CHERISH (The Billionaire's Rules, Book 12) (6 page)

The economy was down and jobs were
scarce, she couldn’t afford to be a snob right now.

The old saying, beggars can’t be choosers
echoed in her mind.

And then she was on her phone, dialing
the number and listening to the ringing on the other line.

He picked up, and his voice was smooth
like honey, deep and melodious.
 
“This is Brayden.”

She opened her mouth and hesitated for
just a second.

“Hello?
 
Hello?” he said.
 
“I don’t have time for this shit.”

And then the line went dead.

Who
hangs up that quickly on someone?
She thought.
 
Barely a second had
gone by and he already was ending the call.
 

That just figured, Lanie decided.
 
He was an impatient, arrogant
jerk—just like all of those Internet articles said he was.
 
Which made sense, given the fact that
he’d created an entire business model around being rude and judgmental of other
people based purely on physical appearance.

She redialed his number.

“Speak,” he said, as soon as he answered
again.

“Hi,” she said.
 
“My name is—“

“How did you get this number?” he asked,
his tone challenging.

“I was given it—“

“By whom?” he said.
 
“You better not be one of those stalker
types.”

“Cullen Sharpe said you’d be expecting my
call,” she replied.

There was a short pause.
 
“Oh,” he said.
 
“You must be the applicant.”

“The what?”

“The job applicant,” he said, his tone
becoming almost bemused now.
 
“You
really aren’t so great on the phone, are you?”

“Well I don’t generally hang up on people
and insult them before I know who they are,” she said.
 
“So maybe you’re opinion on what
constitutes “great on the phone” is not the same as mine.”

He chuckled.
 
“I know exactly what constitutes great
on the phone.
 
It’s my business and
I’ve made a lot of money on it.”

“I guess that trumps everything, then,”
she said.

She already knew she wasn’t going to get
this job.
 
But she might as well go
down swinging.

“Money?
 
Money most certainly trumps everything,”
Brayden said.
 

“How convenient for you.”
 
She rolled her eyes.

“I’ve got an opening in thirty minutes,”
Brayden said.
 
“Be at the Hookup
offices in half an hour.”

“I’m sorry,” she said confused.

“What are you sorry for?”

“I don’t understand.
 
Be at the offices for—“

“I have an opening for an interview,” he
told her.
 
“Bring a copy of your
resume and your wonderful attitude, and I’ll see you then.”

“That’s not much time for me to get
there.
 
I’m in the middle of moving
into my apartment…”

“Listen, I’ve got about ten thousand applicants
for this job, and I’m fairly certain that without Cullen’s recommendation, you
don’t make it past screening.
 
So
this is what a recommendation from him will get you.
 
Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll be there,” she said.

“What’s your name again?” he asked.

“I never told you my name.
 
It’s Lanie Day.”

“See you in thirty, Lanie Day.”

And then the line went dead.

She stared at the phone for a moment,
stunned at how quickly so many things had gone both so right and so wrong.

You
better get moving.
 
You’re sweaty
and disgusting and completely unprepared for an interview.

Springing into action, she ran to the
bathroom and started the shower.
 
While the water was heating up, she went and dug through a box of
clothes and found a semi-appropriate (she hoped) outfit.

Then she ran back to the bathroom and
showered, taking less than five minutes.
 

Could a person sweat while
showering?
 
She seemed to be doing
it.

After getting out, she ran to change into
her clothes, slipping and falling on her butt in the hallway.

Her tailbone was aching, but she didn’t
let it slow her down.

Lanie got changed into khaki’s with a
white blouse, blazer, and heels.
 
She didn’t have time to apply makeup, style her hair, nothing.
 
She pulled her damp hair back and ran
out the door, almost forgetting her purse.

By the time she got down to the street
she had about fifteen minutes to get to Hookup HQ, which was perhaps fifteen
minutes away with no traffic.

Luckily, she was able to flag a taxi and
the driver seemed only too happy to speed towards the destination at a rate
that approached terrifying.

They hit traffic about half a mile away
and it was dense and unrelenting.
 
“You know what?
 
Let me out
here, I’ll walk the rest of the way,” Lanie said, as she realized the traffic
wasn’t going to let up anytime soon.

The driver obliged, she paid him and
quickly jumped out.

She had about five minutes, and proceeded
to power walk as fast as humanly possible the final blocks to the office.

By the time she arrived, Lanie was
officially drenched in sweat from both exertion and nerves.
 

The Hookup building was a quaint but
beautiful structure located across from a bookstore and numerous shops and
restaurants.
 
It was sort of off on
its own, hidden by some trees and hedges.

But there was no time to stand around and
appreciate the view, because she was about to be late.

Entering the lobby, she greeted the
receptionist with her best smile.
 
“I’m here for an interview with Brayden Forman,” she said.

Behind the receptionist was a huge sunset
red logo with enormous red letters spelling out the word HOOKUP.

The receptionist looked her up and down,
and seemed doubtful.
 
But then he
instructed her to take the elevator to the third floor and go directly back to
Brayden’s office, which was all the way at the end of the main workspace.

What exactly is a ‘workspace,’ she
wondered.

But when she exited the elevator, she
understood why it was referred to that way.

The entire floor was completely open
concept, with rows and rows of flat desks connected to one another, no cubicles
or barriers between computers.

People were seated at these “tables,”
working side-by-side in full view of the rest of the office.

In other words, there was virtually no
privacy in the office—or rather—workspace.

There was, however, a lot of natural light
filtering in from the windows all around the room, and there was beautiful
exposed brick that gave the place a very cool feel.

Towards the back, there was also a Ping Pong
table, some couches, a television and refrigerator.
 
There were a few employees playing Ping
Pong and reclining on the couches, but the television was off.

When she reached the far end of the
workspace, she could see two offices next to one another.
 
The offices looked identical, and the
walls were glass so you could clearly see the two men sitting at desks in each
separate space.

On the one door, it read Virgil Spencer,
Founder and President.
 
In that
office, a young African American man wearing a stylish black suit was on the
phone, reclining in his chair and staring out his back window.

On the other door, the nameplate read
Brayden Forman.
 
He was standing up
and looking at his cell phone, and then a moment later he was texting.
 
He wore black jeans, black sneakers and
a black blazer.

His brown hair was somewhat shaggy, but
well styled, and he sported a scruffy beard that somehow suited him.
 

Brayden looked like exactly what he was,
she decided.

Young, rich, arrogant and free to do what
he wanted, dress how he wanted, and likely screw whomever he wanted.

Lanie tried to compose herself, smoothing
her shirt and adjusting her blazer.
 
Just as she was about to knock on the glass door to his office, Brayden
looked up and saw her.

His mouth was curved into a perpetually cocky
grin that seemed so natural on him.
 
But when he saw her, the grin immediately faded.
 
His eyes momentarily widened and then
narrowed, all in the space of a second.
 

She grasped the door handle and tried to
push it and then noticed there was an instruction to pull.
 
Sighing at her own ineptitude, she
pulled the door open and walked inside Brayden’s office.

He immediately placed his cell phone on
his desk.

He was taller than she expected, and
though slim, his body was very fit and muscular.
 
She recalled something about him being
interested in endurance sports, but couldn’t remember exactly what that meant.

“And so it begins,” he said, smiling that
wicked, knowing smile she’d seen in his pictures online.

“What begins?” she asked, as he
approached her.

“The interview,” he said, arching an
eyebrow and extending his hand.
 
“Pleased to meet you, Lanie.”

“Nice to meet you too,” she said.
 
As his hand enveloped hers, she felt the
shock of excitement—like touching a live wire.

It was both deeply sensual and also deeply
uncomfortable, and she quickly withdrew her hand from his grasp.
 
But even when she moved away, she could
feel his touch, like a ghost, still warm against her skin.

“Did you bring your resume?” he said.

She went to dig into her purse and
realized that she’d forgotten it in her haste to get to the appointment on time.
 
Lanie looked up at him, desperation
crossing her features.
 
“I didn’t,”
she said.
 
“I—I was rushing
around and late and—“

He waved off her excuses and moved back
behind his desk, sitting down and motioning her to sit as well.
 
“That’s not a great first impression,”
he said, “as far as attention to detail goes.
 
If you’re going to be my personal
assistant—“

“Your personal assistant?” she said.

“Yes, my personal assistant,” Brayden
replied, looking at her like she might be insane.
 
“That’s the job you’re applying for.”

“I—I didn’t know.
 
Cullen didn’t tell me exactly what the
position entailed.”

“And you didn’t ask?”

She sat there, stumped.
 
“It’s been very busy.
 
I was moving into a new
apartment—“

“Yes, you mentioned that already,”
Brayden
noted.
 
He folded his hands and stared across the desk at her.
 
“So,” he said sighing and giving a
subtle shake of his head.
 
“What are
your thoughts about Hookup?”

Lanie shifted in her seat.
 
“It’s obviously an amazing thing.
 
An amazing,
umm…convenient thing.
 
It’s very,
very innovative and successful at what it does.”

Now his stare had intensified.
 
“Do you even know anything about
Hookup?”

“Of course,” she said.
 
“It’s a dating app.”

“A dating app,” he said, but his tone
wasn’t approving.
 
He stood up.
 
“Are you single, Lanie?”

She swallowed but her throat was
dry.
 
“I don’t see what that’s got
to do with anything.”

“You’re, what, twenty-two, twenty-three
years old?”

“I’m twenty-two,” she acknowledged.

“That means you fit right in our target
demo.
 
And if you’re single, you fit
even better.
 
That’s why I’m
asking.”

“Yes, I’m single.”

He smiled.
 
“Good.
 
So have you ever considered using the
Hookup app?”

She thought for a long moment and decided
she couldn’t be dishonest.
 
As it
was, she knew it was highly unlikely that she would get the job.