Beauty Dates the Beast | Book by Jessica Sims | Official Publisher Page | Simon & Schuster
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A sensual face to match the sinful voice. And lots of muscles. The gall of shifters, always talking down to humans. A bit of simple research could have avoided this heartache. Should I talk to her? Obviously he was on good terms with my boss. Obviously this was bad news for me. It made my thighs quiver traitorously. Female shifters were rare, and if I counted out both men and undead, we might have a problem getting someone for tonight—let alone the next week.
Just as I gave him my name, the door to the office rang and a gorgeous man walked in, a pair of sunglasses obscuring his eyes. He was beautiful—tall, dark, tanned. His suit was expensive, and he grinned and flashed pearly white teeth at me. Even at my desk, I could smell the thick musk of his cologne. A bit heavy, but typical of the confident sorts. Sara immediately got up and went back to the filing room, as she always did when a shifter entered the building.
The man must have come in for a new profile setup. Giselle preferred that I handle those in person, and I raised a finger to my customer, indicating that I needed a moment. He nodded and sat down directly across from my desk, eyeing me with interest. I felt the heat rise in my cheeks and hit the Enter key a few more times, just to distract myself. Look busy, look busy. Are you a vamp? Between the phone call and the man across from me—who looked altogether too interested in my conversation—I was going to die of embarrassment.
My search results finally came in and the computer pinged at me. One lone, lousy profile popped up on my screen. Harpies had a bit of a reputation. They gave psycho-girlfriend new meaning. They tended to get unhinged over small stuff, and then things got really ugly. Shit hit the wall, no joke. Lie and say you are married. I hoped she was all right. Leave the details to me. I was starting to get a little irritated at his high-handed demands.
Giselle was going to flay me alive if I went out with a client. Then again … I stared at the star on his profile. Maybe if I went out with Mr. Russell, I could convince him to keep it a secret. He seemed nice enough. My protest came out as a dry squeak. This was such a bad idea.
Thinking hard, I glanced over at the file room and saw Sara pacing, rubbing her arms. That was a bad sign. Right now she had a lot to stress over: A panicked knot formed in my throat as Sara slammed the file room door shut.
Since it was my job to keep Sara from getting agitated, that meant getting rid of the shifter who sat across from me. And to do that, I had to get the other shifter off the phone. I turned away from my desk, trying to get a semblance of privacy. Everything in me shouted big mistake, but I had to do something. Sara was seconds away from losing it. I rolled my eyes at his cockiness. See you then, sweet Bathsheba.
I set the phone down with relief. One problem down, one to go. The man across from me smiled. I dashed into the file room and closed the door behind me. Immediately, I put a hand to my mouth, gagging at the thick, cloying perfume.
So, am I totally fired? Let me manage this. Just not the perfume bottle. I gave her a thumbs-up and slipped out of the room.
Jason smiled at me as I returned to my desk. I usually got them set up faster while still being polite and chatty, but Jason was a talker and a flirt to boot. I worked steadily, sneaking glances at the closed file room door. Jason was determined to hit on me. I declined his advances and kept things strictly business, sending his request for a date to a pretty little were-fox that I thought might suit him.
Once Jason had his profile paperwork printed out and his latest flirtatious comment rebuffed, there was nothing else for him to do but leave.
Then, I bolted up from my desk and ran to the file room and opened the door. A sleek gray wolf lay on the floor, her head between her paws. I picked up her torn shirt, examining it to see if it was mendable. With a roll of my eyes, I went back to my desk and opened my bottom drawer, then lifted a big, manila envelope to reveal a stack of emergency shirts. I picked out a pink one and shut the drawer again.
Living with a werewolf meant a lot of torn clothing. I went back to the file room and dangled the pink shirt in front of her. I grinned and tossed the shirt down at her. Part of me wanted to wear something that was about as sexy as a funeral. Beau Russell was planning on getting laid, I wanted him to understand as soon as he looked at me that he was not scoring tonight. I needed something that screamed off-limits, puritanical, and possibly Amish. But the feminine part of me rebelled at not looking my best.
Beau was probably handsome and confident. Protecting Sara had become my life, and everything I did revolved around her. And yet … here I was, about to go out on a date. Just me and some guy looking to meet a pretty girl, charm her, and hopefully score. To make matters worse, we were going to a fancy restaurant.
I needed to look like I belonged there, to be glamorous and confident. After all, I had to be on my guard around Mr. I needed to be supremely self-assured, and poised as hell.
After work, I spent an hour picking through my closet. Most of my clothes were practical, and nothing seemed quite right for a date. I ended up settling on a sleeveless, swingy A-line dress in black, edged with aqua satin. It was pretty and feminine. The skirt was shorter than I remembered and the neckline deep enough to show generous cleavage, which was probably why it had sat in my closet unworn for so long, the tags still attached. I put on a couple of bracelets and hoop earrings, and pulled my long, straight, superfine blond hair into a bun high atop my head.
My black strappy sandals had been airing on the porch for the same reason. My sister was at home sleeping off her most recent change. It always took a toll on her, so I left the car with her and took a cab to the restaurant. I stared out the window as we drove, trying not to get too anxious, my purse clutched close to my chest like a football carried into enemy territory.
This was a big fat mistake. I should have worn something with a longer hemline, or a less plunging neckline. Or just turned the date down. The Alliance community was an exclusive one, and all of the clients were rich and powerful.
Some had tons of money, thanks to long life spans, and some simply had a natural charisma that drew humans to them. A couple of sorry humans like Sara and me—well, maybe just me—were outclassed. If she had to choose between loyal human employees and clients, Giselle would always pick clients. He gave me a tight, knowing smile. Russell will be here shortly, mademoiselle. You may wait at the bar. When I approached the bar, I started to feel a little irritated at the absent Mr.
With a small frown, I ordered a mojito and sat down on my barstool to wait. The mojito was expensive but tasty and did wonderful things to relax my frazzled nerves. Ten minutes passed, and I played with the lime on the edge of my glass. I knew what the Alliance went for in a woman, especially the shifters. All their dating profiles read the same—muscular, lean, aggressive. Most shifter women pursued the men as hotly as they were pursued back. Even the vampire women were elegant, delicate creatures.
I was a desk jockey for the glamorous. A mousy blonde encased in power panty hose that were going to cut off her circulation. Twitchy at the thought, I took a bite out of my lime and sucked on it. After ten more minutes, this guy could consider himself out of a date.
I put my lime rind on a napkin and tossed back the rest of my drink. Part of me breathed a sigh of relief. I left a couple of dollars for the bartender, tucked my bag under my arm, then stepped away from the bar—and saw him. He lounged nearby, leaning against the bar as if he owned the place. He was turned toward me, a half-full beer on the bar beside him.
A slow smile curved his lips, and my heart stuttered. I was finding it hard to breathe. None of that caused my breath to evaporate quite like the confidence that poured from him.
It was there from the easy way he carried his big frame to the crooked smile that tugged at his lips and emphasized his amazing cheekbones. This man was going to be trouble. The room grew fuzzy at the edges, and black stars flashed in front of my eyes as he crossed the floor to meet me.
Everything about him was effortless, graceful motion, like a predator stalking its prey. He leaned in close to me, and I could smell his musky clean scent. I sucked in a breath and my vision cleared. He smiled at me again, that soft, lazy smile. He gestured at the sea of white-linen-covered tables. Is that so wrong? His lips brushed against my skin, sending a shiver through me. I raised an eyebrow. So if I stay, Giselle must never know about it.
The last thing I want is for you to get in trouble at my expense. It would be fun—and he seemed sincere. I pulled my hand away and nodded.
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He looked amused, as if he liked a challenge. I changed topics, trying to put a wall up between us. Just in case I had warts and a hunched back, so you could make a hasty escape?
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