I finally went in to shake his hand, suddenly enveloped in the same cologne he wore Friday night. It was citrusy and peppery, but it wasn’t heavy at all. I liked it. When I got home that night, I could still smell it on my skin and clothes. Just inhaling him brought me back to that hot as hell evening.
“Hugh Cross,” I said to force myself to focus again.
“Atlas Stavros,” he replied, and dropped his hand from mine.
I was correct about his Mediterranean heritage, but I was wrong about the country. He was Greek—a uniquely handsome one at that.
I smirked, despite still feeling stressed. Fucking crazy morning. Now I was going to have to interview the young man whom I’d fucked last weekend. Jesus. “I know. Have a seat, Mr. Stavros. I’ll be right back.”
“I can do that!” he called out when I walked away.
When I turned around, he stepped up to me and took the mug from my hand. “How do you like it?”
“The machine makes an espresso. I want that with one teaspoon of sugar.”
“Yes, sir!”
Atlas ran off before I stopped him. “You don’t know where the kitchen is.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll ask someone. You relax, and I’ll be right back.”
There was that easy-to-please cutie. I chuckled as he rushed off, and I shook my head at the insanity and how small the world was.
Then the dread hit.
Crap.
I couldn’t hire Atlas. He was a liability—a conflict of interest. Could I have enough self-control around him? Fuck no. Just the smell of him made me want to bend him over the table in the reception room and pound the hell out of his ass with his pretty panties stretched over his thighs. Was he wearing a pair now? Or did he only wear them clubbing?
Fuck. My father was right. I had a sex problem.
I rushed back to my office, but I left the door open, and sat behind my desk to wait for Atlas to bring me my coffee. He was already taking care of me without being asked—a clear sign he was a self-starter.
A few minutes later, with a folder tucked under his arm, Atlas carefully brought my mug and set it down in front of me without sloshing the coffee everywhere.
He stood there watching me, waiting…
Oh, right. I picked up the mug and took a tentative sip.
It was perfect.
“Thank you, Atlas,” I said and waved a hand toward the chair in front of my desk. The same chair Dad had scolded me in. Jesus.
He sat and placed his folder on the desk. Then he rubbed his hands over his slacks and looked around my office. Meanwhile, I couldn’t fucking take my eyes off him.
The daylight did wonders for his skin. It was smooth and blemish-free. He kept his facial hair shaved close, but the darkness peeked through anyway. And he had nice, thick eyebrows, making his nearly black eyes appear soulful. Too bad he wasn’t wearing his lip gloss.
Shut up, Hugh.
“So, ah, I guess I’m not hired, huh?” he intuitively asked, his eyes finding something important to look at on the corner of my desk. “Conflict of interest and stuff…”
I wanted to tell him that he was hired. I wanted him to be my PA, and if I were being honest, I could see myself having a lot of fun with him right here in my office. It wasn’t something I’d ever done before. Dating my former project manager was one thing. Fucking my PA’s ass over my desk was quite another.
I should tell him no.
I should have told him to go home, that I was sorry I’d wasted his time, and that I couldn’t hire him.
What I needed to do was listen to my father. That was what my rational brain was screaming at me. But the other brain, the one between my legs, was louder.
