Submission Specialist(Still a Bad Boy #2)(62)

This couldn’t be happening. A nobody like me doesn’t interview the most elusive man in the city. Mr. Kinsley didn’t even give me a questionnaire, he was that sure this was going to be a bust. I had nothing prepared to ask him and I was about to walk into an interview that famous journalists would kill their own mothers to conduct.

She confiscated the forbidden electronics and put them in a drawer before beckoning me through the door behind her desk. Once on the other side, I could see that the horizontal strips of mirror on the wall of frosted glass were actually one-way, so you could see into the waiting room like you were peeking out from a bunker without being seen.

There was no time to contemplate that though, as I was led at a brisk pace down a long hallway. At the end was a door, flanked by two men wearing suits and looking for all the world like Secret Service agents. One of them told me to hold my arms out to my sides as he waved a metal detector over me, while the other inspected my handbag for contraband.

I felt like it was a pretty thorough inspection before walking the plank. What would they do to me back at work when they heard I actually made it into Jace Barlow’s office? I racked my brain trying to think of everything I’d heard about him, trying to come up with something halfway relevant to ask.

About a year before I would have been ready, the security men were apparently satisfied that I wasn’t an assassin, and gave me the all clear. The receptionist knocked on the door and opened it, ushering me through before standing at my side.

If I thought the waiting room was expensively decorated, it had nothing on Jace Barlow’s office. Everywhere I looked were sleek, sophisticated lines, fine furniture and tasteful art.

The man himself was sitting behind his desk, and my breath caught in my throat. I’d seen pictures of him before, of course, usually with a woman who looked like this receptionist on his arm. So I knew he was handsome, but I never could have expected what it would feel like to have those eyes on me in person.

All the luxurious surroundings and art in the world couldn’t hide the fact that he wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth. I could see the edges of tattoos on his neck and arms, lurking just under the Armani, like snakes waiting to ambush unwary prey. He looked like if he flexed his muscles the suit would explode off of him as if he was a bomb.

Behind those dark eyes, I swore I could see thoughts beneath the surface that contrasted just as starkly with the cool exterior. None of the guys back home ever looked at me like that, and in this big city I was practically invisible. I almost felt naked in front of him.

It’s a shame that the more you try to stop a blush, the worse it gets. I hated standing next to this beautiful tall woman. It was impossible not to notice the contrast between the two of us. She looked a lot like my sisters, and that was one of the comparisons I’d been desperate to get away from my whole life.

A barrel-chested man with a shaved head had been standing next to Barlow’s desk, and now appeared to be leaving.

“Kendall Brookes, from The Weekly Enquirer, sir. Would you like coffee? Tea?” she asked me.

“No thank you,” I squeaked.

She smiled and stepped out of the way of the man who was leaving, holding the door for him and following him out of the room. I heard the click behind me and gulped.

“Take a seat, Miss. Brookes,” said the one and only, Jace Barlow.





Chapter 2

Jace

Something about her stopped me in my tracks. When I saw her sitting there in the waiting room through the one-way glass, I made the decision on the spot to break the rules and invite her into my office.

She wasn’t going to be getting a meaningful interview for The Weekly Whatever-the-fuck it was, she was going to be getting some hard cock. That’s all I was willing to give her.

I was sick to my stomach of the kind of girl that used to hang around with us, back in what I could only think of as the old days. Back then, I was hired muscle, working my way up the chain in the Picolli Crime Family’s organization.

Those bitches were barely one step above prostitutes, if that. Once I took over and put one foot into this world, this legitimate front, I was disappointed to find that they were all the same no matter where I went.

This one though, Kendall Brookes, she looked different. Her tits were small enough to be real, big enough that she’d have to hold on to them when I got to fucking her good and hard. A dainty little thing, she looked like she’d never been through the kinds of things I was going to do to her.

Fresh and innocent, I bet the guys in her world brought flowers and asked her father’s permission. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d asked permission for anything, except when I already knew what the answer was.