See Me .(6)

“You made it!”

He looked over at the desk in the corner. It was Ron. God, the man looked even bigger when he was in jeans and a T-shirt. Sean squinted to read his red and black shirt. Keep your friends close and your husbands closer. “Man, you look great. Thanks for coming by.”

Sean looked down at his wet shirt. It was soaked through to the white undershirt beneath. “Sorry I’m so late. I hope I haven’t kept Ms. Swanson from another appointment.”

Ron rounded the desk with a stack of papers in hand. “Not at all. I have an application for you to fill out first. Then she’ll do the interview. The app is lengthy, but it gives us an idea if you’re the right man for the job.”

Sean took the application and looked around for a place to sit.

“Oh, shit. Sorry, here.” Ron went back over to the desk and grabbed a pen and clipboard. “You can have a seat on the sofa. I’ll get you a towel. It was coming down pretty hard out there.”

“Yeah.” Sean felt his stomach drop as he started to flip through the pages. The questions were beyond personal. Some of them bypassed embarrassing all together. Who in the hell would ask if I like to stick things up my ass?

Ron returned with a towel. “I know, man. Your face looks like you want to puke. The questions are a bit out there, but Abigail feels they’ll help you perform better and help the clients get exactly what they’re paying for.”

Sean toweled off his wet shirtsleeves. The cool little lobby quickly chilled his damp skin, making the once-welcomed AC now a bit uncomfortable.

He knew his face had to be three shades of red. He took the towel, draped it over his shoulders, and concentrated again on the strange application. As he did his best to fill in the blanks, his mind wondered what kind of woman would ask these types of questions. For Christ’s sake, she wanted to know if he’d ever sucked off a dude. What the fuck? Have you ever made love in a swimming pool? No. Have you ever had sex in public? No. Have you ever had sex with someone else’s spouse? No. What is your most secret fantasy? Like I’d really write that down!

Sean looked up from the clipboard. Ron was filling the coffeepot sitting on one of the tables. He wanted to run like hell. What in the fuck had he gotten himself into? He set the clipboard and pen on the sofa.

“Are you done?” The big guy’s smile was genuine. He seemed like a really cool guy. Honest, nice people were a rare commodity, and Ron fit that bill.

“Um, a few more questions to go.” He picked up the application.

“Great. Want some coffee? It’ll be ready in about ten minutes.”

Sean felt his heart thundering under his skin. He definitely didn’t need the caffeine. “Thanks, but no.”

That easy smile crossed Ron’s face again, making Sean feel more at ease. “Okay.”

Sean finished the paperwork as best he could. There were some things he just couldn’t bring himself to put to paper. He’d had enough of his privacy stolen over the years. He was militant about protecting it now. The porn queen was going to have to live with the answers he was willing to give. He got up and handed the clipboard to Ron.

“Thanks, man,” Ron said.

“You ready?”

Sean tossed the towel onto the sofa. “Yeah.”





Chapter Two

“Abigail Swanson, this is Sean Drennan.”

Ron introduced him like it was a legitimate interview, like he wasn’t standing there in the spacious office applying for a job in porn. It felt weird.

“He’s finished the application. We’ll do the rest after he’s done with you.”

Sean extended his hand and was quickly greeted with a sweet smile. An innocent, full pair of lips parted to reveal white teeth beneath. Had he ever seen a sweeter smile? Not one focused in my direction.

She took his hand into her soft grip. “Mr. Drennan, it’s nice to finally meet you. Ron has told me a lot about you.”

He has? Like what, the size of my dick or how many reps I can do on the trap bar?

He knew his hand lingered too long, but God, she was fucking with his head. Abigail Swanson was supposed to be a porno filmmaker, one of those dirty women wearing black latex and carrying a riding crop. A Jenna Jameson or Heidi Fleiss.

The woman standing behind the metal desk was no Jenna and definitely no Heidi. She was apple pie and pompoms. She was the girl who wouldn’t have given him the time of day in high school. She’s a sly-look-and-run-away, just like the woman in the café. Only ten times hotter.

The long auburn waves hung past her shoulders, and that shirt… Betty Boop, really? And jeans? He wasn’t complaining. They hugged her full curves. He’d been so used to the gym girls he’d forgotten what real women looked like. They looked like Abigail Swanson. Think, dumbass! “Sorry I’m late, Ms. Swanson.” He let her soft skin slide across his palm as she released his hand. The loss was instant.