As Ryan reached the door he turned back and said, "And if that thing about you wanting to fuck her is true, don’t.”
So that's how a couple days later I was waiting at my desk for Natalie to show up for an interview. When my secretary intercomed me to tell me that Natalie was here, I stood straightening my tie and my jacket as I reminded myself that I didn't actually have to hire her. I only had to interview her.
I came around my desk so that I could greet her when she came in. The door opened and she stepped in, and immediately I wished I'd stayed behind my desk as all the blood in my body ran straight down to my groin. She had been a looker in Thailand, but now standing with me alone in my office, she was even more stunning than I remembered.
Her dress was classically cut, but it still had all the wild colors she was known for. Her soft curls were combed in a way that made me think of 1950s pinup girls. Like Marilyn Monroe but with lavender hair instead of platinum blonde.
She plastered on a smile and extended her hand. "Hello Hunter, I'm not sure if you remember me. I'm Natalie Nichols."
"Yes, I remember you." I had a moment to worry that my tone sounded more lecherous than friendly. I thrust out my hand to shake hers. Her hand was small compared to mine, and warm and soft, and again I had sensations in places that I shouldn't have been having them. So, I extracted my hand and motioned for her to sit as I quickly went behind my desk and sat in my chair.
"Why don't you tell me a little bit about what interests you in this job." It wasn't my usual lead off question, but I figured if I was right, and this wasn't really a career move for her, it would give me a chance to eliminate her.
She sported a small smirk on her face but then answered, "I like telling stories with art."
I sat back intrigued by that idea. Indeed, marketing was partly storytelling, as well as persuasive, psychological manipulation. But what better way to target heartstrings or to access people's innermost wants and needs, than through a story.
We chatted a bit longer and then I decided we should get down to the brass tacks. How would she do with this campaign that Ryan insisted needed to be the best of all time? I pulled out the mock-ups that Liz and her team had already prepared for the European expansion, and handed them to Natalie.
She looked over the work and at first, her face revealed no response. Then she looked up at me with one arched brow and said, "You're not using these, are you?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
For a moment she stared at me in disbelief, and I didn't like the feeling she evoked in me. I was good at my job, so why was she looking at me like I was a fucking idiot?
Feeling the need to defend myself, I said, "This campaign is going to appeal to the European market. It's classic and it's traditional. It's a throwback to the days of Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant. Think Roman Holiday."
"First Roman Holiday didn't star Cary Grant. Second, Roman Holiday’s romanticism appeals to people in the United States, not in Europe. People in Rome aren't interested in a Roman holiday. They live there. It's just another place to them.”
"Okay, smarty-pants, what would you do?"
Heat flashed in her eyes at me using the word smarty-pants. She clearly didn't like it, but in the end, the joke was on me because seeing that fire in her eyes made me wish I could lay her over my desk and show her all sorts of classic and traditional things that could be done between a man and a woman.
"Strong Incorporated creates a shoe line that is very much Californian. Actually, it's very California beach. That's what you should be selling. And if you wanted to go with some old historical vibe, could go with maybe sixties beach, like the Beach Boys or something. But it definitely needs to evoke a Cali girl vibe."
That didn't sit well with my classic traditional marketing thinking. "You don’t think that a little gauche."
She grinned. "We look at you using French."
I felt my jaw tighten and I worked to keep it loose because I didn't want her to know she was getting on my nerves. "This campaign needs to be ready like yesterday. These are the sketches we have. Are they something you could work with?"
She tossed them back on my desk. "Nope."
I cocked my head wondering if maybe she didn't want this job as much as I didn't want to give it to her.
"I was told that this job would have some creative leeway. This is non creative. Europeans already have access to traditions. Your goal shouldn’t be to fit in with what's already there. Your goal should be to stand out. Europeans who come to America are either going to the wild west because they're infatuated with cowboys or they’re coming out to the California beach hoping to see movie stars. If you want to sell your sandals in Europe, that’s what I would go with."
I don't know why I was so incensed. Maybe it was because she was questioning my knowledge of marketing and advertising. Maybe it was because she had a point.
"I wouldn't expect someone who paints landscapes all day to fully understand what it takes to design a marketing campaign." Yes, I was going into full asshole-mode.
To her credit, she gave me that smirk again as if she was more amused by my outburst than offended.
"Well, at least my landscapes offer something interesting to look at."
"Well, at least mine do what they're supposed to do and make money."
She flinched and the satisfaction I wanted to feel by gaining the upper hand wasn't as good as I hoped it would be. I hated when being an asshole made me feel guilty.
She stood up. "The problem is that you think this is art and it's not. Yes, it's all traditional and everything, but your goal is to inspire people to buy your shoes. This is too boring to inspire anybody to do anything. Most assuredly it won’t make them go buy shoes."
"Clearly you're not a good fit for this position," I said.
She laughed. "That's an understatement. Thank God it's over, right?"
I stood ignoring the shadow of the woody that despite everything was still present. "Right."
"You know, I didn't really even want to apply to this position. So, you don't have to worry that Ryan or Kellie are going to be upset at you for not hiring me."
I frowned. "Why did you apply?"
"Probably for the same reason you interviewed me. Because they hassled me to do it."
I don't know why but I found that funny and I laughed. "Fucking families."
She grinned, and for the first time it seemed we were on common ground.
"Besides, I want to get work on my own merits. I don't need my sister and brother-in-law doing me any favors. And I’m especially not interested in doing anything like that," she said pointing to the sketches of the ad campaign we'd already prepared.
And with that we were back to being adversaries.
"Well, that's a good thing, honey, because with your credentials you don't merit this job."
"This job doesn't require any credentials. You could get a monkey to do that type of stuff if he was dumb enough to do it. I know I wouldn’t. You could offer me a million dollars, and I still wouldn’t do this job."
"If your work is worth a million dollars, why are you out looking for a job in the first place? How much of your art have you sold anyway?"
"You know what Hunter? You can take my resume, and shove it up your ass." She turned and strode out of my office.
The smart thing would have been to let her go. But the fact that she had the last word, the last laugh, really irked me. So, I strode out the door and up the hallway to catch up with her.
"You know, we do have jobs for starving artists," I said as I reached her outside the elevators. "There's an opening down in the mailroom."
"Gee, Hunter you're so clever. You're such a strong, strong man to pick on a small woman like me who's only trying to make her way in the world doing something she's passionate about."
Her words hit exactly where she wanted them to. She was pointing out that I wasn't just an asshole, but I was mean and insensitive too. But there was a gleam in her eye that suggested that she w
asn't offended by my remark. In fact, it was quite possible she was enjoying this.
Actually, I was enjoying it too. I like spirited strong women. Apparently, I also was turned on when they stood up to me, which was something that didn't happen to me very often. Most women wanted to play nice so that I would play nice back and I didn’t just mean with my body. Most women were hoping they would become Mrs. Hunter Strong, and have access to my money.
Natalie clearly didn’t give a shit about any of that. There was something about the way her gray eyes shot daggers at me and that amused smirk that made me hot, not with anger, but with the desire to learn if she was as feisty in bed as she was now.
4
Natalie
I submitted my application, and I went to the interview simply so I could tell my sister that I did. But I had no intention of actually trying to get the job. So, I showed up prepared to be unqualified. My dress was a regular A-line, but it was probably a size too small and had wildly shocking colors all over it, completely inappropriate for a corporate environment. If that didn't bug the hell out of the Strong brothers, then surely my lavender hair would. And if none of that worked, the fact that I had no experience working in a corporate art department should make me ineligible for the job. Not that I couldn't get it if I really wanted it because I was sure I could. But the idea of being in a cubicle all day made my skin crawl.
While my sister had married Ryan, I didn’t know his brothers very well. I’d met Hunter at the wedding, but hadn’t talked to him very much. All I knew was his reputation. Up close and personal, I could see why he was so successful in earning his reputation. He was a large man with broad shoulders. Even under his stuffy suit, there was something about him that looked sexually primal. The artist in me wanted to get him naked and paint him. Or better yet, sculpt him. A specimen like Hunter could probably become as famous as Michelangelo's David.
I could see some resemblance of him to Ryan that indicated they were brothers, but whereas Ryan was the classic Southern California blond hair, blue eyed, pretty boy, Hunter’s, blond hair had a reddish hue to it, and his features were more raw and rugged. Whereas Ryan could be a surfer, Hunter would be a mountain climber.
I was on my best behavior, and based on how the interview started out, he must've been on his as well. But not long into it, we let her guards down and our true selves came out. The surprising aspect of the whole thing was how I was amused and even titillated by it. But as fun as verbally sparring with Hunter was, I had better things to do with my time. Especially since what he was looking for in an artist was something so uninspiring, I was sure it would suck the very soul out of me if I even tried to do it. So, I cut my losses and walked out when things started getting really out of hand between us. I was shocked when he followed me out and continued our little spat.
I poked the button to the elevator to make my exit. As fun as this was, it probably wouldn't be a good idea for me to get caught fighting with my sister’s brother.
"Are you the runt of the family?" I asked as I waited for the elevator car to arrive at the floor. "Because compared to Ryan you are completely uncouth."
"Uncouth?"
I cast a quick glance at him to see if he was offended, but the sharp gleam in his eyes suggested that to him, this was all a game.
"That's rich coming from you. Compared to your sister like a little ragamuffin."
I let out a quick laugh. "This is what free will looks like Hunter. Something you don't seem to have in these stifled, staid, boring walls of Strong Incorporated." The elevator car arrived and I stepped in, turning to look at him.
His jaw had tightened, and he looked like he was trying to decide on what he would say to have the last word. Maybe that's what this game was; last word. I wanted to win this game, so I searched my brain for what my last word could be. I’d be prepared to deliver it right when the door closed on his handsome face.
But he surprised me by stepping into the elevator. He was an immense man, not just in size but in presence as well. All of a sudden, the elevator felt like a shoebox.
"Are you sure this is free will? Or is it just someone who doesn't want to grow up and keeps acting out?" he said.
“Since when is growing up defined as losing your sense of creativity and fun and play?" I took a breath as I looked up at him. "Then again you’re the one to talk Hunter. You’ve got the libido of a 16-year-old boy winking off to Internet porn." Then, for good measure, I added. “If you’re as good in bed as your reputation seems to suggest, it's too bad you can't take all that energy and creativity and actually put it into an ad campaign that could sell shoes."
"You've quite a mouth on you," he said, following me out of the elevator when we reached the garage level. "It's too bad you only use it to spout such drivel. There are so many other things that a nice mouth like that could be doing."
The woman in me wanted to turn around and slap him, but I knew that's probably what he wanted. All this was about pushing each other's buttons. It was unclear to me why either of us cared so much, except for it was making for an interesting morning. But since I was nearly at my car, I decided I would just ignore it.
"No quick come back to that question?" he asked, as we reached my car.
"Well, to be honest, Hunter. I'm a little bit disappointed that you have stooped to misogynistic sexual innuendo. I thought you were smarter than that."
He stopped short and blinked. If I wasn’t mistaken, his expression was less about my calling him out on his sexist comment, and more about embarrassment, maybe even shame, at having gone there.
Then I must've gone mad. I don't know what came over me. I was looking at Hunter. When he wasn't talking, he was a specimen of perfection. Tall, broad, sexy, and fierce. And despite what I said, he actually was fun to banter with. As I waited there to see what he might say, I could feel in my body, the anticipation of it. The excitement of it. The titillation of it. And that must've been the reason why I did what I did. I reached over, grabbed his tie, and yanked him down to me pressing my lips against his. It was meant to be the final word. But as my lips touched his, I immediately determined that I had gotten in over my head with him. His lips were soft yet firm. His breath was a mixture of coffee and mint. The small groan at the back of his throat made me want to rip our clothes off and see what would happen next.
His tongue ran along the seam of my lips and on their own accord, they parted to let him in. And that's when all the fireworks began going off it, not just in my brain, but in my bloodstream. It was like sparks were flying everywhere.
As heady and exciting as it was, it was also extremely dangerous. I don't know where I found the strength but somewhere I did. I tore my lips away and pushed back. I immediately got into my car and didn't look at him once as I started the engine, and pulled out of the parking spot. As I headed toward home, I couldn't help but wonder, in our little exchange, who actually did get the last word.
All that afternoon, I worked to push the kiss I gave to Hunter out of my head. Odds were that my attempt to have the last word backfired. He'd probably forgotten it almost as soon as it happened. No doubt, he was off finding his next conquest. Men like Hunter Strong didn't like women like me. He was like a caveman who wanted a docile, long-legged blonde-haired woman who would let him have his way with her. I wasn't ugly, but I was too mouthy and too quirky for someone who liked quote-unquote traditional and classic.
To fully get the interview and Hunter Strong out of my head, I changed into my oversized pair of overalls and a tank top, and used a headband to pull my hair back from my face, and then I went to my artist studio to work. The word studio had to be used loosely as it was basically a corner in the apartment. It was the corner that got the most light, making it an ideal spot.
Turning my attention to the work at hand, I pushed everything else away immersing myself into the colors and textures of my latest work.
I was so lost in my art that I lost track of time. I only came to at the knock at the door. Checking m
y watch, I saw that it was nearly dinnertime.
"Just a minute," I called as I set my brush down.
I went to the door, opening it and was surprised to see Kellie there.
She held up a pink bakery bag. "I brought you a cupcake from Melinda’s. I thought we could celebrate your interview today."
I wondered if she knew something I didn't. Or maybe she hadn't heard how disastrous it had gone. But I opened the door to let her in taking the cupcake as she passed me by. I didn't want to give her a chance to take it back once I told her the truth about the interview.
She walked over to the studio corner to look at my latest work. “Wow, that's turning out so nice," she said.
"Thank you." I brought the cupcake into the kitchen. "You want some wine or coffee or something?"
"A glass of wine would be nice." She came into the kitchen sitting at the tiny little table. For many years, we lived here and often ate here together. We also had some pretty intense conversations with each other as we helped each other navigate through life.
"So, tell me about the interview," she said as I pulled two wine glasses out and poured chilled white wine into each.
I brought the glasses to the table, setting one in front of her. "There's not much to tell. Except that it went very badly."
Her brows furrowed together and she cocked her head to the side. "What do you mean it went badly?"
"I'm not sure if you realize this or not, but Hunter Strong is an asshole."
"Oh, what did you do?"
"Me?" I pressed my hand over my chest for emphasis. Why did she assume that I was the one that messed it all up?
"Tell me what happened," she said, picking up her wine glass and taking a sip.
"I went in looking professional, at least for me. I was prepared to be serious in the interview, which I was. He showed me some of the work they'd already started on the campaign, and then he asked me if I could finish it. To which, I honestly said no."
Giving In To Love: A Friends with Benefits Office Romance (Strong Brothers Book 2) Page 3
