Made in America Read Online Free PDF Page B

here I thought I’d be all high and mighty, show him I don’t care about who he is, or how much money he has, but I quickly found out that being in the presence of Grant Huffman is a tad deflating for the ego. Despite my little outburst earlier demanding respect, I’m actually terrified to be sitting here, albeit excited at the fact that he hasn’t given me the boot yet.
    And all this time my body’s been buzzing with an undercurrent of arousal that I’m trying so hard to ignore, however there’s no denying that Grant Huffman is by far the sexiest man I’ve ever met, despite being a complete ass.
    But a job? I don’t understand.
    “What do you mean, a job?”
    “A job,” he says. “You know. Working, making money. That sort of job.”
    “No, I know what a job is, but what would I be doing for you?”
    “You’d be my assistant.”
    I glance back over my shoulder to the closed office door. Somewhere behind it he already has an assistant. A delicate redhead that’s as beautiful as any super model, and who he probably fucks on the daily.
    Turning back to Grant, I say, “You already have one of those.”
    His eyes flick to the door and he stands up, crossing the room with confidence and purpose, taking long strides in his custom fitted suit that does wonders for his ass.
    Grant opens the office door and steps out into the hall. He leaves it open but I can’t hear the conversation taking place. All I can make out are whispers and murmurs until I hear a loud, feminine voice shout, “Fuck you, asshole!”
    I cringe and raise my eyebrows as he makes his way back into the office, shutting the door behind him.
    “You’re in luck,” he tells me without a shred of remorse. “I have an opening for an assistant. The job’s yours if you want it.”
    Confused and a little horrified, I ask, “Did you just fire that girl?”
    He nods. “Yes. It…wasn’t working out.”
    I blink, and stare dumbfounded past him to the painting hanging on the wall behind his desk. It’s a picture of fruit. Judging by the style, I’d say it’s from the renaissance era. Not something I expected to see in an office like this, which leans toward the sleek and modern more than anything else.
    This guy is just full of surprises.
    “How much does it pay?”
    “Depends. Do you have any experience working in an office?”
    “Don’t you think you should have asked me that before you fired your assistant?” I laugh.
    He shrugs.
    “Zero,” I say. “I have zero experience working in an office. I’m a waitress, and before that I was in school, and before that I was in England, in school while flipping burgers part-time on the weekends, and before that, I—.”
    “$75,000 to start,” he interrupts, not missing a beat.
    My breath catches in my throat at his words. Seventy-five thousand dollars? I couldn’t have heard that right. Being around him and his money has got me hearing things, it’s the only explanation.
    “Excuse me?”
    He leans forward and laces his fingers together on his laptop. “Seventy five thousand dollars a year to start.”
    “Ummm…” It’s the only thing I can think to say. I did hear him correctly, and judging by the look in his eyes, he’s not joking. He really wants me to come and work for him, after everything that happened?
    This guy is either completely insane, or he feels really bad for writing what he did on that receipt.
    My guess is it’s a little from column A and a little from column B, and that makes me wonder what his true motivations are for wanting to hire me.
    “I’m not going to shag you,” I blurt out, and immediately I sink my forehead into my hand.
    Nice, Raven. Real nice.
    Grant doesn’t flinch, though. Guys like him, they never flinch.
    “Did I say anything about fucking?” he questions slowly.
    “No,” I answer as confidently as I can, even though I can feel every last nerve ending in my body beginning to tremble. “I’m just letting you know that if you’re hiring me