Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
New Girl doesn’t look afraid, though. I watch as she follows Indira in. As soon as I get a nose-full of her scent, I want to lick her from toe to clit.
Odd reaction to a human.
She’s not even pleasing to the eye. I mean, she’s pretty, but there’s nothing soft and yielding about her. Something in the carriage of her neck, the lift of her chin, in the way she doesn’t flinch when I glare in her direction, makes her look like she has a chip on her shoulder. With ten years added to her, she’d look like one of those power executive types. A female powerhouse, born to dominate every office. I employ a handful of women like her. You have to be strong to make it around here.
She assesses me right back, somehow managing to appear respectful and receptive, yet completely unafraid, even though it’s her first day here.
Part of me wants to rip her a new one right from the start. Especially because I heard her murmur to Indira, “So that’s the Big Bad Boss” before they walked in. Of course, she couldn't know that there’s no conversation out of my hearing range on this floor.
The closer she gets, the more her scent infiltrates my senses. It’s too pleasing to make me want to attack. Fates, is my dick getting hard?
I stand. “You are?”
“Mr. Blackthroat, this is–” Indira begins.
“Madison Evans.” New Girl sticks her hand out for me to shake, saying her name at the same time as Indira. She meets my gaze steadily. There’s no challenge to it, just attentiveness. She’s reading me. I want to find something to criticize, but I can’t. She’s the right mixture of confidence and humility. Not overly bold, not cowering. There’s something annoyingly appealing about her manner.
I already hate her. I accept her handshake. Her skin is soft. For some reason, my thoughts flick to the fact that her scent will now be on my palm. Not that I’m going to review it later.
“I go by Madi.”
“I will call you Madison, if I remember your name. I’ll expect you to answer to Assistant, Secretary, New Girl or whatever else I hurl at you at the moment.” I release her hand.
Far from being taken aback, I see a trace of amusement in her expression. “I will answer to all of those,” she assures me with a bow of her head.
“Good. Now take our coffee orders.” I flick a brow like she should have already known to do this even though it’s her first day. To Indira, I say, “Where are the financial reports?”
Madi
Rule number one of dealing with a Wall Street alpha-hole: Don’t show weakness.
Blackthroat is staring at me. He’s more good-looking and intimidating than the rest of them put together. His sleek suit accentuates the width and breadth of his powerful shoulders and chest.
I raise my chin and meet his gaze square on. “What kind of coffee can I bring you, sir?”
His eyes are dark. He’s got a close clipped beard, and the lines around his eyes make him look older than his thirty-some years.
The second stretches to infinity. Mr. Blackthroat’s glare intensifies. For a moment, a bright sheen flares around his pupils. Must be a trick of the light.
“Triple Espresso.” The deep growl of his voice wraps around my body and squeezes me.
I nod.
I’m still reeling from the fact that I am working for the Brick Blackthroat. Or, rather, Blackthroat’s assistant, Indira.
My boss is the same age I am–just out of undergrad. She told me her boss got fired Friday, and she was bumped up the line. She’s only been here three weeks total, herself.
At the moment, she is hurrying around her desk area, picking up and searching through folders. I suspect she doesn’t even know what reports he’s talking about.
It’s probably some kind of test.
Well, I’ll make sure we pass it right after I handle their coffee orders.
I don’t plan on either of us getting fired today.
Or tomorrow.
Good thing I know how to navigate the waters of the one percent of the one percent.
Rule number two: act as if you belong.
So I pretend I’m not unnerved by the six good-looking assholes in ten thousand dollar suits sitting around a giant table. I recognize them as members of the executive team. I memorized the employee roster, as well as the three hundred and fourteen page handbook on the way to work this morning.
Rule number three: Always be prepared.
“I’ll have a large red-eye, extra cream, no sugar,” an exec says in the Queen’s English. He must be Nicholas Cavendish, the seventh. “Nickel” transferred from Oxford to Yale, Blackthroat’s alma mater.
Then there’s Vance Blackthroat, CFO. A cousin to the king. He doesn’t even look up from his laptop. “Flat white. Tall.”
“You aren’t going to write this down?” William “Billy” White wears a smirk, like he thinks I’m about to bomb this test. He sports dimples in his cheeks and chin and has player written all over him.