CHAPTER 6

He had his hands on his lap and was reclining in his chair. His unkempt blonde hair was perfectly quiff-ed. He was wearing an Armani suit jacket over a white dress shirt that was fully buttoned. I recently saw that his tattoos were hidden by his suit jacket and was about to frown when I realized why I was in this place.

The confidence I had managed to muster when I began this plan was instantly destroyed as his eyes swept over me. He fixed me with a cold look.

He raises an eyebrow and asks, "And who are you?"

I squeak, "My name is Isabella."

He inquires, "Isabella is it?"

I just called him sir, did I not? "Yes sir."

With a flick of his index finger, he signals for me to go to his desk. I move over to his desk, gulping anxiously. His gaze followed my hips as they swung back and forth.

He directed his order at the chair, "Sit." He laughed a little, but his voice sounded a little raspy. I made an effort to look away, but I couldn't help but be pulled to his eyes, which appeared too bright for his generally gloomy countenance.

As I sit, my left leg is placed over my right. Isabella, that's me.

"You already said that, Isabella."

My face started to flush red as I trembled and fiddled with my ring. "Sorry."

His chin was resting on his hands clasped in front of him as he pushed his chair forward and leaned forward on the desk. "My recpetionist didn't escort you in here, so you most definitely aren't here for a job interview," the recpetionist said.

I attempted to speak, but he kept going. Before my security guard Patrick comes and escorts you out, you have one minute to speak.

My mouth opened wide. How did you find out?

He chuckled softly, the amusement escaping his hazel eyes, "Are you kidding me?" You're a brunette, and I expressly stated no brunettes. My employees don't blunder. Secondly-" I interrupted him.

What do you dislike about brunettes?

"Second of all, don't interrupt me when I talk. When I talk, you listen and wait for me to finish," he adds adamantly as he sneered at me. Last but not least, I take it that you are Isabella Jones from Olivia Global, whom I politely requested not to approach me again.

I wryly remarked, "That's hardly what I would call asking nicely, you threatened to get a restraining order against me. I stopped talking as soon as his look turned menacing.

Hissing, "Your minute is up. Get out or I'll get Patrick to drag you out," he said. I winced in response to his look but yet managed to speak.

"Please, Mr. Woods. All I'm asking for is one interview at Olivia Global-"

"I said leave,"

I gave him a startled look before letting my Latino identity and anger-management skills show. I warned you that if you yell at me, I'll flip the bird. I got to my feet and crept perilously close to his glittering eyes across the desk. He's a fucking dick, and I won't put up with it.

I exploded, calling Mr. Woods "mean and fucking rude." "The hell with your interview. There is no way in hell I would waste my time writing about a frecking prick, such as yourself. I'm glad you refuse to do this interview."

I turned to leave as a wry smile flashed at his crimson lips. I pushed at the massive doors, but a big hand quickly closed them when they were opened. I jumped as I felt his hot breath on my neck. He spun me around to face him by grabbing my waist hard with his hands.

He leaned in, stopping only inches from my face, pressing my body against the door as he did so. He placed his hands on either side of my head, and I took a sharp breath. Woods turned his head sideways.

He murmurs to near for comfort, "Do I scare you, Ms. Jones?" He laughed when I gave him a headshake. As the deep sound filled the office, I could feel his chest vibrating against mine. "Ms. Jones, you're lying."

I yelled, "Get off me, you dick," and pushed myself away from him. Despite my attempts to move away from the door, he merely pressed me against it more firmly.

He cautioned, "Don't talk to me like that."

"You prick, I can say whatever I want."

He shook his head while clicking his tongue on the roof of his lips. I immediately reached up to put back a stray hair that had fallen out of his neatly coiffed quiff. My wrist was grabbed by his huge palm, which pushed it against the door.

I forced a whimper out of my mouth. Robert growled and pressed his forehead roughly into mine, saying, "Don't touch me unless I give you permission." "And I've changed my mind. I don't think I scare you; I think I excite you. You want to fuck me."

I mockingly replied, "In your dreams," not even believing what I had just said. Damn him for being so insanely attractive. I wasn't able to withstand him either, despite his patience tattoo. He could easily pass for a model.

He grinned. You're lying, and I despise liars. Now leave my office.

I turned around so that I would not have to face him after he took a step back. This action resulted in his small companion pressing up to me and led Robert to hiss.

Perhaps really wants me to leave this place. He was standing behind me, and I could feel his commanding presence giving me the goosebumps. Or perhaps I was feeling his hot breath on my neck. When I pulled on the door handles once again, they swung open.

I frantically sprinted out of the office, down the corridor in my Alejandro Ingelmo shoes, pushing the elevator button and hopping up and down on the balls of my feet.

The elevator's door slid open with a faint beep. I entered quickly, leaning against the far wall, breathing a sigh of relief as I saw them gradually close. I close my eyes as the elevator descends, which causes my stomach to dip like it does when you're in a car traveling down a steep slope.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, I stepped outside. I exited the building and inhaled deeply as soon as I felt the crisp air. I leaned against a wall that had metal bars on it because I was dizzy and needed support. Before finally turning around and walking away, I turned to take one more look at the ominous structure.

Robert Woods emerged, a finely tailored suit clinging to his towering figure, and my mouth fell. His gaze scanned the room before settling on me, giving me the impression that my heart is about to burst from my chest. He approached me while clenching his jaw, looking as good as ever, and then halted in front of me. He tightened his lips and gave me a chilly look.

Without a trace of emotion in his voice, he said, "I'll be at your office on Friday morning at 11 am for the interview, and I'll let you know then if I want to do the photo shoot. If you make me wait, I will leave." He turned aside and briskly walked back to his office before I could react. As his building's glass doors closed behind him, I observed his retreating figure.

When the doors shut, I realized I had been holding my breath. As I crashed against the wall clutching the metal support bars for dear life and gasping for air, my trembling legs gave up. What the eff just occurred?

I dashed down the street as quickly as my heels would allow me to my best friend who was enjoying a Starbucks. I texted him to buy me a Frappuccino and a Lemon Morang slice of cake when I recovered on the elevator. I can't handle the mean fucker down the street; only food will do.

I nearly burst through the Starbucks doors as I frantically looked for Nate. He waved at me from a table, and I hurried over to him with a pout on my face. He scowled and stretched out his powerful arms for a tender consoling embrace. His body was encircled by my arms, and his were encircled by his, massaging my back. I finally felt some solace today when I sighed contentedly.

He murmurs, "That bad, chicka?"

I mumbled, "Hmm," like a young child.

He told me to sit down in front of it, and then he took a seat across from me in his seat. My other hand was holding my Starbucks drink when he extended his hand to shake mine. As I sipped it, I became aware of how dry my throat had become as the cool liquid ran down it.

"Talk, El. Right now," he commanded.

I whimper like a child, "He was awful.

He laughs, "What do you mean?" "Terrible personality or terrible in terms of appearance?"

I had a dreamy look in my eyes but jerked out of it recalling what a prick he was. "Obviously I'm talking about his personality, you idiot. Looks wise...looks wise...he was...was..." He is a fucking sex god. I genuinely wanted to jump the mahogany desk and mount the handsome bastard. He is many times better attractive in person. Looks wise, you were right.

He nearly squealed, "Oh my god, I knew it." He shouts, "Tell me, women! What was he wearing? How was his hair styled? Does he wear any jewelry? Did you see his tattoos?

I hiss, "Settle the fuck down, Nate," as some businessmen in suits turn to face us. He agrees and I take a chunk of my lovely Lemon Morang cake. "I'll tell you everything j-just give me some time to take a breather, yeah?" I sigh and enjoy the taste as it melts in my tongue.

Nate chuckles and pulls in closer with an egger expression on his face, saying, "Mm, I needed this."

He motions for me to speak, and I sigh. I sneer, "He only employs blondes, what a picky bastard. What the heck is wrong with brunettes?" "None of the nasty receptionist let me in to see him so I snuck in. Oh and he only hires blondes, like what a picky bastard.

He winks, running a hand over his blonde, perfectly motionless hair, saying, "Blondes are more fun."

I take a sip of my drink while rolling my eyes and smiling briefly.

Nate, he was wearing an Armani suit and he looked so fucking sexy. It fit his body so god damn well. His hair was styled in a perfect quiff. He wears two rings on his fingers just like I do and you know I fucking love when guys wear rings. I start playing with the silver ring on my index finger as I eat my cake.

He chuckles, "Armani suit, perfect hair and rings? Oh my god, he's already perfect. Please continue with answering my questions."

I pout, "Unfortunately, his tattoos were covered by his suit jacket, and I almost grimaced at the sight. I say jokingly, "When he pressed me up against the door, all I saw was his tattoo on his neck that says Patience.

Nate's jaw lowers as his eyes protrude from his skull. He asks slowly, "He pressed you up against a fucking door?" I nod in agreement. Oh my goodness spill, you little whore, and you just shoved that in there like it was nothing.

I chuckled as I leaned forward and crossed my hands across my lap. I sigh, revealing the red bruise on my wrist, "Yes, he pressed me up against his god damn door. It was sexy as hell, but he hurt me at one point."