I wait impatiently as he reads through my résumé, every now and then glancing up to study me with those sexy, dark, dangerous eyes, causing my heart to leap into my throat.
    “Would you like a drink?” he asks. “A tea or coffee, perhaps?”
    “A tea would be nice,” I reply hoarsely, clearing my throat. “Black, please.”
    He nods and presses the intercom, ordering my tea and a coffee for himself.
    “So, Ms. Lucas. Tell me a little about yourself,” he says as he adjusts his position, crossing one leg casually in his lap. He looks so damn relaxed. And sexy. Did I mention sexy? Because fuck this guy defines the word sexy. He watches me intently as he waits for my answer.
    “I’m newly out of college and looking for work. I thought this job sounded interesting,” I reply. My mouth feels like rubber and I’m sure he can tell how nervous I am. I wonder if he likes that? He strikes me as the kind of guy who likes to see the effect he has on women.
    “Well, you’re certainly the type of woman I am looking for, aesthetically speaking,” he muses, rubbing his jaw.
    I nearly laugh. Well if nothing else, at least I pass the appearance test. We’re momentarily interrupted by a knock on the door. An older woman walks in, carrying two cups. She sets one down in front of me and the other in front of him. She offers him a kind smile; I get nothing but cold, steely eyes. I’m momentarily taken aback by her reception of me.
    “Thank you, Marina,” he says.
    She nods and retreats out of the room, but not before shooting me another glance.
    “So tell me,” he continues, focusing his attention back onto me, “why apply for this role? What do you think you can offer me that the other three hundred and thirty applicants can’t?”
    I nearly choke on my tea. Three hundred and thirty women applied for this job? There are that many desperate women in southern California? I don’t even know how to answer that question, or what he wants to hear.
    “I spent the last four years obtaining my degree, and that has gotten me nowhere. If I’m to be completely honest, at this point I’ll take anything. I have no idea what it is that you want, but I’m open to anything if it’s going to get me somewhere.” I regret the last sentence the second it leaves my mouth because I know it’s going to come back to bite me.
    He raises his eyebrows, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips as those eyes invade me. “And what was this degree that took up so much of your life?”
    “Business,” I reply quickly. I have no intention of letting him know about my journalism degree. “But I’m not sure where I stand with that now, or if I want to attempt to further my knowledge. So for right now, this job is perfect for me.”
    “Very interesting answer.” He pauses and runs over my résumé again, his shoe tapping softly