CHAPTER EIGHT

PAYTON

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Not today, Satan.

I’m wearing my new black Banana Republic suit with a black tank top underneath and my black pumps.

Come at me coffee, tacos, or even red wine. There will be no stains on this outfit.

I’m also early. Very early.

In fact, the doors to the office are not yet open.

I stare threateningly at the rain clouds above me. I spent a good thirty minutes styling my hair perfectly.

Do not rain.

Please do not rain.

I glance at my Apple Watch and the clock ticks over to eight. Finally, a very polished woman unlocks the door. She pushes it open and almost sings, “Good morning.”

Well, that’s a million times more friendly than the greeting I got yesterday at StoryCraft.

“Morning,” I say, walking in behind her as she heads for the large reception desk.

The doors silently close behind us and I take in all the employees making their way across the lobby carrying cups of coffee and talking on their smart phones.

Everyone looks amazing.

I mean, I know this is a fashion house, but everyone is very well tailored and beautiful.

“How can I help you?” the friendly receptionist asks.

“I’m Payton Mills,” I say, then chew the inside of my cheek. “Damn, I’m not sure who to ask for. Um, Knox Montgomery. Or, um.” I pull out my phone and start flicking through emails.

“I can call Mr. Montgomery’s PA, Mindy.”

I glance up. “Yes. That. Her. Good idea. Don’t call him.”

Shit. Get it together, Payton.

“Take a seat.” She smiles and nods to the sofa, which is halfway across the lobby. “Mindy will be down soon.”

I make my way over to the seating area and drop my bags. Just as I sit and cross my legs, I hear a loud laugh and look up.

Then freeze.

Knox Montgomery stands in the middle of the lobby with his phone to his ear, and a black leather bag strapped over his shoulder, and stares at me.

His dark gray suit fits him like a glove and I’m sure under the black shirt he wears there are layers of solid muscle. It’s obvious with his build that he works out and I’m sure I’m not the only one who notices.

A chunky gold watch hangs from his wrist.

From his well-groomed wavy dark hair to his polished designer shoes, it’s obvious that he’s a wealthy man.

I swallow as Knox’s dark gaze travels along my body and down my nude crossed legs.

I suddenly feel very naked.

And despite desperately needing this job to work out, I can’t help but wish I was.

Well, maybe not in the busy lobby of the WME building. I push the inappropriate thoughts away and uncross my legs, jumping to my feet.

His eyes narrow.

Oh. Fuck.

I’m waiting for Mindy, not him. He probably has no time to speak with me. He’s the director of marketing, for crying out loud.

Do I sit?

Do I pretend I need the bathroom?

I’m about to beg to the heavens for some divine help in getting me out of this awkward situation when he starts walking toward me.

“Ms. Mills,” his deep sexy voice greets.

“Hi, hello,” I reply and stick out my hand.

He stares at it, and I’m almost ready to just run out the door when he takes it.

“You don’t need to shake my hand every day,” Knox tells me.

The air crackles where his large warm hand envelops mine and we both stare at it. When my eyes lift, his jaw is clenched.

“In fact, I think it would be a good idea if you don’t.”

If we lose this contract, your job will become redundant.

I try to ignore how handsome he is up close, and how the scruff on his jaw is perfectly groomed. His blue eyes are like steel, and teeth are incredibly white.

Jesus, what is wrong with me?

Who thinks teeth are sexy?

On Knox Montgomery, they are.

I clear my throat and remove my hand, which has sat enclosed in his for far too long.

“No, sorry. Thank you for having me here.”

Oh my god, it’s not like he invited me for dinner. I’m employed to do my job.

He grins and the entire room lights up like New Year”s Eve.

Dear lord, I am fucked.

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KNOX

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I’M GOING TO need toset an alert on my phone that says Don’t sleep with Payton Mills because I swear the universe is fucking with me.

I’d think it was my father if I didn’t know the timing of the recruitment process. No, this was fate messing with me.

The math is simple.

Payton’s pussy or the CEO job.

I’m clear on which one is my priority.

It’s a shame I need to decide, but here we are. Plus, she’s an anxious little kitten and I like my women dominant, so I can break them and turn them into submissives for a few sexy hours.

I do not understand why my cock is once again straining against the fabric of my pants in Payton’s presence.

It’s infuriating.

She is a pain in my damn ass.

I rearrange my satchel to cover my growing erection and wonder if she has any fucking idea that the tank top she’s wearing plumps her breasts.

Probably not.

I should ban tank tops.

I’m seconds away from ripping open her blazer and cupping the nice round globes.

And losing the chance to take over your father”s company.

Fuck.

My eyes run down her body and note that her skirt is an office appropriate length, finishing just below mid-thigh, but Payton has tanned slender legs that are made to be spread.

Fuck.

Don’t fuck Payton Mills.

Don’t fuck Payton Mills.

Don’t fuck Payton Mills.

I tell myself I’m not admiring every inch of her, simply taking in the fact that today she is not a hot mess. Her blonde hair is curled and twisted up, exposing her neck—not relevant - and her makeup is perfect, especially the kissable gloss of her nude lip gloss.

Also not relevant.

Her green eyes have a touch of shadow, and there is a kiss of pink on her cheeks. From her knees, those eyes would...

Don’t fuck Payton Mills.

Six weeks, then this damn sex kitten can go seduce someone else with her beautiful tits and curves. Right now, I need her to launch the Verity Co. Spring/Summer Collection, not suck my cock.

“Follow me,” I say.

“Yes, sir,” Payton says, leaning down to collect her bags.

Dear god.

I’m going to need the woman to wear turtleneck tops from now on.

As we stand in the elevator, I feel the heat of her body against my arm. She fidgets with her bags and when the last person exits and it’s just the two of us, I take a step away and study her.

This won’t work.

If she is going to be nervous around me every day, my team will smell her fear. She’s too green and inexperienced.

“I need you to be confident when you walk out these doors,” I say, and Payton’s head shoots up. “You are nervous. It’s understandable.”

“Sorry?”

“StoryCraft is an integral part of our marketing strategy. I’m told you can do the job and, given the time pressure we’re under, I need my team to have confidence in you.”

“I can do the job,” she says, her chin jutting out as the elevator pings open.

The fire in her eyes as she holds mine then steps past me looking like a tiger and nothing like the kitten she was just moments ago has me clenching my back teeth.

Holy fuck, she’s gorgeous.