Page 1 of Mister Lane

Chapter

One

Mr. Brayden Lane

Istared down at the screen with a sneer. It was on the tip of my tongue to demand that the stressed-out Hiring Manager send every last one of the applicants away without even the small courtesy of an interview. I knew it wasn’t her fault, though. She was just as frustrated and fed up over the situation as we were.

The small, lavishly appointed waiting area outside the meeting room where the interviews were currently scheduled to be conducted was packed full of women. There wasn’t a single place left to sit. Even the coffee and end tables were occupied with bodies waiting to be interviewed for the position. Each one was more beautiful than the last. Most of whom I recognized as women who had worked for our company, mainly because they had done everything within their abilities to “accidentally” bump into me at one time or another. I couldn’t go into the cafeteria on the first floor for a sandwich without having a pair of tits pressed into my arm. The offending woman would flutter her lashes andsimper with gushing apologies. Then it always quickly turned into flattery and attempted flirtation.

“Oh! Mr. Lane! I didn’t see you there. I’m so sorry. Oh my! Your arms are so hard and muscular. You must spend a lot of time in the gym!” Cue fluttering fucking eyelashes.

There was even one time that a woman had followed me into the men’s restroom pretending to have entered the wrong room for about two fucking seconds before dropping all pretences right about the time she dropped to her knees. “Let me show you how good I can be with my mouth, Mr. Lane…”

“You’re fired,” I’d growled while dodging grabby hands tipped in what looked like lethal red talons.

I liked to do the chasing, and I’d yet to find a woman I wanted to expend the effort on.

This whole fucking personal assistant bullshit had been a pain in the ass for months. My brother had a good one for the last few years. She had been a wonderful woman who was happily married and had no desire to cheat, sleep around, or otherwise attempt to get into either my brother’s or my pants. Then her husband had a job offer in Europe that he couldn’t refuse, so we wished them well and sent her on her way with a very sizable severance package and a glowing recommendation letter. Since then, each candidate has lasted a week or less. Some hadn’t even lasted an hour. From stripping naked to attempted blackmail, each person—males not to be excluded—has tried to extort or just flat out use my brother or me sexually.

We’d tried hiring from within, simply promoting other secretaries, but that hadn’t worked as expected. The ones who had been pulled from other offices had pounced on the opportunity, thinking they had been cherry-picked specifically for their bodies and not for their role as personal assistant. The ones who were randomly chosen from the secretarial pool had the same outcome.

When we agreed to post a company-wide memo for the job position opportunity, it had turned into a frenzy. Nearly every employee in the building had rushed to apply, whether they were qualified for the position or not. After how many we had already fired over the last few months, the number of qualified applicants was limited.

In the end, we’d had to resort to opening the position to the public. The entire situation had turned into a fucking joke. After the multiple arrests due to sexual harassment and all the indecency charges we’d had pressed on the many men and women over the last few months, Human Resources had sent out a company-wide memo reminding everyone about the consequences of harassment. You would think that they would get a fucking clue. But yet, here we fucking were. Vultures in stilettos, just waiting for their first opportunity to sink their talons into a Lane.

With another frustrated snarl, I started to turn away from the security feed. I was about to tell the Hiring Manager, Mrs. Gunter, to find all new applicants for the personal assistant to the CEO, when activity at the top of the monitor caught my eye.

“Well, what do we have here?” I murmured quietly. With the immediate shift in demeanor and tone, my brother, who had been sitting back in his chair and doing a pitiful job of suppressing a grimace, leaned forward at my words.

Chapter

Two

Emily

Iwobbled in the scuffed discount high heels that I’d found at the local second-hand shop two days ago and hoped no one saw. I was already feeling out of sorts as I scurried through the building, trying my best to follow the directions the helpful security guard at the front desk had given me along with a visitor’s pass.

I was five minutes late to my interview and wanted to cry, but blinked rapidly to fight back the tears that threatened. It had been the worst morning in a very long line of bad mornings. After a restless night of little sleep thanks to my neighbor’s late night activities with his noisy, and obviously faking it girlfriend, I slept through my alarm clock until said neighbor started pounding relentlessly on our adjoining wall, cussing dramatically about shutting the heck up.

It was all okay, though. I was still on time, even though the shower was lukewarm at best, and I shivered all through the process of drying my hair. Until my hair dryer stopped working halfway through. I stood there helplessly staring at myreflection. The right side of my head was mostly dry where I’d brushed my brown hair straight while carefully maneuvering the dryer that I had picked up at my favorite discount store. The left side was still damp and even dripping at the ends. The unruly curls that refused to be tamed were mocking me in the mirror.

With a heavy sigh, I reluctantly wet my hairbrush to comb through the dry hair, trying to even everything out. In the end, I pulled it all back in a ponytail.

My makeup was light as usual, only a touch of mascara and blush to brighten up my naturally pale complexion. Unfortunately, I faced yet another setback when I went to pull on the beautiful slacks that I’d been excited to find at the thrift store. I realized that the zipper was broken. With a disappointed groan, I exchanged the slacks for a black pencil skirt that I knew was at least a full size too small for me and would be digging into my rib cage all day. The blouse I had picked out was a pale, blush pink. There was a small stain near the bottom hem, but I tucked it into the waistband of my skirt so it would stay hidden. Nobody would ever know. The blouse was a little too big, but it was so pretty that it made me feel soft and feminine.

Even with all the mishaps of the morning, I was still excited for the upcoming interview. It had been a stroke of luck seeing the want ad on the job search website I had been scrolling through. I didn’t have any experience as a personal assistant, so I had hesitated applying. Then, when I’d received the email inviting me to an interview, I thought I was dreaming. The pay would be triple what I got as a waitress and would come with excellent benefits. But the best benefit of all would be being able to move out of the dump I was currently living in.

I finally was on my way, making it to the bus stop to stand there and wait for the bus that would take me to the office building downtown. Several other men and women were also waiting, eager to get on with their day, leaving no room to sit onthe only available bench. My feet were already starting to ache in my shoes, so I wasn’t looking forward to the wait. Then, the bus ran late.

We were finally loaded onto the bus and I was beginning to relax, thinking things were finally settling into place, when the bus hit a parked car of all things. The accident caused a delay while the passengers were told another bus would arrive soon to take over the route.

As if there hadn’t been enough disasters, the new bus driver got lost on the route he was unfamiliar with and ended up on the wrong street. I quickly realized that if I didn’t act fast, I would miss my interview entirely. I rushed to the front and requested the driver to stop. Giving me a sour look, he thankfully did what I’d asked and I jumped off, walking the rest of the way to the high-rise office building where I was supposed to be in just a few minutes. The pretty, yet too-small shoes I’d found when I bought the slacks made the brisk walk nearly unbearable by the time I reached the impressive Lane Industries offices.

As I stepped off the fancy elevator and into the equally lush waiting area, I looked around and felt my shoulders slump. It wasn’t because there were no seats available, though I would love to sit and get off my aching feet. I was feeling dejected at the array of beauty everywhere I looked.

Blondes, redheads, brunettes with shiny, thick, perfectly straight hair sat in every available seat. Most were checking their already flawless makeup in little handheld mirrors.

I looked down at the paper I had printed off at the library with the instructions that had come with my invitation to interview. It was the right place and the right time. I glanced back at the elevator, debating on just leaving. Landing the job had always been a long shot, seeing all the pretty, professional women waiting for their turn to interview for the same job asme killed all the enthusiasm I’d been filled with ever since I’d opened that email.