Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
He moves on smoothly from that comment, as if it isn’t one of the most interesting things I’ve heard someone say in a long time. What does he mean by that? What is his relationship to collars? Does he think they belong on women?
“I thought she lost her dog,” I say, making what feels like a lame attempt at conversation. “But I suppose she wouldn’t put his collar on, would she?”
Marcus smiles at me easily and settles into a chair that looks big until he sits down in it. My impression of everything in his office being somehow super-scale changes now that I realize it’s actually all made according to his proportions. Everything fits him perfectly.
He extends his hand toward the chair in front of him, indicating that I should sit. Just as I thought, he’s facing the door. He’s also facing that painting. I see him glance at it over my head for a brief moment before redirecting all of his considerable attention to me.
I have got to get my head back in this game. I did not come here to actually be a simpering sycophant. I am doing my best to appear to be a simpering sycophant, while in fact keeping my mind sharp.
He is a shark. He is a beast. He is a…
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Oh! Er… uhm…”
Get it together, Charlie, I lecture myself.
“Water, please.”
There we go. I’m back on track and sounding sensible and human again.
I get the pleasure of watching his athletic body rise from the chair. He crosses the room to a little bar which is very well stocked. I am sure there are even more options in the cabinet below. I could have asked for anything. Water was probably the correct choice.
He hands me a glass, and for a brief moment as the vessel passes hands… our fingers touch. It is the most grazing and fleeting of moments and motions, but I feel myself growing hot under the collar again. I take a sip of the water in an effort to cool myself down, and promptly choke as my swallow reflex kicks in early because of the way he is standing over me, looking down at me, making my autonomous nervous system misfire.
He pats me on the back, his big hand helping me breathe again even as he takes my breath away. I can feel the warmth of his palm through the relatively thin material of my blouse. It is another little intimacy I cannot process with any degree of decorum.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes, sorry,” I say. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“You look cute when you’re embarrassed,” he says, smiling.
For a moment, I forget who he is. I respond to him as if he’s just any old ordinary hot guy.
“Thanks.” I smile, allowing myself a little hint of a giggle. He’s charming. Devastatingly so. I wonder, for a brief second, if everything everybody says about him is a lie. Maybe my leads are inaccurate. Maybe it’s all just jealousy and innuendo and…
He sits back down in his chair. “I can tell you’re one I’m going to need to keep an eye on,” he says.
I feel myself blush hotly, and I damn near choke on my water again. He has me so off-balance, it’s absolutely ridiculous.
I decide to just lean into it. Fuck it. If I’m going to be a giggly dumb blonde of an interviewer, he’ll never see anything else coming. At this stage—even I’m starting to doubt my own reputation as a crack reporter and investigative journalist.
“So,” I say, putting the glass to the side on a little table near my elbow. I figure that will be safe enough, as that is obviously where such things go.
Marcus swoops toward me, picks up the glass, and settles it on a coaster. That’s an interesting move. It’s the first hint of the fact that he wasn’t raised rich. This man made every single one of the multiple billions of dollars he possesses, on his own. I have the mental image of someone in the past, probably a woman, telling him to make sure he uses a coaster. It’s the first thing he’s done that humanizes him a little.
“Sorry. I feel almost feral,” I laugh. “I swear I was raised indoors.”
“I’m sure I could find a place for you in a barn if that suits you better,” he smiles warmly, taking the edge off what could be quite a harsh comment under other circumstances.
I giggle a little, then try to compose myself. “Thank you very much for agreeing to this interview. I know you are a busy man, and I know you rarely grant interviews to non-mainstream outlets.”
“After reading your email, how could I refuse?” He slides his phone from a pocket inside his jacket, and brings it up to his face.
God. I am already blushing as I remember what I wrote. I needed to get his attention, so I couldn’t be perfectly professional.