His Glorified Maid

Two

Michaela felt liquid heat charge her blood when her soft brown eyes met the cold steel blue of Carlos'. He was so much more everything in real life than her imagination had been capable of conjuring. Focus. Breathe and focus.

"Here's the thing," she said while taking a seat opposite the two men uninvited. "I was just admiring the painting above this booth. Not that I know much about art. I see it's for sale. It's nice that the cafe supports local artists."

She did a mental facepalm. This was not how she'd envisioned this meeting going. She had crafted her opening line, rehearsed a few follow-up lines depending on their response, and had the body of her sales pitch set. And at no time did it involve a crazy ramble about a painting. Yet the moment her eyes locked on his, everything fell away.

"The painting will still be there once we leave."

His deep voice shivered down her spine and rippling flutters had her stomach doing turns. Oh boy. She likened it to being in a car that drops down a dip unexpectedly. It wasn't unpleasant, but it didn't do her nerves any good.

She bit back an audible sigh. "I didn't mean to interrupt you to talk about the painting."

"Then what did you interrupt us for?"

"Wow," she said sitting back in her seat. She was genuinely taken aback by the harshness in his voice and the look of disdain in his eyes.

"I get that you think I may be flattered by a stranger's unwanted attention, but you'd be wrong."

She gave him her most winning smile. "Just let me get through my sales pitch and you can get back to your coffee."

"I'm not buying."

"I feel like we are on different pages right now. I want a job interview for one of your deck crew positions. I am definitely not hitting on you." This last bit she added in a squeak feeling more than a little foolish.

Carlos cleared his throat and ignored the sudden snort of laughter his brother didn't even bother to hide. "It's not so farfetched. It has happened before."

She felt the blood in her temples pulse against her heated skin. Don't blush, don't blush, don't blush, she begged her body. She couldn't have felt more mortified even if she'd tried, but they didn't have to know that.

"I get that. You're well known, handsome, wealthy. Getting hit on probably comes with the territory for you. But I promise you will not have to worry about any of that with me. I like my privacy. The last thing I want is to get mixed up with 'fingers crossed' my new boss. And my plans for financial security do not involve...prostitution? Yes, that's the right word I think if the relationship amounts to sex for money or things."

Oh my god, shut up. If she wasn't blushing before, she knew she was now. How did she manage to turn the conversation to sex? It was his fault, looking at her with those eyes that made her want.

"I'm sorry Ms..."

Michaela did another mental facepalm. She hadn't even remembered to introduce herself.

"Queen. Michaela Queen," she said directing her answer to Lawrence with a too-bright smile. Looking at him for the first time, she decided he looked more open than Carlos. He was still far too good-looking, but he felt safe, calm, and settled. He smiled at her, and it felt genuine, less sly than the one he gave his brother, and that made her own smile warmer.

It was Carlos who spoke next, drawing her attention away from safety.

"Well Ms Queen, interviews are given to those who apply and demonstrate the skills and experience we require through an application process. If you applied and were not shortlisted for an interview, then you are not what we are looking for."

"See that's the thing. I know I'm what you're looking for. You made a mistake when you didn't shortlist me, so I'm here to give you an opportunity to fix it."

"That may be, but it is our luxury to make a mistake. You don't get the luxury of questioning it."

He turned away from her. Dismissed. It was over. She had romanticised this meeting, imagined what she would say, what he might say, and how she might respond. Never had she envisioned this. Granted, the introduction hadn't quite gone to plan, but that was no reason to brush her aside without considering what she might be able to offer.

"You're hired," Lawrence said breaking the spell between her and her wandering thoughts.

She looked at Lawrence who was seated on the maroon-coloured chair next to Carlos. She watched fascinated as his eyes locked on Carlos'. Through a series of wordless looks, the occasional gesture and grunt, they seemed to be communicating. Michaela had that same bond with her own brother, the one where words weren't always necessary.

When Carlos finally spoke, it was a single word. A final word that was directed at her. "No."

When Lawrence responded, it was also a single word. The final word that was directed at Carlos. "Yes."

Michaela watched Carlos sit back in his chair, his hands open in surrender, although he did not look happy about it. The intensity in both men's eyes turned on her and she felt the weight of it.

Turning inward on a breath she found herself automatically sitting up straighter. She wished she had a coffee, or something to give her hands a distraction, to give her a moment to help her fight the flight survival mode that was pushing at her. As that wasn't an option, she stifled the need to break free and met their intensity in turn.

"What just happened?"

"You heard Lawrence. You're hired."

Why did she get the feeling they were deciding about her rather than with her? She had something to say about that. "You misunderstand my intentions. I requested an interview, not the position. You have asked no questions about my qualifications, experience or my referees."

"Do you have those things?"

"Of course."

"That's good enough for us. Apparently."

Michaela was frustrated with the casualness of Carlos' response. "I haven't been given an opportunity to ask questions about your business and whether it is the right fit for my needs."

"What did you want to know?" Carlos answered in his deep voice, looking at her with eyes that hinted at...amusement?

She wasn't sure she liked that better than the open hostility. If they didn't care about the venture, or at least not enough to ask questions of their crew, then she was damn sure she didn't want the role.

She stood, readying to leave. "I think I know all I need to. I'm sorry to have wasted your time." And my own, she thought, annoyed, recalling how much effort she had put into her preparation for this meeting and the hoped-for interview she sought.

"Do you want the job or not?"