Free Office Toy by Cleo Peitsche Page A

clippings and portraits on the wall. A large, glossy photo caught her attention. It was an employee group shot, unconventional to say the least—almost everyone sported digital horns, tiaras, halos or silly hats.
    She leaned forward to study Cunningham. His image wasn't photoshopped—apparently he was much too serious to allow that—but the look in his eyes was terrifying; he didn't need horns and a trident. His expression combined with his dark hair and darker eyes made him ominous in a thoroughly sexy way. She didn't know much about his personal life except what she had read in an article, that he loved extreme sports; a few years earlier he'd broken his collarbone BASE jumping in the Middle East. She hadn't even heard of BASE jumping before that.
    Jonathan Arrow, Cunningham's partner, lounged beside him in the photo. He had been given a Bacchus-like beard and a grape leaf wreath, and he was still hot, like a Nordic god. She doubted she'd get to meet him unless she got the job. It was surprising enough that Cunningham had made time for her .
    Then again, it was the least he could do. To even proceed to the in-person interview she'd had to meet the company psychiatrist, where she submitted blood and urine samples and took a host of bizarre psychological tests with questions like "Do you yearn to submit to someone more powerful?" The tests were surely illegal, but the potential salary was so tempting that she'd agreed.
    "Let me know if that's not sweet enough for you," the receptionist said as he handed her an extra-large mug. He took a step back as if he didn't want to share the same space with her. "What do you think of the photo?"
    "It's … unexpected." His question was probably yet another test, one to see if she could be both honest and diplomatic. "Yeah, not expected."  
    The receptionist raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything.
    "Um, so, I guess the point isn't to give an accurate representation of how everyone looks." Geez, she sounded like a moron. The photo was so thoroughly altered, it was an idiotic thing to say. She'd better express herself a bit more eloquently during the actual meeting or Cunningham would think she'd had a friend do the phone interview. "It suggests that the company is, um—" Why was he staring at her like that? "It suggests that the company is, um ... artistic."
    "Oh, yes," the receptionist said, his tone chilly. "We're that rare creature, an artistic advertising firm." He returned to his desk. Conversation over.
    Elle's jaw dropped slightly in shock. What the hell? Well, she wasn't going to worry about being ignored by someone so condescending, even if he was attractive. After all, he wasn't any ruder than Mama, and Elle had survived that. A smile curved her mouth as she remembered her usually straight-laced sister's stream of expletives when they learned Mama was homeless again. Now Savannah was paying part of Elle's rent as a bribe, and Elle could finally miss a few hours of work here and there to go on job interviews.
    Elle sipped the coffee and almost spit it out in surprise. It wasn't just lukewarm—it was cold. The coffee had been burned and didn't seem to contain any sugar whatsoever. The receptionist watched her, a little smirk on his lips, and Elle blanched. How had she offended him? She took another sip and had to struggle not to gag on the bitterness.
    The phone buzzed. "Mr. Cunningham will be with you in a moment," the receptionist said. "Let me know if I can get you anything else."
    She was still parched. More parched, actually, and now she didn't have time to run to the lobby for a drink. She tried her friendliest smile, not sure why she was being nice in the face of such hostility. But that was her, always polite even when she shouldn't be. "Can I please have some water? If you don't mind."
    The expression on his face made it clear that he did mind. That decided it. She wasn't drinking anything else he gave her.
    The moment he left, she glanced around frantically for