Текст книги "Fugly"

Автор книги: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

What did he really want with me?

The next morning I put on my favorite navy blue skirt, tan heels, and a tight cream silk tee with a low-cut neckline. Simple. Sexy. Elegant. I wore my blonde hair loose and wavy—my natural look—and applied a little bronzer to my cheeks and mascara to my very light lashes. Yes, I enjoyed feeling feminine. Even my underwear was known to be a little racy, and it didn’t matter that no one would see them. I had never deprived myself of the pretty things in life most women enjoyed, and I never would. I had just as much right as any to want soft skin, nice clothes, and a great job. I was no different from any other woman with needs either. And right now, I needed answers. As painful as the truth might be.

He’s probably some fucked-up creep with a fetish for ugly women. It would explain his dating track record. Though, I now suspected all those “girlfriends” were really PR stunts.

Time to find out.

I got in my red Mini and drove back to C.C.’s headquarters, located not too far from the Chicago Board of Trade building downtown. When I entered the spacious, bright-white, heaven-like lobby (minus the pearly gates), I told the receptionist—different from the day before—I was there to see Mr. Cole but didn’t have an appointment. That won me the “oh, another female stalker” look.

“He really does want to see me. Would you mind calling his assistant, Keri?” I told the woman.

Skeptically, she dialed. “There’s a Miss Snow to see Mr. Cole.” She listened. “Okay. I’ll send her up.”

She handed me a visitor’s badge and gave me a strange look. She was gorgeous, by the way, and now I knew why: Mr. Cole didn’t want to be greeted each morning by someone who wasn’t up to snuff.

As I got inside the elevator, a man in a suit—slender build, light brown hair, and pretty brown eyes—got in with me. He held a laptop and some files in his hands.

“Can you push the top floor, please?” he asked, looking down his nose at me.

“Already pushed,” I replied.

“Oh. You going up to the big guy’s office, too?”

“Yep.”

His expression leaned toward judgmental, like he didn’t understand why I was there.

“Are you new?” he asked, sounding overtly snobbish.

“Not exactly.”

The elevator chimed and the doors opened. We both stepped out, and Keri was already waiting for me.

“Miss Snow, nice to see you again.” She shook my hand and then dropped her smile, looking at the guy who rode up with me. “Hey, Craig. Mr. Cole says you’ll have to wait a few minutes to start the meeting.” She dipped her head at me. “Right this way, Miss Snow. Mr. Cole will see you in his office.”

Wow. If looks could kill, Craig was in the process of dismembering me. Hannibal style. I guessed he wasn’t too pleased about getting bumped.

“Nice meeting you,” I said anyway. No one wanted to be on an AMY’s (Angry Middle-Aged Yuppy) shit-list.

“Good luck,” he said, but really meant “fuck you” by his tone.

Changed my mind. “Thanks, Amy.” Fuck you back.

I entered Mr. Cole’s office and found him once again on his phone, sitting with his large feet propped up on the desk, looking like the picture-perfect sex god, his broad shoulders pushed all the way back into the chair. His thick brown hair was a mess, a few loose strands falling over his forehead like he’d forgotten the hair product this morning or had just gotten laid and passed on the comb.

Keri closed the door behind me, and the sound snagged his attention.

His eyes did that weird wash and scrub over my body while he continued his conversation. “Yeah, Jer. I get it. But this is not the time to cut orders, so do whatever it takes to make sure it doesn’t happen.” He listened for a moment, his eyes still on me. Well, on my tits, anyway. It was an odd sensation, almost like he was forcing himself not to look away and my breasts were his home plate—safe! It made me feel kind of naked. “All right. Send an update at close of business.” He hung up and pasted on a smile. “Well, this is a surprise.”

“I figured I owed you since you showed up at my apartment unannounced.”

He stood from his desk, giving me a glimpse of his outfit. No suit today. Instead, he wore jeans—loose around his hips, faded and sexy—and a dark gray button-down that perfectly hugged the contours of his very fucking sexy and hate-worthy body.

“Well, I’m pleased you caught me. I only came into the office to take care of a few things; then I’m off to the airport.” He gestured toward the light gray table and chairs near the window. “Would you like to sit?”

All right. This was strange. He was being extremely cordial and pleasant—completely phony.

I sat, and he took the chair across from me, this time not pushing away. I could see a sheen of sweat collecting on his brow. Was it physically paining him to be this close to me?

“So, Miss Snow. Are you here to accept my offer?” he asked, sounding like he’d won some giant victory.

“No.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Then do tell. What brings you and your dirty little mouth back to C.C.?” He grinned, seeming amused.

No. He looks…he looks…nervous. But he’s trying to hide it. Or was that just my imagination?

“My dirty little mouth and I have some questions.” I noticed again that he wasn’t looking at my face, but at the base of my neck. And the sweat on his brow had grown to a visible dew.

“Then, by all means, ask away,” he replied.

How was it possible he looked cool and calm and falling to pieces all at once? I didn’t know. But it had to be the same skill he used to look hot and masculine while simultaneously revolting me.

I cleared my throat, forcing myself to look past his perfect face and body. I needed to see him for who he was, just like I needed him to see me. “This is only going to work if you and I are honest with each other.”

“We seem to do rather well with that, you and I.”

“True.” I had to acknowledge that for two complete strangers, neither one of us seemed to have a filter with each other. Not that I wasn’t normally a direct person, but something about this man brought it to a whole new level.

“Go on,” he said.

“I want to know what you meant when you said that I am what you need. What do you really hope to get out of hiring me?”

“I think I made myself clear yesterday.” His gaze only hit my eyes for a moment, but the hardness shook me. My question had displeased him.

Well, too bad.

“You only told me you wanted my help, but not why,” I pointed out.

He scratched the back of his thick head of hair, and I noticed his rolled-up sleeves, or more accurately, the hard ropes of muscles popping up on his forearm. “I’m afraid that’s none of your business.”

“It is if I’m going to come here every day, knowing you’re disgusted when you look at me.”

“And you will be disgusted when you look at me. I’d say we’re on an even playfield. Except, I’ll be paying you. Quite well.”

As I looked at his face, I saw a bead of sweat trickle down his temple.

“Seriously?” I sighed. This was too much. “I can’t do this, Mr. Cole.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Look at you. We haven’t been in the same room for more than a minute and you look like I’ve got a gun pointed at your balls.” I laughed bitterly.

He frowned. “Does this seem funny to you, Miss Snow?”

“Yes,” I spat.

“Not to me. Not one bit.”

“Then how do you find this? Entertaining? Are you getting some kick out of degrading me? Is that what this is about—some weird fetish you have for making the ugly girl your slave or—”

“I’m not that sort of man,” he said bluntly.

I stared at him, waiting. He’d have to give me more, and he knew it.

A long moment passed before he finally spoke. “Some people have a fear of heights or small spaces. I have a fear of…” He looked straight at me, and my mind filled in the blank.

“Ugly people? Oh, come the hell on.”

“It is called cacophobia, Miss Snow. It is a disorder.”

I blinked at him, trying my best not to laugh hysterically and roll on the floor. “Oh, boy. I get that you have a huge ego and probably don’t want to admit you’re a disgusting, shallow bastard, but don’t hide behind a doctor’s note. That’s pathetic.”

His fist came down on the table, jarring me in my seat. “That’s enough, Miss Snow. I see you enjoy being a coldhearted bitch, but my issue isn’t here for your goddamned amusement.”

My smiled vaporized as his angry hazel eyes burned.

“You’re serious,” I said. “You really have a disease.”

“A disorder. And yes, I’m dead fucking serious.”

I wanted to ask how he’d gotten it, but did that really matter?

“Wow. So hating me has a scientific name. How wonderful.” I folded my arms across my chest and looked out the window. Being disliked because a person was a complete superficial asshat was one thing, but to know that Mother Nature created people who were predisposed to see you as a plague or threat or something to steer clear of really stung. Later, I would look up “cacophobia” and learn it also drove a person to pursue their own perfection. It would explain his body.

“I do not hate you, Miss Snow,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “But I am the way I am. Don’t take it personally.”

I shook my head at him. “God, you’re such an insensitive prick. If anything is personal, this situation qualifies.”

“What’s personal is you’re being quite the bitch.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Can you blame me?”

“No.”

At least he was fair. “But I’m not getting it,” I said, trying hard to let it all sink in and not succeeding, “you’ve dated some pretty unattractive women.”

“Not exactly.”

“So they were all just for show?” I asked, referring to the multitude of photographs I’d seen in the tabloids.

“The press likes to make assumptions. I simply allow them to.”

I had guessed that might be the case. “And the models you use? Or your company’s slogans?”

His expression showed no sign of shame. “My affliction provides me with some very unique and valuable insights regarding what women face. I’ve used it to my advantage.”

So that meant he was fully aware of how hurtful his behavior toward unattractive women felt to them. Then he used those insights to sell them the antidote. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? On one hand, it was like a wolf becoming a politician, telling all the rabbits of the world not to feel bad when his kind chewed off their legs and maimed them. On the other hand, it was also like telling the women of the world not to fall victim to the fucked-up, degrading, judgmental ways of men. Don’t listen to us Maxwell Coles of the world—we’re idiots.

Yeah, I liked that second analogy better. Still, I found this all very confusing.

“So why not see someone for your little problem. Why hire me?”

“I am seeing someone, and she advises the only way to eliminate the problem is to accept it into my life, to confront it—similar to any phobia.”

“I see.” I bobbed my head and then stared at his large hands. They were laced together on top of the light gray table. He had beautiful hands. He had beautiful everything. And now I knew he wasn’t just an asshole. Okay, yes. He was still an asshole, but part of his behavior was attributed to a disorder he was trying to get help with.

I whooshed out a breath and lowered my forehead to the table, rolling it from side to side. “I can’t take your offer. It’s wrong.”

“Wrong? Please explain what’s so wrong.”

Half speaking to myself and half speaking to him, I muttered, “I can’t work for you. Not like this.” I needed to know I was there because I’d earned it and deserved it.

“Like what?”

My head shot up. “You know like what.”

He leaned back and folded his fit arms over his chest. The way his biceps stretched the fabric of his sleeves caught my female eye like a fish to a worm.

“We are two people who can help each other,” he said piously. “You can help me overcome my obstacle. I can give you a better life. Why is this wrong?”

Because seeing you every day and knowing I cause you pain, just because I’m not pretty, makes me feel ugly.

“You want to give me a job I haven’t earned,” I replied. “You want to buy me a face I wasn’t born with. You want to rob me of my self-esteem so you can have an easier life.” I stood from the table. “I can’t feel good about any of it.”

He stared up at me with an unreadable expression. “Then tell me what you really want. What will make you feel good about it?”

“There isn’t anything.”

“Why did you want to work here in the first place?” he asked.

“Because I wanted to learn from you. I want to run my own company someday.”

He laughed. “You? You don’t have the backbone and you certainly don’t have the killer instinct.”

“Are you saying I have to be an asshole like you to be successful?” I asked.

“Absolutely. A leader has to fight for what they want and be willing to step on a few toes. But you? You’re running for the door, like the fake that you are.”

Yesterday, he’d called me a fake, too. I wondered why. “How can you call me that? You of all people?” It was really insulting.

“Because you only pretend to be tough and confident. But you will never be me, never run a successful company, and never amount to shit in this world if you don’t truly believe in yourself. You won’t even make it to the next goddamned block because you don’t have the balls to ask for what you want.”

“I have balls. Look at me; I’m here, talking to you and turning you down.”

He grinned. “For all the wrong reasons.”

“For my reasons.” I scowled.

“Stop playing games, Miss Snow. Tell me what you really want. Demand it. Let me see your claws.”

I glared at him. This man was such an epic bastard.

“As I thought,” he said arrogantly, “no real backbone.”

His words pinned me under a rock, infuriating me, challenging me. I wasn’t weak or afraid. I just found his reasons for wanting to hire me to be outrageously insulting. Degrading. I mean, where did he get off? Asking me to work for him like this was insane.

It’s like if I were to tell him…

“Fine. I’ll come work for you, Mr. Cole. If you sleep with me. You can be my first fuck. Because I won’t have surgery. I won’t ever be beautiful. And I will never have a hot piece of dick like you in my bed. So if your terms require me to do something I find morally repugnant, then it will be quid pro quo. All the fucking way, buddy.” My chest heaved with heavy breaths as I stood there with my angry fist parked on my hip.

See my damned point, asshole?

Maxwell Cole stared at me for several awkward moments, not a twitch on his lips, not a flicker of fear in his hazel eyes. “Deal.”

“What?”

“I said deal.” He got up, walked toward his desk, and began gathering his things.

Me, on the other hand, stood there feeling like a giant invisible truck, filled with regret, had run me over and was backing up.

What did I just do?

You just threw your own ass under the bus. I didn’t want to fuck him. I certainly didn’t want to work for him.

“Be here tomorrow morning. Keri will show you your office,” he said flatly.

“You—you’re serious?”

He turned and frowned at me. “Don’t go backpedaling on me now, Miss Snow. Not after you’ve just shown me your pretty little teeth and sharp claws. We might make a CEO out of you yet.”

I shook my head no. “Not. Back. Pedaling.” Just wondering where the nearest exit was. Now I really felt like an idiot. I’d just proposed to my future boss that he have sex with me in exchange for my acceptance of his offer.

Wasn’t it usually the other way around?

And what was that other feeling? It was…shock or excitement or something connected to that little spot in my brain that controlled my sexual fantasies.

“Good,” he said. “Have your ass to my house Friday at eight p.m. sharp. And bring your running clothes.”

Today was Wednesday, so that meant I had two days to get psychiatric help. Wait. You’re not doing this. You can’t.

“You okay?” were the words he asked, but his tone and expression accused me of being a spineless coward.

I stared at him, trying to comprehend what was going through this man’s mind. Honestly, I was confused as hell. Possibly frightened, too. He, on the other hand, looked like he’d been given an injection of piss and vinegar. He also looked sort of…happy? Okay, maybe not happy, but excited or determined, like challenging me turned him the hell on. But that couldn’t be right.

“Why aren’t you sweating anymore?” I asked.

He blinked as if startled by himself. “It seems you’re already having a positive effect. Too bad it’s your ability to piss me the fuck off that’s doing the trick.”

Speechless, I turned for the door again and grabbed the handle. I needed to retreat. I was way over my head with this situation.

“Oh, and Miss Snow?”

“Yes?”

“Do me a favor, would you? Fire Craig on your way out. He’s the one waiting for me out there.”

I blinked. “Sorry?”

“It’s your first lesson in running a company: You’ll have to come down off that pedestal of yours and get your hands dirty.”

“What did he do?”

“He’s an asshole.”

“Yeah, but so are you,” I pointed out.

“I have an excuse. He does not.”

“You can’t be serious,” I said.

He looked at his watch. “I’m afraid I am, and I’m afraid it’s time for my departure.”

Right on cue, there was a light knock on the door.

“Yes,” he replied in a deep, full voice.

Keri’s head of silky red hair popped through the doorway only a foot or so away from where I stood shaking in my heels, probably pale as hell.

“Sir, your helicopter is waiting,” Keri said meekly.

He nodded. “Thank you, Keri.” He then looked at me, but only briefly, before turning to his desk to grab his leather bag. “And thank you, Miss Snow. I’m eagerly awaiting the chance to become acquainted with your many talents.”

Oh shit. That was a sexual pun. No one had ever made one with me before. And the fact it was this guy did something to me. It made me feel a little naughty and sexy and…

No. No way. Absolutely not.

Okay, I hadn’t decided what I’d do about this possible employment situation. But I sure as hell wouldn’t agree to firing that guy sitting outside in the private lobby.

Mr. Cole sailed past us without another glance, leaving behind a trail of his delicious cologne mixed with a spoonful of “don’t fuck with me. I’m the boss.” Did alpha males have their own distinct scent that subconsciously told others to watch their step? Because this man shouldn’t be fucked with. Not ever. He had no fear.

Except of ugly people. Yet, he’d clearly said he would…

Oh my God. I can’t even think it.

Keri and I watched him disappear into the stairwell, to the roof, I supposed.

Once out of sight, I released the breath I’d been holding in. “Holy shit. That man’s…that man’s…” I didn’t have a word. Domineering? Fearless? A huge coldhearted prick? Sexy as fucking hell in the most aggravating way? “…different.”

Keri grinned and nodded. “Oh, you don’t know the half of it, but I prefer the word eccentric. You’d never know from looking at him, would you?”

I shook my head slowly from side to side, feeling like I’d just been trampled by the world’s biggest pair of balls masquerading as a human man. A gorgeous insane man who had the world at his feet, yet had serious issues. “Um…no. I can’t say I would’ve guessed it.”

She smiled warmly and patted me on the shoulder. “Well, if it’s any consolation, he’s a damned marketing genius. Even if only a tenth of what he knows rubs off, you’ll be a god. If you can survive working for him.”

I lifted a brow.

“Just look up ‘perfectionist’ in the dictionary. His picture will be right there.”

Oddly, it was the only thing about the man I’d guessed correctly. A perfectionist. But now as I stood there, my heart pounding inside my chest, my nerves sparking erratically like black market fireworks, a greedy part of me hungered for what he’d offered: Power. Over my own damned life. I was beginning to see there was so much more waiting for me if I was willing to take it, to fight for it.

I took a deep breath, feeling like I stood high on a hill. Off in the distance was a tall rugged mountain with snow on its cap, surrounded by a forest of green trees, its peak so high, it touched the clouds. That was my goddamned mountain. All that stood between us was a whole hell of a lot of rough terrain—quick sand, tar pits, and an enchanted forest with a big, mean sexy ogre toting a huge fucking club.

Suddenly, I felt the surge of determination welling inside me. Perhaps because I now saw how this path clearly lead to my endgame. A beautiful future awaited. All I had to do was push forward and take the job.

I looked at Keri. “See you tomorrow, bright and early.”

“Welcome aboard, Miss Snow,” she said cheerily.

I marched over toward the elevator banks and the seating area where Craig sat with his laptop open, typing away. He glanced up at me with a flavorless expression. “Mr. Cole ready for me now?” he asked prickishly.

I shook my head no. “No, he had to leave.”

Craig let out a huff. “What a fucking dick,” he whispered to himself. “I was up all night preparing this bullshit for him.”

Now, I get how strange this is going to sound, but good old Craig here calling Mr. Cole a “fucking dick” somehow rubbed me the wrong way. I inexplicably felt like I was the only person in the world who’d earned that privilege. Also, I was at least brave enough to say it to Mr. Cole’s face, and not to some stranger I didn’t even know, behind Mr. Cole’s back. It was completely unprofessional to speak about your boss like that to someone who wasn’t a trusted friend or family member you leaned on for the requisite boss-venting.

“Craig, I’m going to give you some advice: don’t be such a whiny asshole. It makes you look weak.” I walked over and pushed the call button for the elevator.

“Excuse me? Who the hell are you?”

I shrugged, completely blown away by my need to stick up for Mr. Cole. “Lily Snow. And by the way, Mr. Cole says you’re fired.”

His jaw dropped. “He can’t fire me.”

The elevator doors chimed and then slid open. “Apparently he just did. Have a great day.”

As the doors closed, I distinctly heard Craig call me a “fucking ugly bitch.” It was the first time in my life I recalled being unpleasant to someone, who probably deserved it, and it felt kind of…ugly. Maybe because Mr. Cole had just gotten me to do his dirty work.

On the other hand, I did need to toughen up, because working for the boss probably meant doing things outside my comfort zone all the time.

I laughed at myself. Ya think?

I really needed to sit down and figure out how I’d deal with seeing Mr. Cole every day and not allowing it to get to me.

He’s expecting you at his house Friday night. How are you going to deal with that?