Page 9 of Triplet Babies for the CEO

I need this job.

I can’t work at the restaurant with my ex after what happened. I can’t hope to have my own apartment if I keep waitressing.

I need to do this for me.

I need a change.

I’ve got this.

Chapter Three

Brody

The moment Tasha Daniels walks into my office, I’m caught off guard.

I wasn’t expecting her to be, well,thisstunning.

And I don’t mean in that polished, overdone way that most of the women I see around here are. She’s got this realness and an immediate warmth about her. Her hair falls in loose caramel waves around her shoulders, shimmering in the ambient light of the office, while her skin is a soft, sun-kissed shade that radiates vitality.

She stops behind Josh, and I flick my gaze directly onto her, noticing her vibrant jade eyes. They’re this cool, steely green, like a misty forest, but if you look closely, you catch tiny flecks of shimmering gold and even sky blue in them.

I don’t know how I’m going to manage to get through this interview, I’m lost in this woman. Thisisn’tlike me.

I pull my eyes back to my phone, trying not to stare at her shapely, toned legs. That skirt…it’s obvious it’s not tailored for her, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s aware of what business casual means, but I try not to jump to any conclusions before the interview has begun.

I’ll just have to make sure I keep my eyes on her face. I should focus on her eyes so that I don’t seem creepy.

Already, I can tell I’m going to break that loose promise I just tried to make with myself.

I’m not sure why, but something about her reminds me of being a kid— of summers running wild outside in the warm breeze, listening to the frogs and crickets sing in the night air, not caring about anything but catching fireflies and staying out until the sun disappeared.

I haven’t felt that way in…hell, years. A decade or more, probably.

I do my best to shake the thought off because I’m here to interview her, not admire her. I step forward, pocketing my phone and holding my hand out toward hers.

I see she isn’t wearing a wedding ring, and I wonder how a gorgeous girl like her hasn’t been scooped up already.

Focus.

“So, Tasha, tell me a little about yourself,” I say, attempting to keep my tone steady and flat. I can’t go into this interview falling all over myself already.

“Um, well,” she begins, and it’s clear off the bat that she’s nervous, but there’s also this genuine energy behind her words. “I’ve been working as a waitress, but I’m looking to switch careers. I’ve always been business-minded. I help the restaurant with supply orders and, obviously, working with the public in a restaurant gives you lots of customer service experience.”

She laughs awkwardly at the end of the sentence, which makes me laugh as well because I know what she’s saying between the lines: “I can handle assholes”.

I can tell already that she’s really here to give this everything she’s got, even if she’s a little unsure of herself.

It’s a refreshing change from the college graduates with rich parents who come in here and barely want to communicate during their interview because they think their last name, or the name of the overpriced school they attended, is going to guarantee them a job.

I can’t help but smile just a little. She’s a breath of fresh air compared to the suits I’m used to dealing with.

As the questions continue, I can see her eyes flitting around the room, taking in all of the details of my office, and I start to feel a little nervous about her opinion—something that surprises me deeply.

My office, I hope, feels like a blend of sophistication and industrial elegance. A large conference table made of reclaimed wood dominates the room, its surface smooth and glossy, reflecting the contemporary pendant lights hanging above it.

The walls are adorned with framed blueprints and photographs of past construction projects, each one showcasing a different architectural marvel, and the scent of polished wood and fresh paint lingers in the air.

We go through the usual questions, and I quickly realize something: the reception desk isn’t where she belongs at all.

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