I sigh. I guess I go and see him now? At least to let him know that I'm done, and to ask about salary. I can't even believe that I forgot to ask about that.
It was hard to pay attention when Chance was leading me to my office because I was so distracted by looking at his ass, so it takes me a couple of minutes before I figure out where I am and how to get back to his office. Marcy isn't at her desk, so I just knock on the door.
Chance's voice is muffled. "Come in."
I push the door open, and the image of his office is just as striking the second time. "Hi," I say.
"Hello." Again that small amused smile. "How's everything going?"
"Good," I say, nodding. "I finished the article. It should be in your inbox, if you want to read it."
"Excellent. I'll give it a read sometime this evening. Have you given any thought to whether you're going to say yes?"
I stare at him for a second. "You don't want to read the article first to make sure I can do what you're looking for?"
"No," he says. "I told you earlier that I'd already made up my mind. If I have any thoughts on changes to the article I'll let you know, but I don't have any doubts about its quality." I shake my head, and he raises an eyebrow. "What?"
"You probably looked into me before you offered me this job, right?"
He inclines his head. "We did."
"So you saw my job history." I sit in the chair I almost knocked over this morning. "It's not the best, and certainly doesn't paint a good picture of me. Why on earth would you offer a job to someone like that? Especially when you'd never met me? I'm sorry that I keep questioning it. It just seems like something that's too good to be true. And too good to be true never happens to me."
Chance leans forward on his desk, suddenly even more engaged with a fire in his eyes. "People are good at different things," he says. "I don't believe that there's anyone in this world that doesn't have something that they can excel at. I don't give a damn that you weren't cut out for the jobs you had before. Your blog has been successful and you clearly have a knack for writing engaging content. Since that's exactly what I'm looking for, why would anything else matter?"
Wow. That … actually makes sense. "When you put it that way, it makes sense."
"Good. Now are you going to say yes?"
I laugh. "I was planning on it. Even though I forgot to ask about how much it pays."
"Here." Chance picks up a folder on his desk and hands it to me. "This is an employment contract. All the details of your salary and benefits are inside. I'd like it if you signed before you left today, but I'll also accept if you need the night to think it over."
I take the folder. "You really want me to say yes."
"Yes I do, because I think you're talented. But I also don't like hearing the word no when it comes to business."
A laugh escapes me. "That probably doesn't make you very popular."
"No, but it does make me successful."
I can't argue that point, given the office that we're currently sitting in.
Opening the folder, I glance at the top sheet which summarizes what's in the document in further detail, and my jaw drops-fully drops-when it gets to the salary. "You're joking."
"Not in the slightest."
"You can't pay me this much for just … writing."
Chance smirks again. "Of course I can. Your work is going to be highly visible within the company. You're going to be the brand new voice of Heart Makers, and you deserve to be paid for that. Granted, you'll also see that there's an exclusivity clause. You're being compensated highly so that you don't lose money from not having the ability to write for other publications. Of course you can still update your blog. In fact, I encourage it, even though I don't want you to go on anymore bad dates. It sounds like you've been on more than enough."
I start to flip through the contract. There's a lot of legalese, and even though my instinct says that I can trust Chance, it's not so short that I can read it while I'm sitting here. I do want this though. "I want to accept," I say. "But I hope you'll understand if I take this contract home to read and come back in the morning to sign it."
He smiles again. "I do understand. It's good that you want to read it. Smart."
"Okay then." Relief flows through me. "So I guess I'll see you in the morning? Boss?"
Chance gives me a long, serious look. So long that I start to worry that I said something wrong. "You certainly will," he finally says, and a perfect little shiver runs across my skin. That voice-I'm going to dream about it all night.
"Okay," I say, standing. "Have a good night."
"You too, Caroline."
Five
"When I tell you that this guy didn't stop talking the entire three hours we were at dinner, you have to believe me. Whoever said that women talk more than men never met this guy. I think I may have said fifty words during the entire date, and in the mean time, I learned about this guy's cat, his mom, his grandma, his cousins and extended family, his hopes, his dreams and possibly his predictions for the next fifty years of his life. There's a possibility I might be asked to write his biography using only the information that I learned on this date."
-Rock Bottom Caroline
When I get home I spill every detail of the day to Alice, who's dying for details after a full day at the bank. Which, she assures me, is boring as fuck. I find some pictures of Chance online and Alice can't stop staring, and when I tell her that the pictures really don't do him justice, she just shakes her head. This is all crazy, right?
When Alice heads to bed, I read the contract until my eyes feel like they're going to fall out. It's not a bad contract from what I'm gathering. A lot of it is standard employment legal stuff limiting Heart Makers' liability and making sure that I understand that what I write on behalf of the Heart Makers' brand belongs to them, but they don't own anything else that I write, now or in the future.
Then there's the explanation of my exclusive contract and my compensation. With money like this I'll be able to pay off what's left of my student loans and get my own place in just a few months. I can't screw this up, because money like this could really change my life.
I can't screw it up by doing something like fucking the boss, even if he is the most gorgeous piece of man candy walking around downtown Manhattan. Ugh. Seriously, how do you even get to be that hot? Is there some sort of vitamin you can take? Did the hotness fairy appear out of the sky and hit him with the hotness wand until it broke?
Great. Now I'm thinking about him again and how delicious he smelled leaning over me and that last long look before I said good night. Tomorrow's going to be a long day. Hell, every day is going to be a long day of keeping myself-and my hands-off of him. But I think that it's a good trade off.
I'm tempted to give in to my temptation to masturbate with all this pent up sexual energy, but I always feel weird doing that on Alice's couch. Soon, when I have my own place, I'll have plenty of privacy and time to do that. And then Noodle won't be staring at me with his head tilted from across the room, wondering what the hell I'm doing. There's nothing that kills the mood more than an animal curious about your sex life.
And with thought in my head, I sign the contract, put it away, and collapse into sleep.
I raid Alice's closet again. I'll be able to buy a new wardrobe soon. That will be fantastic! But today I settle for one of the outfits I regularly borrow from her: a deep blue button down that has short sleeves and somehow makes me look like I have bigger tits than I actually do, and black slacks that make my ass look amazing. I pull some flats from her closet, too. They're a little big, but I'll deal with it. I'll be sitting at a desk all day, not running a marathon.
On the way downtown, on the subway, it hits me. I have a job. I have a job! A job that I'm actually going to like. A job that I have a shot at being good at! I don't know what divine being or lucky star let me have this great fortune, but I'm certainly not going to complain about it.
When I get to the office, I'm pulled through a whirlwind. I have to fill out employment forms with HR, get my photo taken for my ID and building keycard, and I have to get log-in credentials for the computer system. Then, the HR woman, who seems like she's in a hurry, gives me a more thorough tour of the Heart Makers offices. I pay attention this time-I don't want to be the new girl who constantly has to ask for directions.