Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79438 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79438 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“I’ll make the reservation for seven,” Harper starts to look for the phone number of the restaurant.
Getting up from the chair, I murmur, “Thanks.”
She finds the number then looks at me. “Are we going to fill the vacated position?”
“Yes.” I walk to the door, then pause to say, “Have HR set up a couple of interviews. Once they have a shortlist, I’ll take a look.”
“Will do.”
“I’ll send my details to Lillian,” I tell Harper before leaving.
When I’m back in my office, I take a seat behind my desk. I pull up Lillian’s application on my laptop and read through her details.
Name: Lillian Harrison.
Age: 25
Hobbies: Anything art-related.
Once I’ve memorized her personal information, I program her number into my phone. Sending her a text with my photo, name, and contact number, I mention that I’ll call an hour before dinner to confirm the plans.
It's seldom I take a date. Usually, it’s only when I have to do damage control, but Lillian seems like a sensitive person, and the last thing I need after Steven’s fuck up is another unhappy client to deal with.
I’d rather go to dinner myself and make sure she’s happy and comfortable.
Chapter 8
Lillian
I’m sitting with my face in my hands, internally dying of embarrassment after the call.
Ugh, I could’ve handled that better.
My phone beeps, and I quickly grab the device. Opening the message, I see it’s from the assigned escort, and I want to die all over again.
That’s until I see Callan’s photo. My eyes go wide as saucers, and my mouth drops open. With my jaw practically hitting the floor, I stare at the familiar handsome face of my Jensen Ackles lookalike.
Holy crap.
What are the odds?
Even though it’s only a photo, I can feel the dominance coming from the man, and knowing he’s the CEO of The Perfect Gentleman, it makes sense. He runs a company, hence the air of power around him.
And it makes me a hell of a lot more nervous about the dinner date.
This is insane. Am I really going to go to dinner with this man?
What will people think if they find out the truth? The story could leak to the press.
My parents will kill me.
I stare at the photo of the gorgeous man.
Damn, he’s good-looking.
The date is confidential. No one will find out unless I let it slip.
It would be nice to have dinner with him.
That’s if I don’t have a nervous breakdown before we meet.
I place my hand over my spinning stomach and take a couple of deep breaths.
It’s just dinner. I can cancel at any time.
Deciding I’ll worry about it later, I type out a quick reply, then put my phone on the desk so I can get back to work.
I try to focus on smoothing out the chips on the statue, but my thoughts keep revolving around the dinner date later tonight.
When it’s time to go home, my stomach feels hollow, as if something is gnawing a burning hole through my insides.
Grabbing my bag, I head out of the gallery, and during my walk home, I consider canceling the dinner a million times. At one point, I pull my phone from my handbag and type out a text to call the whole thing off, but I can't bring myself to press send.
Suddenly, my phone starts to ring, and seeing Callan’s name on the screen almost gives me a heart attack. The hollow pit in my stomach fills with a weird buzzing as I stare at the name flashing on the screen.
“Crap!” I whisper. My finger hovers over the answer icon, and biting my bottom lip, I take the call. “Hello?”
“Lillian?” His voice sounds like smooth velvet wrapped around pure dominance and masculinity.
Holy shit.
My breathing instantly speeds up. “Ah…yes. Hey. How are you?” I stumble over my words.
He doesn’t burst out laughing at my awkwardness but instead says, “I’m good. How are you holding up? Nervous?”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “Very nervous.”
“Try not to overthink things. We’ll share a relaxing meal and talk about art.”
Did I mention I love art on the application form?
Probably.
“Okay.” I begin to nibble on my bottom lip, my hands trembling from just taking his call. “I’m going to be super awkward,” I admit.
“And I’ll set you at ease. Do you have any questions for me?”
My mind is blank from all the tension. “No. Not at the moment.”
“Okay. I’ll see you at seven.” Before I can reply, he adds, “Just think of it as dinner with a friend. There are zero expectations on my part.”
“Okay. See you at the restaurant,” I murmur before we hang up.
I wipe my palm over my clammy forehead, and clutching my cell phone to my chest with my other hand, I rush to my apartment where I can have a panic attack without any witnesses.
Shit. I can’t believe I’m doing this.
Usually, I like getting to know new people, but hiring a date is way out of my comfort zone, hence all the nerves and awkwardness.