When I scored the interview at Blush magazine, I assumed I’d be interviewing with some random HR person.
And then they bring me into his office.
Weston Bridges, CEO.
He’s twenty-eight-years old, a self-made billionaire, and a totally notorious playboy who just so happens to be super sexy. I know his reputation -- player, totally arrogant, richer than God, and completely full of himself. I bet he’s a total a-hole -- and by the way everyone is racing around the office when I show up for my interview, I’m sure I’m right.
Of course, the bastard is even hotter in person than he is in his pictures. He’s like some billboard model or something, his dark hair perfectly combed with the slightest bit of curl, and his suit that just fit him flawlessly. For some reason, every move he makes grabs my attention. Just seeing him sitting there behind his desk makes me feel like I want him to take me and kiss me, which is so not like me.
Then Weston drops the bombshell.
The magazine I want to write for is getting makeover. A sexier makeover.
No problem, I tell him confidently. I can write about sex. (Just because I’ve never had it doesn’t mean I can’t write about it, right? Of course, I keep my lack of experience a secret.)
Weston offers to discuss it further.
He tells me he’ll pick me up that night.
He tells me to wear something sexy.
What he doesn’t tell me is that he’s taking me to a sex club. The kind with whips and chains and handcuffs and punishments.
I am so screwed…