What Is This Man Doing To Me?

Lanie

“Y-yes,” I sputtered. “Come right in. Mr. Marx, I assume?”

“That’s right.”

“Have a seat.”

He walked over to the chairs opposite my desk, tight shoulders and sculpted rear-end moving with controlled precision. Realizing I was staring, I quickly took my own seat.

If I’d hoped meeting Mr. Marx face-to-face would help ease my anxiety, I was sorely wrong. The man sitting across from me was perfection, in possession of the kind of face that could give any professional male model a run for their money.

Now, not only was I worried about how well I would perform during the meeting, I was once again worrying about how I looked. Was my makeup still holding up? How was my hair doing? I resisted the urge to touch it and see.

Remember the steps. One at a time.

Placing my palms on the desk, I smiled. “Thank you for coming to meet with me. I know you’re well aware of Raven’s recent, um, acts.”

I checked a cringe. This wasn’t the speech I’d prepared at all.

Mr. Marx’s face darkened, an