York Nighthawks baseball cap. The soft cotton fabric of his hoodie basically caressing every peak and valley of his rock hard upper body. His loose sweatpants not quite baggy enough to hide the large package between his legs.
Avert your eyes, Sabrina.
He's not wearing any ridiculous sunglasses this time (thank God), but the brim of his hat has been purposely bent and shaped into a curve that hides his eyes. Maybe they're bloodshot. From what I've heard about him, bloodshot eyes would confirm Marisol's description of him as a big partier.
I run my hands down the sides of my skirt hoping to dry my clammy palms. I'm starting to wish I had worn my oversized gray power pantsuit which hides my curves a lot better than this skirt because after our first encounter, I need him to take me seriously, and not just look at me as a piece of meat.
Hell–let me just rip off the Band-Aid and get to it.
"Hello, Mr. Stevenson." I say in my brightest professional voice. "It's a pleasure to have you on board at Carson Financial. You've made a wise decision for your career."
"Why are you talking like that?" he asks while taking a seat at the table.
"I'm sorry what did you say, Mr. Stevenson?"
His sentences are being muffled beneath the brim of his hat.
"I asked," he takes off his cap and stares me straight on, "Why are you talking to me like some corporate hack, and call me Saint please, Mr. Stevenson is my father."
I am almost too dumbfounded to respond. This is my first time seeing his complete face, uncovered and close up. He is the epitome of perfect imperfection.
A close shaved beard which compliments his hard angles.
A very crooked nose.
Wide bloodshot eyes with pools of steel in the center.
A slight cleft chin.
And a permanent scar across his upper lip.
It's a crime for someone to look this good without even trying, or it really should be one.
"Okay, Saint then." I almost exhale the words without breathing.
"And who's this?" Saint turns his head and stares directly at Jason, but I can tell by his tone that he remembers exactly who Jason is, and now the realization of all the things I said that night hits me like a ton of bricks.
I told him Jason was my date.
I told him a lot of things.
"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stevenson." Jason extends his hand to shake Saint's. "I'm Jason Humphrey, senior account manager here at Carson Financial. I'm sitting in on this meeting as Ms. White's point person."
He doesn't say anything in response to Jason's introduction, but rather turns his head back to me, slightly tilted, with a curious glint in his eye.
"You date coworkers, Miss White? Do you think that's wise?"
I tap my foot nervously as I quickly try to think of a way to clean this up.
Jason clears his throat. "I think you have it wrong, Mr. Stevenson. Sabrina and I are coworkers. Our relationship is purely professional."
"Oh?" He looks down at me with a huge grin. "Maybe I did have it wrong. Sorry about that."
He grabs one of the bottled waters on the table, twists it open, and takes a long swig. "But you know what, Jase?"
Oh God, who on earth calls people by a nickname without having some sort of relationship with them first? Condescending jerks do that's who.
"I think that Miss White and I will be fine on our own today. You don't mind do you? I want to get to know my new business manager without any distractions. Without any barriers."
That last statement sounded pretty dirty, but I suppose he can't help it. Everything that comes out of his mouth sounds like sex. At least if feels that way to me.
And Jason looks a bit taken aback by the sex god's blunt words. In fact, as long as I've known him, I think this is the first time that I've ever seen Jason look a little intimidated by another man. But it's understandable. Everything about Saint Stevenson is intimidating.
"It was requested that I sit in–"
"Should we call the head of this division in then? Uh, what's his name?" Saint
Avert your eyes, Sabrina.
He's not wearing any ridiculous sunglasses this time (thank God), but the brim of his hat has been purposely bent and shaped into a curve that hides his eyes. Maybe they're bloodshot. From what I've heard about him, bloodshot eyes would confirm Marisol's description of him as a big partier.
I run my hands down the sides of my skirt hoping to dry my clammy palms. I'm starting to wish I had worn my oversized gray power pantsuit which hides my curves a lot better than this skirt because after our first encounter, I need him to take me seriously, and not just look at me as a piece of meat.
Hell–let me just rip off the Band-Aid and get to it.
"Hello, Mr. Stevenson." I say in my brightest professional voice. "It's a pleasure to have you on board at Carson Financial. You've made a wise decision for your career."
"Why are you talking like that?" he asks while taking a seat at the table.
"I'm sorry what did you say, Mr. Stevenson?"
His sentences are being muffled beneath the brim of his hat.
"I asked," he takes off his cap and stares me straight on, "Why are you talking to me like some corporate hack, and call me Saint please, Mr. Stevenson is my father."
I am almost too dumbfounded to respond. This is my first time seeing his complete face, uncovered and close up. He is the epitome of perfect imperfection.
A close shaved beard which compliments his hard angles.
A very crooked nose.
Wide bloodshot eyes with pools of steel in the center.
A slight cleft chin.
And a permanent scar across his upper lip.
It's a crime for someone to look this good without even trying, or it really should be one.
"Okay, Saint then." I almost exhale the words without breathing.
"And who's this?" Saint turns his head and stares directly at Jason, but I can tell by his tone that he remembers exactly who Jason is, and now the realization of all the things I said that night hits me like a ton of bricks.
I told him Jason was my date.
I told him a lot of things.
"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stevenson." Jason extends his hand to shake Saint's. "I'm Jason Humphrey, senior account manager here at Carson Financial. I'm sitting in on this meeting as Ms. White's point person."
He doesn't say anything in response to Jason's introduction, but rather turns his head back to me, slightly tilted, with a curious glint in his eye.
"You date coworkers, Miss White? Do you think that's wise?"
I tap my foot nervously as I quickly try to think of a way to clean this up.
Jason clears his throat. "I think you have it wrong, Mr. Stevenson. Sabrina and I are coworkers. Our relationship is purely professional."
"Oh?" He looks down at me with a huge grin. "Maybe I did have it wrong. Sorry about that."
He grabs one of the bottled waters on the table, twists it open, and takes a long swig. "But you know what, Jase?"
Oh God, who on earth calls people by a nickname without having some sort of relationship with them first? Condescending jerks do that's who.
"I think that Miss White and I will be fine on our own today. You don't mind do you? I want to get to know my new business manager without any distractions. Without any barriers."
That last statement sounded pretty dirty, but I suppose he can't help it. Everything that comes out of his mouth sounds like sex. At least if feels that way to me.
And Jason looks a bit taken aback by the sex god's blunt words. In fact, as long as I've known him, I think this is the first time that I've ever seen Jason look a little intimidated by another man. But it's understandable. Everything about Saint Stevenson is intimidating.
"It was requested that I sit in–"
"Should we call the head of this division in then? Uh, what's his name?" Saint
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