Page 1 of The German's Guilty Pleasure
One
Serenity
The parking lot was empty other than a forest green Porsche convertible sitting near the door. Nothing saysI’m rich, powerful, and Germanlike a Porsche 911. My beat-up, hand-me-down, almost dead Buick stuck out like a sore thumb parked next to it. It was a serious case of beauty and the beast. When I walked past, I noticed the license plate on the Porsche readKontakt. I smacked myself lightly on the forehead. No wonder I couldn't get a hit when I Googled it. Of course they'd use the German spelling. In my defense, I had only been given an hour to change my clothes and make the forty-minute drive here. I didn’t have time to do my due diligence. Standing here now, staring at the eerily empty parking lot, I wish I had.
The building before me was towering steel and glass that went on for miles. The steel made it intimidating while the windows welcomed you. Ironically, that was something often said of the German people themselves. I grasped the opaque door handle, and my eyes took in the European font etched into the glass door. One word.Kontakt. Wait? Does he own the whole building? I shook my head no. That wasn’t possible. When I walked in, and the shine of the marble floor nearly blinded me, I was sure that wasn’t possible. You’d have to be a billionaire to own an entire ten-story building, especially one this opulent. I glanced around the rest of the reception area where a cherry wood desk sat, sans receptionist. I wasn’t going to get much help there.
“No place to go but up,” I muttered after the elevator doors opened. I was suddenly nervous about more than just the job interview. My finger hovered over the elevator buttons. What floor? It would have been nice if my professor had given me more to go on here. A fissure of fear ran down my spine. I retreated from the elevators and paced a few steps in each direction, completely unsure what my next move should be. I’d taken a lot of risks in my life, some far more dangerous than walking into an unoccupied office building to meet an unknown man, but I couldn’t say this wasn’t dangerous. Regardless, I needed this job. I wanted this job. Hell, I wanted any job. I wanted to move out of the professor’s house and get a place of my own, which was something I'd never had. Unless you counted that one time when I pitched a tent behind campus.
I noticed a building directory to the side of the elevator, not surprised when only one floor had a name next to it. "Kontakt Corporate occupies the ninth floor. Looks like Mr. Lars Jäger has almost made it to the top." I snickered when the doors to the elevator slid closed and lifted me upward.
Smoothing the jacket of my pantsuit down, I took a couple of deep, calming breaths. I had no idea what Lars was looking for in an applicant for this marketing position. With so little to go on, I hadn’t bothered to bring anything with me other than my resume, a notepad, and a pen. Oh, and my pepper spray. You don’t grow up the way I did and walk into an unknown situation completely unprepared. I wasn’t dying to die today.
The doors opened, and I stepped out onto a rug done in muted browns and greys. It screamed high class, something I only knew about from my years of cleaning high-rise office buildings for the upper echelon of Miami during college. The reception area directly off the elevator was just as empty as the one downstairs. Apparently, no one had breathed life into the place yet.
“Hello?” I called out. “Mr. Jäger? Is anyone here?”
A disembodied voice answered me from the left and down the hallway. “In my office, Miss Matthews.”
I rolled my eyes at his welcoming ways. “What if I’m not Miss Matthews?”
“You drive a Buick, white with red trim,” he called back. “I noticed it in the parking lot.”
“How did you know that was my car?” I asked, my steps faltering on the carpet.
“You just told me,” he answered as I stopped in the doorway of his office. “Willkommen zu Kontakt, Miss Matthews.”
The man before me was a German god. Standing behind his desk, he knew exactly who he was and what he wanted out of life. He snapped the cuffs on his white dress shirt, his black blazer abandoned on his chair. He wore a ring on the middle finger of his left hand, but that wasn’t what drew my attention. My attention was focused solely on his eyes. Blue. Sky blue. Piercing blue. I sucked in air when they flicked over me from top to bottom and back to top. The forced break in eye contact allowed me to drink in the rest of him.
Perfectly straight nose - check. Strong chin with a tiny cleft to make you swoon - check. Barely-there blond petite goatee - check. Mmm, he was yummy. His blond hair was styled in the mussed, au naturale look, but I suspected he spent a lot of time styling it that way. He was over six feet of lean muscle and under two hundred pounds. I stared at the way his abs and pecs filled out his dress shirt in the most delicious way. He definitely spent his fair share of time at the gym.
“Schön sie kennenzulermen, Mr. Jäger.” It was indeed extremely nice to meet him. He was sexy with a side ofyes, please. Even if I didn't get the job, he made the drive over here worth it.
“I am glad you could make it on such short notice.” He held up his finger and turned to the bookcase behind him. He fiddled rather clumsily with a camera while he spoke. “I hope you do not mind, but I will be recording our interview.”
“Why do you deny your accent?” My head was cocked to the side when he spun on me. “It must be torture.”
His highly sculpted brow went up in surprise. “A gutsy littleblauer vogel.”
I noted his accent was strong and free with those words and I grinned in response. “I assure you, I’m no blue bird. The gutsy bit is accurate. Now then, if you’d like to turn the camera off, we can proceed.”
He shook his finger at me and then motioned me into the office. “The camera is to protect both of us. If you would like to record it on your own device, that would be acceptable.”
I glanced back at the door to judge the distance to safety. “What exactly do I need protecting from?”
He motioned his hand around the office. “It is the nature of the business we’ll be discussing. It is better to have clear evidence that our discussion was purely business.”
“What else would it be?” He offered me a smile that was meant to be welcoming and reassuring but came off like the Big Bad Wolf’s. “I’m afraid I’m at a disadvantage here, Mr. Jäger,” I paused when he held up his hand.
“Lars, please.”
“Lars. I don’t know what kind of business you conduct. I was simply told to be here at three for an interview.”
He motioned for me to sit opposite his desk and then lowered his beautifully sculpted German backside into his leather executive chair. I glanced at the camera, back at the door, and then back at him. He was waiting patiently, his hands folded over his desk, and a brow crooked up lazily. It was sexy to the nth degree, and he knew it. I lowered myself to the chair and dug out my resume slowly to give my brain time to restart after that little display of hotness. Still unsure of the situation, I slid my pepper spray into the front pouch of my purse at the same time.
“My resume,” I explained, holding it out to him.
“Your resume is not needed. I know that you are graduating summa cum laude on Friday with a marketing degree as well as an honors in German degree.”
