Desk Job (London Menage Book 2) Read Free Page A

needs.
     
    The offices of Wainwright and Bramon were set in a tall building constructed of steel and blue-tinted glass. I stepped through the revolving doors, my heels clicking on the hard tiled floor, and made my way up to a reception desk.
    I noticed a man wearing glasses glance my way. His attention lingered. Yes, I looked good. I had the type of round hips that were impossible not to roll as I walked and now, wearing high heels, that sway was even more pronounced.
    A shiver of nerves went up my spine. I hadn’t always felt so confident about my shape but after a scary year where I’d realized I wasn’t eating enough and had become way too thin, I’d bucked up. A course of sessions with a therapist and some strategies that helped me get to a healthy weight again, put paid to that problem.
    And I intended for it to stay that way. Making myself ill to look a certain way was not how I wanted to live my life.
    “Hello,” I said to the receptionist. “I’m here for Wainwright and Bramon.”
    “Yes, twenty-sixth floor. The elevator is just there.” She jabbed her pen to the right.
    “Thank you.” I headed for the lift, checking my hair for loose strands.
    As I rode to the twenty-sixth floor, I went over again what I’d learned about the company I was hoping to work for. Owned by two men, Andre Bramon and Tristan Wainwright, it was an up and coming marketing firm with an impressive list of clients. Fifteen people were employed in a range of roles and from what I gathered, the joint owners were very much hands on in the day-to-day running of the company.
    It was also very convenient for me, only a short cab ride or three stops on The Tube. Whatever the weather, I’d be able to get to work and it wouldn’t cost me an arm and a leg either.
    I pulled in a deep breath as the elevator slowed. This was it. Time to do my stuff. This job would be the answer to a whole host of rather pressing problems.
    The doors slid open and the scent of new carpet and polish filled my nose. I stepped out, my heels now quiet on the soft flooring. The lights were muted, not harsh like the ones in the reception area and the furniture was made of rich, dark oak. It had a nice feel to it, luxury, contemporary, but also comfortable.
    A woman with a tight blonde bun and black glasses paused typing and looked up. “Can I help you?”
    “I’m here for an interview. Stella Wright.”
    “Oh, yes, of course.” She stood. “If you’d like to come this way, Andre is waiting for you.”
    Andre? Did that mean I was to be interviewed by one of the partners?
    I quashed a knot of nerves. That was fine. Of course he’d want to interview me. I would after all, if I got the job, be running his life Monday to Friday, nine-to-five.
    I followed the young woman past several offices, all of which had their doors closed. I then came to one that was open an inch.
    The woman knocked.
    “Come in,” called a deep voice.
    “Stella Wright is here. For the eleven o’clock interview.”
    “Yes, yes, send her in.”
    I glanced at my watch. I wasn’t late, in fact I was ten minutes early, but somehow I felt as though I’d kept him waiting.
    “Please, go through.” The woman stepped out of the way and indicated the office.
    “Thanks.” I gripped the strap of my bag a little tighter and wondered if maybe I’d gone over the top with my outfit. She wore plain black trousers, flat shoes and a shapeless red top.
    Stepping into the office, I paused for a moment to let my eyes adjust to the dim lighting. Blinds were half pulled at the windows and the dark furniture appeared nearly black. Sitting behind a huge desk was a man in a suit. He had blond hair and his face was lit by the computer screen in front of him.
    “Ah, hello,” he said, standing and walking around the desk. “You must be Stella.”
    “Yes. Mr Bramon, right?”
    He smiled, a warm easy grin that went right up to his blue eyes. “Spot on. Please, sit.” He gestured to one of the low bucket