Page 72 of Pick Me
I groaned and pushed the heel of my hand against the front of my jeans, willing my cock to stay down.
Sleeping with a twenty-four-year-old was fucking torture.
I was such a lucky bastard.
“Okay, new plan,” I informed him. “Practice interview questions, so you’ll be totally prepped for your meeting tomorrow.”
He twisted his head against the headrest. “Oh, come on. You said I have this interview in the bag.”
“Jason’s on board,” I agreed. “But there may be other people in the meeting, too. And… look, you were all heart-eyed about the idea of Rubicon when you first met Jason, right? But then you didn’t follow up with himandyou seemed downright reluctant when I brought up the interview yesterday. I practically had to strong-arm you into coming. And I know why.”
Gage swallowed. “You… you do?”
“Obviously. You haven’t done many interviews, have you? Oranyinterviews? You’re nervous. I get it. I’ve been there myself.” I shrugged. “I’m sorry if I seemed pushy, but it’s because I want you to have the big life you’ve been dreaming of, Gage. I don’t want you to psych yourself out and miss your chance. Not if I can help you.”
“Sosweet,sofrustrating,” he groaned then he rolled his eyes. “This seems lame, but okay, fine. Hit me with your first question.”
“M’kay. Tell me about yourself, Gage.”
“Ugh. Okay. Well, I’m twenty-four, which means I’m young and enthusiastic. I’m a Scorpio with Leo rising, which makes me a team player. I have a college degree in applied mathematics and computer science, which means I’m a rational thinker and problem solver. And I have an intense aversion to cows, which makes me both smart and a good judge of character.” He nodded once. “Next.”
I blinked. “Actually… that wasn’t the worst answer I’ve ever heard. Except the part about cows is a fucking lie when I think about what I walked in on today.”
Gage rolled his big brown eyes. “Oh, please. You make it sound like it was some sort of depraved—”
“You were crooning at Diana. You were scratching her head.”
“Because Diana isn’t a cow, she’s a heifer. She’s tiny, and her eyes are all innocent, and when you scratch her forehead in just the right spot, she makes a little noise like… Ahem. Whatever. It’s different, that’s all.”
“Ahh.” I nodded. “Of course.”
“Next question,” Gage huffed, folding his arms over his chest.
“Right. Okay, tell me your greatest strength.”
He made a face. “Jesus. Uh. I’m easygoing? And I’m kind to animals. Even almost-cows. Next.”
“Not so fast. Try thinking in terms of what you’re bringing to the company. Easygoing can be mistaken for lazy or passive if you don’t explain it properly. Maybe say, ‘I get along with most people and have a real talent for seeing others’ points of view.’ Though I wouldn’t say you’re easygoing. You’re like a dog with a bone sometimes.”
“Only with you, baby,” Gage said breathily, fluttering his eyelashes. “And only because I enjoy the lectures. So what’syourgreatest strength?”
“Oh, that’s easy. Dedication and perseverance,” I said quickly. “Once I’m committed to a path, I don’t give up. Which is also one of my weaknesses.” I laughed self-deprecatingly, like I might in an interview. “I’ve worked hard to become an active listener who can make my team feel valued and heard. I’ve also learned to be cautious and intentional about the number of projects I take on, because I achieve the greatest return on investment for my time when I can really see a project through to completion.”
“Wowwww. Perseverance is a fancy way of saying workaholic? Who knew?”
“I’mnota workaholic. ‘Workaholic’ implies that I have a compulsion to work, and I don’t. Like I told you the other day, it’s that I like being in charge. I like achieving things. I like being…”
“Sayefficient,” he whispered ardently, leaning toward me with his hands clasped expectantly under his chin.
I shoved his face away. “I like being good at my job. I like peopleknowingI’m good. They need me at Bormon Klein Jacovic, and that feels nice. Always good to have job security, Goodman.”
“Needed you,” he said.
“Huh?”
“Needed. Past tense. You haven’t worked there for like… four months? Five? And they’re probably doing okay, so…”
I winced because, as stupid as it sounded, I’d forgotten that Gage didn’t know my move to Vermont was anything but permanent. None of my family did.
