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How could anyone possibly think that, right? I'm one of Cosmopolitan Magazine's Top 10 Sexiest Men Alive this year... and the last... and the year before that... and the year be—oh, you get the picture. Anyone with a brain half the size of a walnut could realize an impeccable fashion sense comes with that sort of territory.
And, not to mention.
Rule #6: A playboy always dresses to impress.
Yet somehow, my brother still took issue with my cream chinos, suede loafers, and silky patterned button-down, complete with a pair of Ray-Bans perched at the top button. A look that was refined, casually sophisticated with a slight edge, and honestly impressive, given my unfortunate circumstances this morning.
But Elias had none of it and swiftly sent me off to his office to change into a gray two-piece suit. His suit, which hung in a row of several others. I didn't even know offices came with closets—and matching sofa sets—but discovering that his did was both unsurprising and rather sad. For his social life, of course.
And now, for the past four agonizingly long hours, I've sat here. Not in my own office. Outside his. Behind a table fit for a glorified assistant—minus the glory.
With Doris.
In my peripheral, she sidelongs me from her considerably larger desk, her wrinkly lips pursing in a frown, the one she's worn since I got here. A stark difference from a few hotties I have seen around the office—like this redhead, for instance, coming right toward us.
My gaze pokes above my monitor carefully, watching her hips sway in a tight pencil skirt. A black blazer hangs off her shoulders, and she carries a clipboard beneath a dense textbook. On paper, totally not my type, but well in my range to pull. As she nears closer, I settle back in my chair, propping my chin on my knuckles. Casual yet focused. Mysterious. The new guy in the office she's dying to—
She breezes on by without a glance.
I blink, dumbfounded. Am I invisible today?
I glance down, half expecting to find dust gathered on an empty chair. Nope. Just me, wrapped in boring gray.
Is that it?
No. If anything, the suit should make me more appealing in a place like this, especially an Armani suit that probably cost my brother a cool five-thousand dollars. One that fits me like a glove, seeing as my brother is nearly my identical carbon copy, in all ways physical.
Then, what is it...?
My eyes flick from my small desk to his impressive office. Curtains draw low across the glass lining the inner wall, shielding him from onlookers, all except one, nearest to my desk. Although his oak door remains shut, his voice drifts past the wood faintly, exuding confidence and prowess as he consults whoever he's taking a meeting with right now. I've lost track at this point.
Elias Kingston, Director of Finance, the door reads in shiny acrylic.
Bingo. There lies the culprit of my ghostliness.
Outside of these walls of corporate hell, I'm the man on the hunt in his own domain. But inside, I'm my brother's bitch lackey, evident from this desk he crammed me behind. The office bombshells must snuff out my inferiority like sharks detect blood in the water.
"Why is that report taking you so long?" Doris sneers, pushing her red cat-eye glasses up her nose. Even she won't look in my direction. Not because my brother and my father's executive secretary holds any grudge against my lowly status, but because she's too damn busy.
Contrary to her... aged appearance, her mind hasn't a day. Her gaze flicks left and right, to the charts and planners and twenty-plus tabs open on her dual monitors, as her short nails skate across her keyboard, seconds from catching flame.
I stare at the documents on my screen, practically hearing a dial-up sound between my own ears. Greeting my poor eyes are a jumble of Excel blocks and flow charts and all the nasty stuff that's stirring memories from my high school math classes. I'm supposed to be making a quarter-one revenue analysis PowerPoint. I'm on slide two.
"Uhh..." I type some nonsense at not even one-tenth her speed, catching my brother's shadow standing behind the window in my peripheral. "There's just a lot of... numbers."
Her typing stops abruptly, and God is it not the most intimidating thing. My brother's muffled tone floats through our silence, his smug smile growing as he converses in his meeting while staring straight down at me, when Doris snaps her head in my direction. Elias sinks his hands into his pockets, resting on the backs of his heels.
Ready to watch me get torn to shreds.
"Too many numbers," she mumbles incredulously. "How far in are you?"
I scratch the back of my head, smacking my knee into the desk with a grimace for perhaps the tenth time today, earning a snort on the opposite side of the glass. "I'm... a good amount of the way through."
Her frown deepens. "Have you even reached out to Katie yet?"
Katie... Katie, Katie, Katie, Kat—oh, yeah. The girl in accounting I needed information from. Something about overhead costs and operating expenses, yada, yada. "Yeah, I sent her an email." But there were twenty-three Katies at Kingston Entertainment, I neglect to add. I just picked a few and called it good.
She sighs heavily. "And...?"
