Page 6 of Cinderella-ish
I swear, the woman was undoubtedlyJDH.
Jaw. Dropping.Hot.
So there I was, all prepared to flash my Colgate smile as she walked by. But instead, as if in instant-replay slow motion, she tripped on some dude’s briefcase and landed up against me and that damn jellydonut.
It was a beyond epic fail moment—for her anyway. All I could manage to spill out of my mouth was the wordwhoops. I meant no disrespect as I continued to eat my way through the rest of the donut—what else was I supposed to do? I had to get rid of it,right?
Her reaction was downright unexpected, catching me completely off-guard.
Why?
Because instead of thanking me and treating me like a hero for saving her from falling flat on her face, she scoldedme.
That’s right, she scoldedme…AntonioMichaels.
And I found it annoyingly…sexy.
Sure, I probably could have been a tad sympathetic about how the red jelly from my donut left an extremely noticeable mark on the top half of her dress, but truth be told, the woman made menervous.
No woman makes menervous.
Anyway, she glared at me with those big green, cat-shaped eyes, and I almost melted. And don’t let me begin to describe how good the womansmelled.
But she proved to be quite a spicy little dish—armed with an attitude and a mouth that spit out cuss words as nonchalantly as a back-in-the-day baseball player spit out chewingtobacco.
Yet, despite all of that, the potty-mouthed kryptonite-like woman has been renting the overly crowded space in my mind ever since our encounter on the train. And now, like some unbelievably bizarre twist of fate, she’s standing here in myoffice.
Looking even hotter than Iremembered.
“You’reAntonio Michaels?” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, seeming to look a littledisgusted.
I take slow,I’m a cool guystrides toward my desk, trying to shield how delighted I am to see her. “Yep. Last time Ichecked.”
Don’t be a dick.I internally remindmyself.
She scoffs. “Figures. Look, I’m gonna save you the trouble and just leave. Obviously, our impromptu meeting earlier would suggest we arenotat all what one would consider to be working relationshipmaterial.”
I see she’s still armed with that saucybite mecoating.
With a sultry swing of her hair and one hand on her hip, she pivots and hurriedly stomps out of myoffice.
Instinctively, I rush after her, but, like an idiot, I stumble over one of my oversized desk chairs. “Wait!” I call out; yet like a swift flash of lightning, she darts completely out ofsight.
By the time I reach Liza at the front receptionist desk, Miss Potty Mouth is nowhere insight.
Damnit.
“Antonio, is everything alright?” Liza asks, rising up from the seat behind herdesk.
“Do you happen to know the name of my 9:53 interview?” I ask, hoping Liza has some sort ofinformation.
“Oh, you mean the woman who darted out of here as if she just saw a ghost? Um, whathappened?”
“Her name, Liza. What’s her name?” I walk over to her desk, raking all ten of my fingers through my hair—something I tend to do when I’m earnestly focused on aproject.
“Belle with an E. Her name is Daniella Belle. Didn’t she give you herrésumé?”
I shake my head. “Nope. We didn’t even make it that far into the interview. But I want—scratch that…Ineedher to be my personal assistant.” I straighten my suit jacket and turn to head toward the doorway that leads to my office. “Find her please, Liza. Just find her,” I beseechingly direct, as I swipe my keycard, opening thedoor.
“Okay I’ll certainly try my best…after all, she does have my scarf. Oh, and, Antonio?” Liza says, her voicetimid.
“Yes, Liza?” I pivot to face her, as I hold the dooropen.
“Just so you know, TMZ is reporting you were on the Metro this morning and had a heated confrontation with another passenger. Something about a viral video they plan to post on their show this afternoon. Shall I forward this to Public Relations? I’m sure they’ve got you mixed up with someone else.” She shrugs her shoulders and smirks. “Like you’d ever take the train to work,right?”
