He steals my breath. He has this presence that’s compelling, but he’s probably in his early forties? Too mature to be interested in a girl like me. I must be a stupid kid to him.
“Show me your ideas,” he says, tone serious.
I swallow, then I launch into the spiel I prepared, practising it late into the night in my bedroom. Pulling the papers I drew designs on out, I spread them across his desk, showing him options of different vibes for the logo, the layouts, and all the themed items.
Mr Anderson doesn’t look away dismissively. He doesn’t interrupt me, though a few times he asks for clarification. Henods and his eyes narrow as he rubs his mouth thoughtfully tapping first one design then another with his index finger.
Lucky bit of paper.
I’m losing it, being envious of a piece of pulped tree.
How would his hands feel on my skin rather than that white paper?
Good. Magic. Like the luckiest girl in the world. That answer pops into my mind, unbidden.
Eventually, I run out of steam, and sit back, fidgeting nervously. I’ve probably said too much. But Mr Anderson feels familiar in the best way. He’s so easy to talk to, as though I’ve known him forever.
“I’m very impressed, Miss Sullivan.”
Uhhhfff. I want to ask Mr Anderson to say that again, record it, then stuff my fist in my mouth and whimper as I listen to it over and over. I’d have it as my alarm clock and my lullaby.
Impressed. Byme. No one is ever interested enough to notice my work, be it design or how well I cleaned my aunt’s floor.
“I would like to offer you a job.” His voice is low and hoarse, and I don’t know how it’s physically possible, but all the moisture disappears from my mouth and goes right to my pussy. Which is not ideal for wanting to say words with my lips. The lips on my face that is. Oh my god. My brain is just a meme of a thirsty girl in a desert watching Mr Anderson flex while stroking a puppy, holding a tiny baby, and wearing grey sweatpants.
“Ayk,” I croak, nodding rapidly, and it’s a massive relief that he understands and doesn’t require me to form an actual sentence.
Mr Anderson smiles, and that’s ten tons of flammable liquid on the fire in my brain. He’s smiling at me. He has straight white teeth, but not creepy man-doll style, just nice teeth that I would like to bite me. Consume me.
“Can you start today? Now.”
“Yua.” This noise emerges high-pitched, as though my voice is attempting to show off its range via a series of increasingly bizarre nonverbal agreements.
I must imagine the relaxation of his shoulders, but they seem to sink as he sits back.
“The job comes with an apartment in the hotel. The same one as you stayed in last night, as a matter of fact.”
“I can stay in the suite?” I repeat in disbelief. Ooof, finally some water has turned up in my mouth. Drooling at Mr Anderson’s smile, maybe? I really need to get a hold of my physical reactions tomy boss. This is important.
“Well, the neighbours might not be what you want,” he replies with a twist of irony. “There’s a welcome pack for new employees, too.”
What about the neighbours? I almost ask, but Mr Anderson rises—oh god this man moves like a cat, so smooth and elegant for all he’s enormous, probably six-foot-four—and lifts a box onto the desk in front of me. The shiny high-end laptop I can see peeking out of the box makes my eyes go wide. I’ve always wanted one of these. They’re metal cased and stupidly expensive.
“This will be yours for work.” He plucks a phone that presumably costs more than most houses from the box. “Please ensure that you have it with you at all times.”
He looks down at me severely.
“Yes.” I nod, over-eager. Our fingers touch as I take the phone from him, and it’s electric. This isn’t like the nothing of when I’ve brushed on people before. Nope. It’s lightning. “Thank you. I’ll keep it with me. Promise.”
I want to please Mr Anderson. Not just because he’s my boss, but because he has this dangerous and charismatic aura that draws me in. His eyes, especially. I’ve never met anyone with eyes like his. Not blue, but tinged with purple. Violet eyes.
Purple is my favourite colour.
That’s all there is to it, surely? I tell myself that as I lift my chin to thank him, and I’m caught by the intensity of his expression as he looks down at me. I’m suddenly very aware that I’m sitting, and he’s standing, and the result is that his belt isright there.
His dick is under a couple of layers of fabric at the height of my own eyes. He could reach out, grab the back of my head, yank down his flies and shove himself into my face.
Between my thighs heats into molten awareness. I’m pretty sure my nipples have pebbled, but I can’t look away from Mr Anderson’s violet eyes.
