Free Blonde Billionaire (Road to the Oval Office #1) by Patricia Johnson Page B

considered you to be “late” if you weren’t fifteen minutes early? So much for that great first impression. Keep it together, Megyn. My mind wandered so far and so fast that I didn’t hear the receptionist say “Right this way.” At least, I assumed that’s what he must have said, because I finally came back to reality when he gestured toward the elevators to the left of his desk and said, “Ma’am?” as if he had expected an earlier response from me that never came. “Just hit the button for the 19th floor and his office is directly ahead of you as you exit the elevator.”
     
    “Thank you so much,” I offered, briskly walking toward the elevator doors. One last surge of nervous energy jolted through my body and I could feel just a hint of cool sweat on my palms. I hadn’t felt so anxious in years, probably not since my days of opening college admittance letters. I stepped inside the elevator and hoped to take one last chance to inspect my outfit against the reflective surface of the inside elevator door. Instead, the view of Miami’s coastline distracted me. I wasn’t expecting a glass elevator. The view was familiar and yet unfamiliar all at once, absolutely stunning as I was seeing it from this unique vantage point for the first time as I ascended to Wolff’s office. As I looked straight up in the elevator, I noticed that its roof was mirrored. Perfect. I was able to sort a few stray fly-away hairs and give myself one final confidence-boosting lookover. My stomach shifted in my pit, but it wasn’t from nerves--the elevator was rapidly slowing to stop on the 19th floor. OK, showtime. The elevator doors slowly opened, revealing a palatial room that took my breath away. This was clearly a reception room, as it had no desk to speak of. The furnishing was all ornately French-styled chaise lounges and oversized, luxurious leather chairs. The room itself was so brightly lit from naturally sunlight thanks to having enormous glass walls on opposite ends from one another. The wall opposite to the elevator door had two gigantic doors, the sort that I expected to see at an historic bank or building in Manhattan. Once again there was marble everywhere, with plenty of warm tones among the sculptures and paintings that were meticulously and strategically placed around the room, filling it without making it feel cluttered at all.
     
    The oversized double doors burst open and there he was, staring right at me. Everything in me wanted to stride up to him, smoothly and confidently. Instead, I stood in mid-step like a complete statue, completely lost in his gaze. He wore a well-tailored light grey suit with a stark white dress shirt and bold red tie that reminded me of the color of a Spanish matador’s cape. There was something absolutely intoxicating about him, how he was somehow even more perfect and handsome right here in front of me with the natural daylight making his blonde hair seem like a manly, regal crown. It was like he was looking not at me but INTO me, and I couldn’t blink or bear to even move! Megyn, say something! His gentle smile with its pearly white teeth broadened as I finally willed my legs to place my feet one in front of the other and try something along the lines of walking toward him. The sound of my stilettos slightly echoing in the massive room enlivened my calmness and composure. At the very least, I was going to fake it in order to make it.
     
    “Hello there. I’m Ronald Wolff,” he confidently stated, extending his hand to shake mine. I couldn’t help but let out a slight laugh as I mirrored his smile. He doesn’t need any introduction, however polite and socially-normal the custom may be.
     
    “Of course you are,” I replied. “I’m Megyn Kerry.” Immediately, I hoped he didn’t think I was being too glib. Press on assuredly, girl. No turning back now. “I’m here for the--”
     
    “For the PR position. Absolutely. I’m glad you applied for it and I’m happy that