Owned: An Alpha Anthology Part 32

"I thought all the candidates were already called, and appointments were made for their interviews on Monday," I said.

"I decided that I wanted to go through every resume that was submitted, because the final candidates that were chosen, well, I think we can do better than that. Who was originally chosen didn't seem like VanBuren material, so reviewing them again was the alternative," my micromanager dad said.

"We are placing them in piles: keep, discard, and maybe," Gregory said with a wink. He was an older guy who had been on the Board of the Directors since the beginning. He was like a second grandpa to me.

Dad handed me a stack at least six inches thick, and as I looked around, I noticed each of the directors had the same amount. "We need to go through all of these before this afternoon. I've called Jane in to start compiling the paperwork for the interviews, and to set up times. Let's try to narrow it down to five per position, which are-"

"A corporate lawyer, an accountant, and an executive secretary," I said, interrupting him.

My eyes widened at the fact that there were so many resumes and so little time, and my reaction was not lost on my father . . . nothing was. I bit my lip and began going through the process. This wasn't something that could be done quickly. Everyone in that room knew it.

"So we have every single person's resume, even those that were pre-screen rejected?" I asked.

My dad nodded his head. It was unbelievable that so many people had applied for the three available positions. If the formatting looked unprofessional, if the individual didn't meet the minimum qualifications, or if the resume was over one page, I placed them in the reject pile. There were a few applicants who were overqualified, and a high number who didn't have the experience to successfully complete the job's basic tasks. After an hour and a half, I narrowed it down to a total of six in each category, and discussed why I believed these were the best candidates for the job.

A text message went off, and I checked it under the table.

Stacey: I'll pick you up around six tonight.

Me: Make that seven. I'm at the office.

A smirk took over my face as I tucked my phone into my purse. The board finally agreed with the decision of candidates, and we are all on our merry way. When Jane entered, my dad handed her a small stack of resumes and instructed her to shred the rest. She was annoyed, but had been with the company for years, so she knew how important the hiring process was and what went into it.

We all stood, said our goodbyes, and as we exited, Dad stopped me. "I know you think going through resumes at this level is ridiculous, that it's a menial task, but your grandfather is and has been very clear about knowing who is working for our company. We were founded on family, and we treat our employees as family, so we need to be in tune with who is joining our family. It was the only time we could all get together," he said. His voice was calm, and the truth was, I did understand.

"I get it, Dad. I'm just tired and wish you would have said something, I don't know, yesterday, when I saw you. This last-minute stuff gets to me. You know that."

"It comes with the territory, pumpkin. Just keeping you on your toes. You have to be ready for anything at anytime. You, Pops, and me will be conducting the interviews on Monday starting at eight. Do not be late." He leaned in and gave me a kiss on the forehead and, as much as I wanted to be p.i.s.sed, I couldn't.

I understood that he only wanted me to be successful. I knew the field was forever evolving and changing, so I had to be ready for anything, even something as simple as sorting through resumes. I got it, but sometimes I wished he had more faith in me and let HR do its job.

Jane, my father's secretary, because she would always be his secretary, stopped me on the way out. "Roxane. Any particular order you'd like these interviews?"

"Maybe the lawyers in the morning? Those interviews tend to last the longest."

She nodded her head, then immediately began dialing the first person. I heard her say something along the lines of congratulations, and like to setup an interview for Monday. Her telephone voice was nice. I would have to compliment her the next time I saw her.

SINGLE: VOLUME 1 BY LYRA PARISH.

8.

Stacey: What is your ETOR?

Me: What in the h.e.l.l does that mean?

Stacey: Estimated time of readiness.

Me: f.u.c.king models.

I laughed, of course, and texted back to pick me up in thirty. I had just enough time to take a shower and put on the leather shorts suit. In the back of my closet, I had a pair of Pretty Woman boots hidden, and until tonight, I never had anywhere to wear them. Boots like that weren't something a person could sport daily, unless that person was Stacey. The leather suit stopped upper thigh, which left a few inches between the tops of the boots that zipped up my legs. The heels on them were around five inches. I would be as tall as my bestie tonight, and I smiled at the thought.

After applying makeup and scrunching my hair for a while, Stacey called from down below, and I buzzed her up. When she opened the door, she whistled and gave me catcalls. She was wearing a slinky little dress and high heels, giving her four inches on top of her six-foot frame, but she was used to seeing the top of everyone's head. The gold bracelets on her arm clinked together as she ran her fingers through her straight blond hair. She always looked like she was ready for a photo shoot, especially with her perfectly-matched golden eye shadow and red lips. Tonight, her makeup screamed G.o.ddess.

"f.u.c.king hot," she said, as she walked completely around me. "That a.s.s! Can I borrow some?"

I playfully slapped her on the arm and rolled my eyes. "You always say something about it. I wish I could just let you borrow a handful or two."

Of course, she laughed. "Masks?" she asked, and I grabbed the leather one I bought from the store as we headed out the door.

My heart raced at the thought of the night. We drove to the other side of Houston and pulled into a nice subdivision with gated homes. At the end of a cul-de-sac, a large mansion with flame-lit lanterns awaited us. We placed the masks over our faces. Stacey slowed as she pulled into the drive. A man wearing a black tuxedo and white gloves-and of course, a mask-greeted her. My heart pounded in my chest, and a spike of adrenaline shot through my body. I had no expectation as to what would happen or who I would meet. The inescapable unknown teased me. Then it dawned on me that there was valet at a house party. That alone was impressive.

She pulled a black card from her purse and handed it to the gentleman. He read it, then opened the car door, and took her keys. Another man opened my door, and we walked to the front of the car where she looped her arm through mine. The stone-covered sidewalk led straight to the double wooden doors. Pumpkins covered the porch, along with fall themed decor. Before we could ring the doorbell, the door glided open. A tan skinned man, who had the s.e.xiest smile I'd ever seen, greeted us. He and Stacey exchanged two kisses on the cheeks, like celebrities, and he led us inside.

"Marcus, this is my best friend. I believe you've met her before," she said.

My eyes went wide, and I nudged her.

"It's okay, Rox. We are old friends, and his lips are as tight as his a.s.s," Stacey said, laughing as she grabbed it.

"Oooh, baby," he said.

He guided us through a sitting area with high ceilings, and into the main living s.p.a.ce. We entered a large area where the only light came from the large candle chandelier in the middle of the room. Cla.s.sical music drifted in the background and only added to the fanciness of the party. The guests, dressed in evening wear, turned and looked at me, who looked like the hooker straight out of Pretty Woman. I grabbed Stacey's hand and squeezed hard.

"I'm dressed like a f.u.c.king wh.o.r.e compared to these people," I said, and my mood went from soaring to falling in just a few seconds.

"I didn't know. I'm sorry. And it's not like they know who you are," she whispered in my ear. "First rule of wearing leather: own that s.h.i.+t, girl. Make this room your runway."

"f.u.c.k," I said.

A woman walked around with a tray of champagne, and I grabbed two gla.s.ses. Stacey went to take one from my hand, and I downed it, then handed her the empty one. If I were to remain here, completely out of place, then at least I needed to shave the edge off of my mood.

"What size are you wearing?" she asked me.

"Small, my boots are a nine."

Instantly, Stacey grabbed my arm, whispered in Marcus' ear, and he pointed around the corner. She dragged me up the stairs then down a long hallway. I didn't know what the h.e.l.l was going on. Then she opened a room, and in the corner I could see a large garden tub, a standing shower, and a toilet. When she walked inside, she took off her dress and untied the golden Greek-G.o.ddess heels that wrapped up her legs.

"Take it off," she demanded.

I looked at her confused.

"Take off the leather, Rox. I'm trading you."

The look in her eyes said she meant business, and there was no way I would argue with her when she got like this. I unzipped the boots and the leather, and handed them all to her.

"Do you want my strapless bra," I asked.

"h.e.l.l, no." The leather looked like it was made for her body, and her body alone. Though I was a little shorter, it looked perfect on her. She flipped her hair over and teased it out a bit, then bent over and zipped the boots up her legs. I slid on the cotton dress, and she handed me the gold bracelets that matched her sandals. That outfit on her looked completely different than it did on me, mostly shorter.

"I don't mind all the attention on me. Actually, I kind of f.u.c.king love it. So, go out there and have a good time. f.u.c.k everyone else. Okay, well, don't actually f.u.c.k them, but you know what I mean." She winked and then removed the white mask and asked for my leather one.

"Perfect," she said. "Now, let's go have a good time, shall we?"

We walked down the stairs, and back into the main room where all eyes magnetized to her. She smiled, flipped her hair, and ate up the attention. Within a few minutes, men were surrounding her, and I left her in her element. She waved for me to come back, but I went to grab another gla.s.s of champagne from the waitress across the room. After I slid another from the tray, I noticed a familiar black mask standing in front of me. The bartender. Instead of the blue jeans, he wore a tux and a black tie. Just by his simple gaze, everything in the room seemed amplified: the music, lights, and people quietly chatting. Was I nervous?

He made eye contact with me and, before he took a sip of his champagne, he smiled. I swallowed as he excused himself and walked toward me. I turned my back to focus on Stacey who devoured the attention.

"Hi, pretty lady," he whispered in my ear.

"Hi." Heat rushed to my face as I slightly turned my body.

"I know this is weird, but I was kind of hoping to see you here. Katie, right?"

He had remembered my fake name. How many women had he talked to last night? I tilted my head and looked at him, still wanting to know what was under that mask. So much of his face was hidden.

"You're the bartender. I remember."

He chuckled, then talked so quietly that I had to really pay attention to every word he said. Everyone in the room seemed to be whispering to one another. I supposed it kept all conversations private. "Yeah, just the bartender. Actually. I'm not a real bartender. It was a favor for my brother. And so is being here. This is his house, and he opens it up for private parties like this. I'm kind of staying with him for the weekend, and I owed him for his hospitality. Honestly"-his voice dropped even lower, to a full whisper-"this isn't my thing. Meaningless s.e.x has no appeal for me." He stared at me and sipped his drink.

I sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Well, the lifestyle really isn't my thing either. The blond is my best friend, and she dragged me along because I needed to have fun and get laid, apparently."

"The spotlight of the party?" he asked, and we both turned our heads as she laughed and placed her hand on one man's shoulder. She f.u.c.king owned that leather.

"Yeah, that would be her," I said and sipped again.

"Honestly, you're the only person in this room that I noticed." He looked back at me, his eyes gleamed.

I wasn't really sure what to say. And if this wasn't his thing, then what did he think of me at the moment? Especially after last night. I forced a smile, and he smiled back.

"Sorry, I don't usually say things like that."

Silenced sliced the moment in half.

He leaned in and whispered in my ear. "Actually, I'm not sorry. I meant my original statement."

I laughed, then sipped my champagne.

"What's funny?" he asked.

"Nothing. This whole situation. It's-" I shook my head and downed a gulp.

"Awkward. I know. Do you want to . . . sit? Chat? Maybe two people who have no business being here could entertain one another. See that guy over there?"

I looked across the room and spotted a dark-haired masked man laughing at something. They made eye contact with one another. The Bartender leaned in and spoke so close that his breath on my ear caused tingles to rush through me. Feelings that I hadn't felt since . . . I swallowed.

"That's my brother, and if he doesn't see me at least making an effort, well, then he will make me pack my bags and go stay at a hotel for the week."

"We wouldn't want that, would we?" I smiled, keeping my voice low, and handed an empty gla.s.s to the waiter.

Mr. Bartender led me over to an archway, and into a room with a couch that faced the flames of a fireplace. We sat and watched them rise and fall. The lights were low, and the fire cast a warm glow around the room as late night jazz played in the background. It was comforting to sit with him on the couch and not say a single word. There was no reason to ruin the moment with small talk or pointless words. Saxophones, pianos, and the tap of the snare drum almost whooshed me away.

When the song ended and another started, he stood and grabbed my hand. Of course, I tried to back out, but he wasn't taking no for an answer.

The song was slow, and seemed to speak to my soul in a way no other music could. He confidently wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me closer to him. I placed my arms around his neck, while his hands gently rested on my waist. When I breathed in, there was only smell fresh soap and man.

Our bodies danced slowly to the music in the background, and a smile covered my face. I was dancing in an empty room with a stranger to f.u.c.king jazz. As the song ended, he spun me around in a circle and brought me back to him. Our faces were close, too close, and his breath danced upon my skin. I wanted to rip the mask off his face and solve the mystery, to see what was hiding beneath, but I knew the rules of confidentiality. b.u.t.terflies filled me as the s.p.a.ce between our lips vanished. Our mouths slowly memorized each other's. The kisses were slow and intense, like the moment would never end. When the kiss deepened, the warmness of his tongue brush against mine. Emotions stirred inside of me, and by the time we pulled apart, I felt lightheaded and giddy. And I didn't feel giddy, ever. A high-hat beat set the tempo for the next dance we shared. It was as slow as the previous song, but Mr. Bartender added a few spins and dips. When I smiled at him, it was a real smile. Maybe, just maybe, swearing off all men was a bad idea. Was it possible a few good ones still existed in the world, and I was dancing with one?

"Who are you?" I whispered. I had to know. I needed to know. He pulled me against him and ran his fingers through my hair. Before he could respond, Stacey was screaming in the doorway, tearing us both away from the moment.

"It's time to f.u.c.king go," she said.

I broke away from Mr. Bartender, and we both stopped and looked at her.

"What the h.e.l.l happened?" I asked, looking at her, then at him.

"Some a.s.shole recognized me. The f.u.c.ker took pictures, then uploaded them to the Internet. My f.u.c.king agent called me and said it's caused a s.h.i.+t storm online. We've got to get the f.u.c.k out of here, right now."

Before I could say goodbye, Stacey grabbed me by the arm and pulled me away.

"Hey," he yelled holding my phone in his hand. I ripped my arm from Stacey's death grip and went to him. He had enough time to program his number inside of my contacts. "Call me, babe. I have a feeling this isn't over." He kissed me on the cheek, and I walked away. Speechless.

I was at a loss for words. Relations.h.i.+ps and Rox didn't go together, or did they? Stacey interrupted my thoughts as she pounded her fists against the steering wheel in a rage. The whole way across town, she was on the phone with her agent, b.i.t.c.hing about how it was against the rules of the party, and how she could do whatever she wanted. And h.e.l.l f.u.c.king no, she didn't plan on being a Playboy bunny. I looked in my phone and saw that all he'd programmed in was Bartender. I smiled and sighed as I stared out the window while the buildings pa.s.sed me by.

All I could think about was him, how soft his lips were, and what he truly looked like. I didn't even get his name. For a moment, I felt like a modern day Cinderella who had left her prince charming. Secretly, I hoped that we would meet again. The thought that love would never find me again was slowly crumbling to dust, and it was all because of a stranger. I didn't know what was under the mask, what his voice sounded like other than a whisper or yell, or even his name.

I would call him.

I would meet him.

I would leave my options open.

SINGLE: VOLUME 1 BY LYRA PARISH.

9.

Monday morning came too quickly. Not quite as fast as Alex did last weekend, but it was here before I knew it. After last night, I knew that the destructive path of one-night stands and s.e.x clubs wasn't going to work, but I couldn't linger on it. I wanted to forget Friday night happened, and after the pictures of Stacey spread around the Internet on Sat.u.r.day, I wanted to erase that night, too. Well, not all of it.