Page 15 of His Secret Virgin
“Scouts?” I had to ask.
Dad came up behind me. “That means she goes to look at places for him to judge if they’re good for what he needs them for. And I think Emma could do that.”
Mr. Taylor looked at Dad. “I’m sure she can.” He got up, going over to my father. “I think I can handle it all from here, Sebastien. I’ll get her all set up. My assistant will want to talk to her and then we’ll get her to human resources to get all her paperwork signed. And she’ll be issued a company car, too, so you don’t have to wait around for her today.”
Dad looked over his shoulder at me as Mr. Taylor led him out of the office—a thing I was both happy and afraid for. “Looks like you’ve got a job, honey. Make Daddy proud.”
“She’s not in kindergarten, Sebastien,” Mr. Taylor said quietly, but I heard him anyway as his deep voice traveled. “Try to let her spread her wings.”
“You’re right.” I’d never heard my dad admit that anyone was right when it came to me. In his opinion, he—and he alone—knew what was best for me. “See you later, Christopher. And thanks for this.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you at lunch. I’ve got a few things I want to talk about with you, and we can do it over lunch,” Mr. Taylor said before closing the door, leaving us all alone in his office.
My blood went from scorching hot to ice cold.I’m alone with Mr. Taylor!
He walked back to sit behind his desk. “Normally, I don’t hire people just because a relative works here. But your father is a very dear friend. I hope it won’t offend you when I try to advise him to stop babying you when I see him doing it.”
“No, sir.” I was happy he’d said something to my father. “I understand.”
“Good. I want us to be one big happy family here.” Leaning forward, he smiled, and I nearly passed out—it was that brilliant. “I’ve got a couple of daughters who aren’t that much older than you, Emma. What do you think about meeting them sometime?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” My hands twisted in my lap. “I’m sure they’re so… so cool and sophisticated like you are. I wouldn’t fit in with them. I know I wouldn’t. But that’s very nice of you to ask.”
His expression turned to one of concern. “Emma, may I ask you something a little personal?” He waited for my nod and then continued. “Did you choose your own outfit today? Was it your own choice today not to wear makeup for this interview?”
“Dad doesn’t allow it, and he suggested the outfit,” I said much too quickly. “But I think the makeup thing is so that my face never breaks out. He said he had lots of trouble with acne when he was a teenager, and he never wanted me to have to go through that.”
“Admirable,” Mr. Taylor mused. “But you’re not a teen anymore, and I think a little makeup wouldn’t hurt your skin at all. But I should say that you’ve got remarkably smooth skin. My daughters would be envious. If you don’t mind one old man’s advice, I’d say maybe just a bit of blush, some lipstick, and a little eye makeup would make you look more your age. Right now you resemble a twelve-year-old—no offense intended.”
My cheeks went red, and my head dropped. “I agree.”
The next thing I felt was his hand on my chin, pulling my face up. “No reason to be embarrassed, Emma. So, what do you say? Would you like to be my assistant’s assistant?”
“I would, sir. I would love that.”
And I would love it if you never removed your hand from my face!
