I've had applicants with impressive résumés and years of experience. But they felt jaded. Safe. Predictable.
Lark Monroe’s cover letter stood out. I saw ambition and hunger. And between the lines, I sensed a vulnerability that she didn’t try to hide.
She acknowledged she didn’t have the same experience as the others, but promised that if given an interview, she would prove she was the right choice.
So far, she hasn’t.
Maybe she needs a minute to warm up. To find her rhythm.
I cross my arms over my chest and wait.
She swallows then composes herself. “Davenport Capital is part of the Davenport Group, which is one of the most prestigious family-run companies in the world.” Her voice is smoother, but her nerves show in the way her fingers dig into the leather of her bag.
That’s when I notice the curve of her mouth. Pink. Full. The kind of lips that distract a man like me. Her chin tilts with stubborn grace. Her neckline is elegant, skin smooth like cream, exposed enough to tempt. Except for that irritating reindeer motif. But I don't want to judge her abilities based on something as superficial as that.
My gaze trails lower.
Tiny waist. Hips that flare in a way that piques my interest. Legs that go on forever, framed by a tailored skirt that should look professional, but doesn’t. Not on her.
Heat pulses up my spine, low and sudden.
How long has it been since a woman caught my attention,reallycaught it? Since anything besides boardrooms and bottom lines held my focus. The next deal, the next merger, the next acquisition… It’s all starting to feel like white noise. Meaningless. And now I’m getting philosophical about it.
Since when did I wish I had something more in my life to look forward to than the next meeting? Something more personal. Something that resembles this curvy woman who I can’t take my eyes off.Great.This is an interview. I cannot be thinking such unprofessional thoughts about a woman I’m going to potentially employ as my EA.
And the very fact that I’d allow feelings to creep into my thoughts in the middle of a working day? That’s a red flag.
She clears her throat, snapping me out of my thoughts. I drag my gaze to her face and attempt to keep it there. Which turns out to be a mistake. Because those eyes—massive, green, impossible to ignore—pull me right back under. Her blonde hair is swept up into a sleek twist, but it doesn’t stop the rebellious tendrils curling at her temples. There’s a flush high on her cheekbones. It shouldn’t be distracting, but it is.
She looks like sin wrapped in merino wool and tied up with a Christmas bow. And that’s the problem.
This time of year? I loathe it. Tinsel, carols, fake snow, gift wrap, false cheer—it’s all a farce. Bah, bloody humbug.
The fact that she admitted to being a full-blown Christmas junkie? It should’ve disqualified her on the spot. It required gumption to waltz intomyoffice wearing a Christmas jumper. For that, I should give her a chance.
I give her the full force of my most no-nonsense CEO stare.
“You’ve got one minute. Convince me you’re the person for the job.”
She stiffens, then rolls her shoulders back. A calm, resolute expression comes over her features.
“You are an important man. You make high-stakes decisions on a daily, even hourly, basis. You need someone to back you up, no matter how stressful it gets. You can count on me to show up. To deliver. And I don’t drop the ball, no matter how much pressure I’m under.”
She straightens further, pushing back her shoulders. Her Christmas jumper tightens across her bust. It draws my attention to her hourglass figure; to her nipped in waist and the shape of her curvy hips.
I’ve never been this distracted. Have never spent so much time thinking about what lies under a woman’s clothes as I have with her.
“I don’t flinch when people yell. I don’t crumble when things go wrong. I keep my head, I fix the problem, and I make sure my boss never has to ask me for something twice.”
There’s a thread of steeliness running through her words, telling me she means business. Not bad. I tilt my head, indicating she should continue.
“I have an MBA, yes. But I’ve also paid my way through college the hard way. I’ve served champagne at weddings, temped in freezing offices, and stacked warehouses on weekends. I’m resilient. I'm persistent. I know how to win.”
She draws a breath; her voice is cool and clear.
“Once I set my eyes on my goal, nothing can distract me. You need a right hand. I’m the whole damn arm.”
Her eyes meet mine. She doesn’t flinch.
