Page 3 of Easy Come

He glanced around and spotted me in my teal sphere. He strode toward me with a friendly smile. "You must be fromContemporary Life." The beautiful male specimen stuck out his hand. "I'm Chase England." This man had spent time with Meredith Vee. Hard to believe, but now easier to see why Meredith was hanging onto some residual anger over losing the guy.

"Georgie Dempsey." I reached up and realized that I was sucked deeply enough into the cushions that a graceful exit was impossible. He seemed to sense my sudden panic and helped lift me out of the chair.

"Thank you. I do believe if I sat there much longer, I might just have melted into those cushions for a nap."

"Can't tell you how many of our people I've caught snoozing away in one of those pillowy spheres."

I followed him as he headed back to the hallway he'd stepped out of. "Oh, I suppose they get written up for that, huh?" I decided to start fishing.

Chase laughed. "Oh yeah, we're really tough with stuff like that. A nap after lunch will get you an hour in the stocks."

I could feel my cheeks warm with embarrassment. "Now I feel silly."

He opened the hallway door and ushered me through. "Don't feel silly. After all, you work for Meredith Vee. I'll bet she writes you up if you leave the salt shaker on the break room counter."

I chose not to respond, in case the man decided to start things up with her again. Though that seemed highly unlikely.

I followed him along a hallway. Four offices were on the same side. They each had a fabulous view through massive picture windows. "By the way, I've got an appointment. I'm sorry, but somehow Andy, my assistant, double booked me this afternoon. So you'll be interviewing one of my partners, Trey Armstrong. He is sort of the central brain of the place, runs the business end. You'll probably get more succinct answers from him." Chase stopped at a door. He was definitely eye candy with his green eyes and bright white smile.

"Oh, well, I could come back later. Meredith sent me to speak directly to you."

"Well, I'm one of four owners, and like I said, Trey will be able to answer all your questions." He knocked before I could say another word. There was really no good argument to the reasoning he gave. Meredith wouldn't even have to know. I'd find out some dirty tidbits about the company and write it up in a sensational article. I just needed a few months of writing this garbage for Meredith. I was sure I could find another position by then.

Chase opened the door. "Trey, this is Georgie. She's here fromContemporary Lifemagazine. And I'm late, so catch you later." Chase winked at me before disappearing down the hallway.

Trey Armstrong sat behind a large walnut desk. His office gleamed with modern art pieces and soft leather furniture. The man was a gleaming piece of art himself in his pale blue dress shirt, with sleeves rolled up to expose a few tattoos and some powerful looking forearms. Unlike Chase, Trey's dark hair was short and neat, and his hazel eyes had a more serious expression. He was equally handsome but in a less pretty way. In fact, if I were to write his description in my article I would probably use the term 'all man'.

Trey stood up as I approached the desk. His shoulders were even wider when he stood. He towered over his desk as he stretched out his long arm. His eyes lingered on my face for a moment as his fingers wrapped around my hand. "Nice to meet you, Georgie. Can I call you Georgie?"

"Yes, please."

And then it happened, a strange sensation that warmed me from head to toe. The deep, smooth tenor of his voice, the firm, but gentlemanly, handshake, along with the intense hazel gaze knocked me off guard for a second. It took me an embarrassing amount of time to respond. And when I did, my voice sounded far more squeaky than I remembered.

"Nice to meet you too, Mr. Armstrong."

"Please, call me Trey." He released my hand after what I considered to be an extraordinarily long exchange of politeness. He motioned for me to sit in the lush, soft leather chair across from his desk. He sat too. He placed his forearms along the edge of the desk. I found myself momentarily mesmerized by the strength and sinewy muscles in his forearms. I'd always been a fan of rolled up shirt sleeves on a nice pair of arms. His were especially nice.

"So, Georgie, what would you like to know about Plaything?"

Chapter Four

Trey

Fucking hot. Those two words circled my brain, around and around like a race car passing a checkered flag. She was fucking hot, but she was working hard not to be. It took effort to hide that much beauty. I knew I was looking over my desk at a journalist who was most likely here to find out if Plaything was run by a bunch of lecherous womanizers, but it still didn't stop my gaze from dropping to the top button of her blouse. The white cotton fabric was straining across her beautiful breasts, just dying to rip open and display what I was sure was an award winning, cock hardening cleavage. Her blonde hair was conservatively knotted up behind her head. And her thick rimmed glasses, while in fashion, hid way too much of her face. They did, however, frame her amazing blue eyes. Actually, the more I thought about it, the more I realized it might just be her sweet little attempt at trying to be anything less than fucking beautiful that was making my pulse race.

I sat back and took a discrete breath to release some of the tension building up behind my fly.

Georgie seemed a little flustered. I hoped it had nothing to do with the way I had been ogling her like she was something tasty. (Which I was sure she was). I needed to get a grip or risk having her smear the company name in her article.

She pulled out a notebook and pen. I arched a brow at the primitive tools in her hand. Her cheeks turned pink. And there went my pulse again, straight down to my cock.

"I know this looks a little old-fashioned," she said quickly, "but I find when I'm interviewing someone, I miss little nuances in expressions and tones when I'm busy fidgeting with a tablet or computer. And I find a tape recorder just freezes the interviewee cold."

I rocked back and forth slightly on the chair, finding the movement helped me concentrate on the task and not the girl. "I think you'll find it takes a lot to make me cold." When my wry response formed in my head, I hadn't meant it to be suggestive, but it sure as hell came out that way. I needed a drink.

My sudden departure from the chair startled her.

I pointed at her as I headed to my wet bar. "You look like a white wine type."

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