Ryan Kendall: Working It

“Yes, Miss Stone?” I asked.

“Do you know what time it is?” Her expensively clad foot tapped the floor and she didn’t bother looking up from her computer screen. Tap, tap, tap.

Oh, shit. Was this a trick question? “Uh, it’s ten o’clock—”

She leaned back in her chair, peering at me intently. “And?”

And? And what? She gave me an icy glare, making my heart pound and a cold sweat break out under my arms.

After ten seconds of stony silence, during which she looked me over from head to toe in disgust, making me want to hide behind the big potted plant in her office, she finally spoke.

“It is time for my tea.” She grunted and waved a dismissive hand in my direction.

Oh. Right. Her midmorning tea. How very British of her. I dashed for the kitchenette as quickly as my restrictive skirt–Spanx-heels combo would allow to heat some purified water for her tea. I added the package of English Breakfast to the cup and scuttled back, just in time to see a man entering her office. Great. Another blunder . I was sure I’d catch hell later for letting a guest inside unannounced.

I stepped into her office behind him, still carrying the tea.

“Ben, love, come in,” Fiona drawled and gestured to the leather seat facing her desk.

Oh. So this was Ben Shaw. Seeing his photos on the computer was one thing. Seeing this delicious piece of man meat in person was quite another. My damn mouth was watering. He was tall and poised, with dark hair, broad shoulders, an angular jaw, and a pouty mouth built for kissing.

I briefly wondered if I’d be scolded for letting someone into her office unannounced, but Fiona was all smiles where Ben was concerned.

Benjamin Riley Shaw, the agency golden boy. Our most in-demand model and top earner by a wide margin. Seeing him in person for the first time, it was obvious why. He had a certain aura about him, a glow. My eyes were unconsciously drawn to him. He was by far the most captivating thing in the room. Having just reviewed his file, I felt slightly pervy knowing so many personal details about him, but it also made me feel just a little bit smug. Height:6 feet 3 three inches; Eyes: Hazel; Hair: Brown; Shoe Size: 12; Suit: 42L; Inseam: 34 inches.

I watched in stunned silence as Fiona rose and went around the desk to lean in and brush her boobs against his chest. She air-kissed both of his cheeks. He remained still, politely allowing it but not returning her affections. Something inside me liked that about him. Fiona was a grade-A bitch, and to see a fine specimen like Ben pretend to fawn all over her would have twisted the knife in my heart.

“Of course it’s lovely to see you, but did you need something, darling?” she asked him, pulling back only slightly. Ugh. Personal space much?

Ben shifted his tall, statuesque form moving away from her in the most elegant way. “I was asked to come in today,” he said flatly.

Fiona’s eyes landed on mine. Panic coursed through my system and I felt the teacup rattle in my hands. Her icy glare pinned me in place, imploring me to explain.

“But your, um, note . . . said to call Ben in,” I stammered.

Ben’s gaze traveled to mine and my stomach did a little flip. Whoa . His eyes were a brilliant hazel color with flecks of deep mossy green, and they held such sadness, such mystery that I was stopped cold. As he continued to stare at me, my ovaries did a little happy dance, totally defying the strictures of my Spanx. This guy was wreaking havoc on my libido.

With difficulty, I turned my gaze and attention back to Fiona, who was sighing dramatically.

She scoffed. “I meant for you to call Ben’s sizes into the designer for his shoot next week.” She shook her head like I was a complete moron to mix up the message. Crap .

My eyes flicked to Ben’s again and the cup and saucer shook in my hand. I attempted to cross the room to deliver the tea to her desk, but Ben’s heavy gaze following my movements proved to be too much and the teacup and saucer went tumbling to the floor.

The teacup shattered and scalding hot water sprayed my exposed skin. Mother, that was hot. I winced and took a step back, assessing the damage. Shit . The dark stain was spreading over the beige carpet in front of me, and I looked like an overexcited puppy that had pissed itself in front of one of the world’s top models. Pull it together, Emmy!

Ben’s eyebrows drew together and Fiona let out an exasperated huff.

“It’s a wonder she can even walk and talk at the same time. She’s from Tennessee,” Fiona said by way of explanation. Ben’s attention slowly pulled back to Fiona.

My face heated with embarrassment. I liked my quaint country upbringing, and I wouldn’t change it for all the glamour and designer labels in the world. So I wasn’t from London, big whoop. I wouldn’t let her make me feel like I was two inches tall.

“I’m sorry. I’ll handle this.” I picked up my chin and scurried to my desk.

Ben

Tennessee huh? That explained the sweet little lilt to her voice. She wasn’t Fiona’s usual assistant. First, she was female. Secondly, she was still female, and Fiona didn’t play well with those of her own kind.

The assistant, with her tight little, knee-length navy skirt and proper tucked-in blouse, would have looked like an innocent schoolgirl if it weren’t for those curves. Holy hell, those curves. A luscious ass and the swell of a generous chest. Eyes up, buddy. No getting wood over the new girl.

Her innocence was cute, different. A hint of pink blossomed across her cheeks and her teeth were buried deep in her bottom lip. She had dark hair tucked efficiently behind her ears, and her hands shook, unable to stop the teacup from rattling. She stared up into my eyes, looking lost before the teacup went tumbling to the floor. For a split second I worried that the city of Manhattan—or Fiona—would chew her up and spit her out. A surge of protectiveness flared up inside me, the feeling strange and foreign. Also, not entirely welcome. I didn’t know this girl. Shouldn’t care. Yet I did. I couldn’t deny the instant chemistry and intrigue that buzzed between us, the suppressed shudder when I met her gaze, the soft inhalation of breath. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel something when watching her fidget in front of me.

Fiona turned to face me, curling her hand around my bicep, bringing me back to the situation at hand. “Well, since you’re here, love, you might as well take me to lunch.”

“Sure,” I responded automatically. I could see through Fiona’s ploy. She wanted to see me today—but didn’t want to admit it. I knew her games. This pretty young thing didn’t. And she was left to feel like the village idiot.

If she understood Fiona’s true motivation for calling me in, she wouldn’t be staring up at me with those innocent gray-blue eyes. If she knew the depravity lurking inside me, she’d flee for Tennessee without a backward glance. I’d devour a girl like her. Own her. The thought was intoxicating. I watched her with interest, considering my next move. “I’m sorry. I’ll handle this.” Tennessee picked up her chin and scurried to her desk, her confidence broken.

Watching her retreat while Fiona touched up her lipstick, I decided her assistant would be fun to play with. She’d be all soft feminine innocence, and those perfectly proportioned curves were begging for my hands. Fiona’s claws would come out though, so it might not be worth it. Fiona had done too much for me. Shit, she was my manager. I wasn’t about to do something stupid, like sleep with her assistant to piss her off. Bad career move. My dick would have to stay in my pants.