Chapter 8

Getting through the morning at the office has never been so hard. I had to read the files about Julia Woods at least a dozen times in order to memorize them. It’s not because there were too many things to remember, it’s because I just couldn’t stop thinking about Adam’s offer.

It bogged me down so much that I was even happy to leave the office to go interview Julia Woods. I read so much about her that I feel like I know her even better than I know myself. The silver lining is that this appointment with her allowed me to skip lunch with Chris. He wanted to come with me, but for once I actually told him no.

I kind of regretted it when I found myself in front of the Woods mansion. I thought that driving for about an hour wouldn’t take me outside New York City, and it didn’t, but oh, my God, I’ve never even imagined that such homes could exist. I mean, who lives in a place that’s bigger than a whole neighborhood?

I’m not kidding, judging by how long I had to drive from the front gate to the front door, this mansion includes the number of acres you’d expect from some ancient English estate, like, I don’t know, Pemberley, or Mansfield Park. I couldn’t even drive all the way to the front door, technically, a guard stopped me, and told me to go all the way back – Mrs. Woods doesn’t like modern things like cars to ruin the frontside of her colonial mansion.

When I finally made it, I was escorted to the back door. Back door and not front because Mrs. Woods isn’t a fan of journalists. I wonder how come she gives so many interviews, then, and why is she considering buying a scientific magazine.

A butler escorted me to the library, where I found Mrs. Woods. For a moment, I wondered whether I should bow to Her Ladyship. She barely even spared me a glance, and sent the butler away with one single hand gesture.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Woods,” I greeted, my knees almost making me bow on their own. “My name’s Vivian Dawson, from Atlantis magazine. I’m here for the interview.”

She looked me up and down for a few moments – either assessing my attire or pinpointing every single flaw, or just both. I wanted to look professional, so I went for the classic work outfit: grey pencil skirt that reached underneath my knees, white dress-shirt, black heels, hair tied up in a low bun. I even wore my glasses for the purpose, while normally I use contact lenses. Still, I felt tiny under her scrutinizing gaze.

“Well?” Mrs. Woods huffed, “what are you waiting for?”

For you to ask me to sit down, maybe? But she didn’t, so I opened my notebook, and was about to open my mouth, when she asked: “How old are you?”

“Uh … 25 …” milady? “ma’am.”

My tone must have sounded quizzical, because she let out a short but wry sound that was supposed to be a mocking laugh: “Are you not certain of your age, Miss Dawson?”

“No, I …” I what? I cleared my throat, needing to regain control. “I’m 25, ma’am.”

“Married?”

At 25? Are you insane, lady? “No, ma’am.”

“You should.” She looked me up and down again, this time lingering more on my curves. “Your beauty is already withering, assuming there ever was any.” Say what, now?

“Mrs. Woods, I …” come on, ask the first question, “uh … well …”

She rolled her eyes – in that classy manner that’s supposed to hurt you profoundly by making you feel like dirt under her shoes, but still not visible enough to be caught if you weren’t looking for it. “No, no. This cannot work.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Go back to New York.”

“But …”

She sent me such a chilly glare that I legit felt shivers down my spine. Clearly, she doesn’t like to be contradicted. “Do you have an education?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“College?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Again, that rolling of eyes. “What college, Miss Dawson.”

“Um … NYU, ma’am.”

She let out a small sound that felt like a scoff. Clearly, if it’s not Ivy League, it doesn’t exist for her. She waved her hand in dismissal again: “Go.” She ordered.

“But, ma’am, the interview …” I argued, gaining yet another freezing glare.

“Tell your employer I will not sit with someone that cannot even speak proper English.”

I’d have argued, but she said that in such a final tone that I kind of feared she would call for security to forcedly remove me and have them cut off my head or fustigate me or something. Hence, I swiftly excused myself, trying to think of an excuse for Sheryl, because she’ll definitely want my head on a silver plate.

I walked from the library all the way to the front door, passing the butler and a few other staff members that looked at me as if I were doing the most outrageous thing by walking out on my own, using the main entrance event, yet at the same time they didn’t seem surprised that my meeting with their employer had ended so quickly. However, my car wasn’t where I left it. I can’t have been inside for more than 5 minutes, what happened?

I turned on my heels to go knock on the front door, ask where is my car, when I heard a male voice from behind me inform me: “It’s in the back.”

Turning around, my jaw nearly dropped at the sight of this tall, lean but pretty muscular and pretty sweaty man grinning at me from ear to ear. He was wearing rotten light blue jeans and a dark green t-shirt that was clearly soiled with dirt. His shoulders were broad, and I could already prefigure the nice six-pack his t-shirt was hiding. As he walked closer to me, I was able to tell his features better: defined jaw, bright blue eyes, incredibly gorgeous smile.

I almost had to shake my head repeatedly in order to come to reality. “I’m sorry, what?”

His smiled widened as he raised his muscular arm to point to the back entrance, near the garage. I didn’t really see anything specifically, I was more focused on picturing those strong arms around me. Okay, maybe I haven’t had sex in a while, and it shows. The light stubble did nothing but enhance his rugged beauty, same goes for his messy black hair.

“She doesn’t like having cars ruin the perfect front sight of her villa.” The stranger informed me.

Guessing who was the she he meant wasn’t difficult. “Oh.” Was all I could say.

The man turned back to me. “Don’t worry,” he moved closer to me, a somewhat impish smirk on his face as he fished something in his pocket, “I have a gentle touch.” He said, grabbing my hand to place my car keys in it. I won’t deny I felt shivers down my spine again, this time in a good way.

“Thanks.” I mumbled, unable to say anything else.

“I took the liberty when I saw the keys still in the panel. But be careful next time, it’s not wise to anger the Wicked Witch of the East.”

I giggled silly. “Wasn’t it West?”

He shrugged. “We’re on the East Coast, aren’t we?”

I nodded, as stupidly giggly as I probably never have been. It’s like my brain took a vacation the moment this drop dead gorgeous god came in sight. “Well, thanks …” I realized I didn’t know his name yet.

“Sebastian.” He filled in for me, making a show of bowing, hand over his heart, “at your service.”

“Vivian.” I murmured, feeling hot all over when he grabbed my hand, and kissed it. Did I accidentally travel back in time? The setting is right.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” he mused.

I giggled once again, but trying to hide it with my hand. I don't know what was getting into me, it’s not like I've never flirted before, but it was really hard hard keep it straight with Mr. Universe here.

"That was way too corny, wasn't it?" Sebastian let out a short laugh that I mimicked.

"A little maybe," I admitted, "but thanks."

His smile was large enough to show me not only his pearly white teeth, but also the small dimple on his left cheek. God, could he be any more perfect?

"So, Vivian," somehow even my name sounded sexy on his lips, "what brings you to lioness' den?"

I kept myself from giggling this time. "I was here to interview Mrs. Woods," I glanced at the huge mansion, "but she didn’t even let me start."

He shook his head, half laughing. "Let me guess," he gave me a onceover, "wrong outfit?"

"That was actually the one good thing about me," I mused, finally remembering to untie my hair. Sebastian looked pretty taken by the sight of my waves shaking in the calm wind, so I must have done it right.

"She's usually really picky about dress code."

Placing a hand over my hip while the other held my papers, I hinted at my outfit. "Well, what's wrong with this?" Ok, maybe I said it in a kind of flirty tone. I was finally regaining my senses, at least.

Sebastian took a step closer to me, though, immediately undoing my difficult efforts at keeping control by speaking alluring right against my ear, albeit not touching me: "You really shouldn't have asked that, now I'm bound to be corrupted by the mad desire to free you of it." He licked his lips. "That shirt does look costrictive."

"Maybe it is." I murmured, matching his low tone.

I did my best not to emit a single sound when he placed a hand on my hip. "You must have dinner with me tonight, Vivian." Sebastian almost demanded, his voice way too sexy for my tangled up hormones.

"What makes you think I'm free on such short notice?" I teased, not moving. I won't deny it felt good to be asked out by such a man, especially considering I haven't been with anyone since Brian, and that was a long time ago.

Sebastian smirked, his grip on my hip slightly tightening as he got so close as to almost close the gap between us. Even mixed with dirt and probably car grease, his perfume was clear, making his scent uniquely attractive. "I'd have to insist that you make sure to be free." He said, his lips grazing my ear. "I don't think I can handle a rejection from such a goddess."

"We're being corny again, aren’t we?" I teased.

I nearly moaned when his lips trailed along my jaw, his hand on my neck. Before I could realize it, Sebastian was kissing me. It was quick, but so sultry and so full of lust that not ich reciprocating it felt almost impossible. I know, I know, I literally just met him a few minutes ago, but between my sexually frustrated hormones and my unsatisfied heart, I wasn't being given much room to decide.

I would have probably kissed him back … hadn't my phone started ringing. I recognized the ringtone immediately. It was a wake up call, a freezing shower, whatever you wanna call it, but it made me pull back from Sebastian's touch immediately.

"Sorry, I need to go." I said vaguely, and before he could reply, I was already in my car, taking the call with a guilty smile: "Hey, Chris."

"Are you there yet?" He asked.

Quickly starting my car, and driving away from the sinfully hot god that had almost made me betray my heart, I explained: "Yes, but I didn’t uh … I didn't do the interview. I'll …" because from the rearview mirror I could still see Sebastian looking at me, and I was utterly confused at the speed with which everything had just happened, I couldn't focus on what to say.

"Are you alright?" Chris asked, concerned.

"Yeah, I … I-uh …" I stopped the car just a few miles from where I left Sebastian.

"Vivy?"

"Uh … I'm driving back to New York. Interview was … I'll explain later." Something on my dashboard had just caught my eye.

"Ok, drive safe." Chris said. "And call me when you get here." I smiled at his caring tone. The real words of love are those: did you eat? Drive safe, call me.

When we hung up, I grabbed the piece of paper on my dashboard. A name and a phone number. Guess Mr. Universe had already decided what he wanted before we even introduced to each other.

Biting my bottom lip, I thought about it for a moment. The fact that I almost made out with a complete stranger was a revolution per se, Laura would be proud. But should I go further? I have a date in my near future regardless, might as well be with a sexy god instead of with a 38-year-old I've never even seen, right?

My eyes fell on my phone when it accidentally lit up, showing me my wallpaper: a picture of me and Chris being silly, laughing like fools. That gave me my answer. Sorry, horny me. I crumpled the piece of paper, and threw it on the passenger seat, where I put my phone, too. Times like these, I wish my heart wasn't so stubborn.