Playing Dirty (Risky Business, #2)(2)

“Just have a seat,” he said. “I’ll be with you in a mo—” Glancing up, his words abruptly cut off.

The woman who’d entered his office was drop-dead gorgeous. Not pretty. No, way more than that—curvy and sexy, with legs up to there, and thick chestnut hair down to there. Her body looked like it had been made for sex, lovingly encased in a peach dress that hugged every delicious curve. The neckline was demure, scooped and only hinting at what lay beneath. The hemline teased, hitting right above her knees. The skin of her legs was so perfect, Parker couldn’t tell if she was wearing nylons or not. But then he caught sight of her shoes, bronze sandals that wrapped around her ankle on top of a three-inch heel.

And her toes were painted the exact shade of her dress.

“Hi, I’m Sage Reese.”

The voice was throaty and smooth like twenty-year-old scotch, and made Parker jerk his gaze up to her face. She was smiling, a warm, open smile that showed perfect white teeth. Her eyes were the same shade of mahogany as her hair, framed in lush, dark lashes.

She was holding her hand out expectantly and Parker jumped to his feet, thrusting his hand toward her and knocking over the entire stack of Accounting files in the process.

Shit.

“Oh no!” she exclaimed. “That was totally my fault.” She dropped down and started picking up the scattered files, treating Parker to first a view down her cleavage, then one of the fabric of her dress stretched tight across her hips and ass as she bobbed up and down.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said hurriedly. “Just leave it.” This time he grabbed her wrist when she placed a file back on his desk. Her bones felt fragile beneath soft skin and he quickly let go. He gestured to one of the two chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

Her smile wasn’t quite as wide now, but she sat down. Parker fished through the disaster on his desk, looking for her file while the silence grew long and awkward. He felt incompetent and unprepared, her appearance throwing him off, which was ridiculous. It wasn’t as though he’d never been with a beautiful woman before.

The phrase been with provoked all the wrong kind of images for a work setting and he cleared his throat, banishing those thoughts as he finally laid hands on her file and flipped it open.

“Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself, Sage?” he asked, trying to recover what was left of a first impression. She probably thought he was a disorganized, unprofessional klutz.

“Um, sure. Well, I graduated magna cum laude from the University of Chicago with a degree in art history. I interned at the Art Institute of Chicago—”

“And why didn’t they hire you?” he interrupted, glancing up from the pages.

Her cheeks flushed. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think there was an open position.”

He’d embarrassed her, and he could have kicked himself for the tactless question. It wasn’t like they would’ve told her a reason for not hiring her even if they’d had a job available.

“Do you have any experience with investment banking?” he asked, hurrying to change the subject. Her eyes were focused on him, deep and fathomless, and he had to look away. He flipped through her application and résumé, barely seeing the words.

“Um, no.”

“Any experience with the stock market? Hedge funds? Economics? Finance?” She shook her head after each one, her cheeks growing redder with each word. “Ever been a secreta—administrative assistant—before?”

“No.” Her voice was quiet, and even the small smile she’d had earlier was nowhere in sight now.

Parker felt like a schmuck now, but what the hell was he supposed to do? It was an interview, not a date.

“Are you from Chicago?” he asked, wanting to hear something from her other than a No.

“Lake Forest,” she replied, naming one of the wealthiest suburbs of Chicago.

“Sisters? Brothers?” Boyfriend? Husband? He knew he couldn’t ask the last two, but wished he could. He hadn’t spied a ring earlier, but nowadays, that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

“Only child.”

Daddy’s little princess. He could see it on her as clearly as if she’d had it bedazzled on the dress she wore. Which begged the question, why was she interviewing for a job like this when surely she could live with her parents until something in her field opened up?

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said.

He doubted it.

“You’re thinking why would I apply for a job I have absolutely no qualifications for,” she continued.

Okay, maybe she did know what he was thinking.

Tossing the file onto the desk, Parker sat back in his chair and waited.

“I’m smart,” she said. “I’m a hard worker, and a quick learner.”

“You have zero business experience at all,” Parker said bluntly.

“I had a minor in business,” she said, somewhat defensive.

A minor. Practically nothing more than a few economics classes about how to balance a checkbook. But he didn’t say that.

“Can you at least type?”

“Yes, I can type,” she said, sounding affronted.

“You’re an art history major,” he said flatly. “It was a valid question.”