Golden Temptation

“Miss Stone, Mr. Woods will see you now.”

Well, fuck, I thought.

I looked up from the floor, spotting the platinum blonde barbie doll rose with grace from behind her desk. The clip of her heels echoed around the pristinely clean foyer with each and every step toward me.

I wanted to shrink away.

Everyone in the bright waiting room stared at me, watching me stand.

I cringed, slipping forward in my wet, too-large pumps with each step I tried to muster forward. But the reflection at the corner of my eye made me stop.

Well, fuck.

My soul seemed to deflate as I mentally winced.

I had honestly tried to make an effort this morning to ensure I made an okay impression.

But girls like me don’t make okay efforts.

Just sad attempts.

My clothes were all a couple of sizes too big.

The last time I had the money to go shopping for myself, I was bigger, more confident. And the clothes I had managed to obtain for the interview, my boyfriend and residential asshole, had sold on to fuel whatever addiction he had.

So the outfit I was left with was a blouse, once-white-now-ash-grey, after Mark had managed to colour by throwing his black socks into the running load of whites. The grey pencil skirt made my ass look like the rear end of an elephant. And it was all brought together with a black blazer which had lost all of the buttons.

My hair resembled something closer to a drowned brown-hair Silky Terrier. My curls were plastered to my face and skull from the London rain. For all of my attempts to dry it with the hand dryer in the ladies room , the only success I had was in making my hair look worse.

I looked at Barbie, with her impeccable hair and make-up, her tiny figure encased in a scarlet bodycon and nude heels that made her legs go on forever, and sighed.

There was no way I was getting this job.

I followed Barbie through the huge mahogany door into the sleek office and my jaw dropped.

The interior walls were black glass, with paintings from Monet lining them; the Champ d’avoine and the view of Vetheuil along with a few others I couldn’t place.

The sight of them caused the thief in me to see pound signs.

I sucked in a deep breath.

I had turned over a new leaf.

That wasn’t me anymore.

The ceiling in the office was 2 stories high, painted white, making it the only white in the room with charcoal carpet on the floor.

Beneath the paintings were glass cases filled with jewellery; diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, opals all cased in the most stunning gold and platinum, worked into earrings, stunning necklaces and extensive rings.

Once upon a time, I could have walked into rooms like this and owned them.

Until you were reminded of your place.

Now looking around the room, all I could think was it would have been a prime place for a pitiful thief like me to make her payday.

“You like what you see,” came a voice from behind me.

The suddenness and closeness of the voice startled me. With an unprofessional squeal, I turned as fast as my legs would let me.

Only my shoes didn’t follow and to my horror, I found myself cascading to the prime office floor.

But at the moment, time slowed and I was falling in slow motion.

I threw my hands out to catch something, feeling sure that I would land flat on my face with pure embarrassment.

I closed my eyes, waiting for impact.

It didn’t come.

What did come, however, was the feeling of strong arms around my waist and a warm, hard body pressed against my side. I kept my eyes squeezed shut, not willing to see the utter disgust in my saviour’s face. The smell of tangerines, man and musk filled my nostrils.

Horror flooded into the pit of my stomach as I was set back in the ridiculous heels. I swallowed hard, chancing a look at my saviour.

Fuck.

Me.

I knew I was a bad person.

I had done bad things in my past. Things I felt sure the past 7 years had been punishment for.

But what had I done that was so bad to deserve this?

My heart started to beat uncontrollably fast.

I didn’t even register that I was curling my fingers into the crisp wool of the most expensive suit I had ever touched.

There he was, standing right in front of me.

The Eric Jameson.

I was about to be escorted off the premises. For sure.

“Well, fuck,” I breathed, the words falling out before I could stop myself.

His arched brow cocked almost seductively at my cuss, my panties starting to drip off.

Every woman in London, good gods, every woman in the world had heard of Eric Jameson.

He was the most eligible bachelor on the face of the earth, with his high cheekbone and fuck-me blue eyes. And, while he wasn’t the CEO of Evangelic Jewellery Inc., he was the second in command of the very company whose offices I was standing in.

Everyone knew that he was a bit of a hot-shot fire-head who tended to get what he wanted.

Everyone had seen the outbursts.

Destroying more than one paparazzo’s camera, crashing more than a few stalker’s cars, and breaking more than his fair share of noses.

Reminded me of the men in my past.

Before I lost it all.

And gods did it only make him more attractive in my eyes.

I just had never expected that I would meet him.

Let alone in such a wet and dishevelled manner.

Nor did I expect my body to react so embarrassingly female.

“Well, someone has quite the dirty mouth,” he said, with a tone like cigar smoke and a smirk that could melt a glacier.

He set me right on my feet, for me to simply slip in the ridiculous heels again.

“Shit,” I gasped, throwing out my arms in a poor attempt to try and right myself.

His hand caught my flailing arm, enclosing his strong arm around my waist.

“Perhaps we should remove those shoes before you do yourself an injury,” his caramel voice suggested, his eyes never leaving my face.

The heat in my cheeks could have lit a candle.

“Uh huh.”

Pathetic. Mark is right about you. You are a right waste of oxygen.

I managed to stifle a cringe, hyper aware of the fact the most eligible bachelor in the whole of the London Borough was holding my drowned body against his tight.

With him taking my weight, I stepped out of my heels one by one.

But he didn’t let me go once I was set firmly atop the plush carpet.

I knew I must have looked like an idiot.

But there was something in his eyes and his voice that commanded attention. I understood, in that moment, why he was so delectable and how he had become the second in command of the jewel empire at the youthful age of 28.

He simply dominated the situation and you had no choice but to submit.

Even as he stooped to pick up my shoes, he held me in his grasp.

“Oh, I can...,” I started as he stood, holding my heels in his hand.

My words stopped in my throat as he looked down at me, his eyes completely hypnotising.

“Eric, is the young woman alright?”

He didn’t look away from me as he registered the question. His eyes simply gave away the hint of annoyance that seemed to electrify the ocean blue to a stormy grey.

“Yes, quite alright, just a little startled and a little embarrassed, I think,” he replied, breaking the spell as he looked in the direction of the voice.

I followed his gaze only to find, to my utter embarrassment, the CEO of Evangelic Jewellery, Joseph Woods, staring back at me from where he was seated behind his large mahogany desk.

The older gentleman stared at me down his crooked nose, openly judging me, as he saw me for what I was; a beggar, a thief and so much more.

I swallowed, as Mr Jameson offered me his hand, escorting me to my seat.

“It’s raining outside,” I said dumbly.

Eric laughed, his voice sounding like bells in the countryside.

I looked at him; his laughter was as seductive as his voice, doing wicked things to my insides.

My stomach tightened and my palm grew sweaty in his.

Just delightful, you pig. Sweat all over the man after you drown him with your lack of accomplishment and planning.

He gestured for me to take my seat before the King of the Jewellery World while Mr. Woods glowered at him.

I could almost hear the words as the President silently asked if his subordinate was 100% certain he needed to entertain the less than perfect, wet female sitting before him.

Like I wasn’t even here.

Eric rolled his eyes and looked at me, unbuttoning the impeccably tailored blazer to take his own seat.

“So, Miss Stone, you want a job. Why Evangelic? What makes you think you’re good for our company?”

I blinked, uncertain if I could summon the willpower to speak.

My eyes didn’t know where to focus.

His face was too beautiful to concentrate on, and his forefinger rubbing over his top lip was only succeeding in giving me unholy thoughts.

But my water-logged heels seemed too risque to look at given their position atop his lap and the floor seemed too anti-social.

His moving fingers demanded my attention, making my choice for me.

I struggled to keep myself from shaking my head as a million inappropriate scenarios played through my head. Like how I would love to feel those long fingers in my...

I swallowed, not the time or the place.

You know Mark is going to punish you for that thought.

“Arana, sir, please, just Arana, and I’m not. Good or right for your company, I mean.”

Both men cocked their eyebrows at me.

“I mean, let’s be honest, look at me. I can’t afford to buy new clothes, I’m certainly not anywhere near as beautiful as the spectacular staff you have here. I don’t have the Evangelic look.”

Mr Woods started to close my folder, looking triumphant and smug.

Eric sat back in his chair, his eyes closed and face tense as if he was almost defeated.

“But that’s exactly why I think I’d be good for the job.”

The hand closing the folder stopped as the CEO looked at me.

“And I think that’s why I’m still here, sitting on a towel, dripping wet, after completely making a fool of myself. Because I am just a plain Jane from down the lane. Because I am invisible to beautiful people like yourselves. I know what people want and I can see more than just the superficial, pretty, sparkly bullshit. I am every woman who can’t afford your product; we don’t need a huge diamond or the best gold to show our worth, and I would like the chance to prove that, to both myself and to others.”

What a load of bullshit. You aren’t worth shit.

I tried my damnedest to smother that voice in my head, spewing Mark’s negativity. I had been strong once. I remembered the ghost of how it felt.

Eric smiled at me as he gave me a small nod.

I blushed.

Did I just say something right? I swallowed.

“I didn’t have anything to lose by applying for this job, but I hope that you’ll give me the opportunity to gain something. Experience, confidence, maybe even how to be a woman. Which is more than most have given me.”

I looked away, ashamed, suddenly fascinated by the dirt in my nails.

“Really, Eric?”

My gaze shot up with confusion at the sound of Mr. Woods’ agitated voice, breaking the silence that had fallen over the office.

Looking at the handsome man to my right was a mistake. Because Eric was looking at me with a smirk, rubbing his upper lip.

One look at Mr. Woods told me exactly what he was thinking.

Utter disgust.

“Yes,” Eric said, turning his gaze to his boss, his eyes hardening. “I can see potential in her and perhaps she can help with our profit margins. As you seem to be determined to point out, she’s invisible to you and our clientele. That means that she can see and hear things people wouldn’t dare say to our faces.

“And I’m hiring her regardless of whether you like her or not. I’m simply here to give you the opportunity to have your opinion and to warn me that I will one day look back on this day with regret.”

He stood, not once removing his gaze from his employer.

“Then, I shall ignore you, because she is what I want as my personal assistant. Someone who doesn’t fulfil your checklist. Miss Stone,-”

He wheeled around on me, making me start like a cat at a loud noise.

“My apologies, Arana. Welcome to Evangelic, now if you will follow me.”

He offered me his free hand which I took without a second thought.

“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Woods, sir,” I said, my stare transfixed on the playboy before me.

Without another word, but with a firm squeeze on my hand, Eric pulled me from the office.

The feeling of seething rage lapping at our backs.