Marc Nassar

I try my best to not look at her plump lower lip caught between her teeth, but my gaze wanders down briefly. The desire to trace my thumb across her lip and pull it out is searing through my fingertips.

Stop looking down.

I don't normally share much about myself with others, but the way Celeste is looking at me when I meet her eyes again, so expectantly, makes me want to dive into her request as deftly as four gold medal Olympian, Greg Louganis. "Well, I'm originally Lebanese. My parents immigrated to the US before I was born."

"I knew you were exotic," she responds.

"What gave it away?" That sounded flirtier out of my mouth than in my head. But I'm not flirting.

"Do you own a mirror? You don't look like most men around here."

"Is that a good or bad thing?" I really should stop asking these types of questions, but something uniquely warm continues to fill up my body.

"Definitely a good thing," she says with a hint of mischief in her voice, wrapping her long fingers around her mug, which rests in her palms near her face. "I bet women fling themselves at you."

I shift in my seat and a smile pulls at my lips. How do I even respond to that? Do I ask her why she thinks that? As in, what does she think about me? No. That's a leading question which creates unprofessional discourse in an already slightly less than proper interview.

She clears her throat. "Anyway, sorry to interrupt. Please continue."

Tension lifts from my muscles. "My siblings and I were born in Boston, where we grew up. We all left the area for college or work except my sister Talia who still lives there. My mom died when I was younger so I didn't really know her."

A deep crevice forms between her thick brows. "I'm so sorry. I know what not having a parent is like."

"It wasn't so bad. We had a lot of relatives that visited who would help take care of us," I say as I track her lips meeting her mug. "Anyway, I went to law school here in Georgia and have just stayed here ever since."

"When did you graduate undergrad?"

"About eleven years ago. Why?" I ask. She's lost in thought with a blank expression on her face, causing me to smirk. "You can save yourself the mental math if you want to know my age. I'm thirty three."

She takes a dramatic slurp from her coffee mug while lifting her brows, like she knows she's been caught.

A chuckle escapes me. I take a sip from my own mug. The caffeine must be working quickly, as I've been laughing way more than I normally do in a social situation. Maybe it's because this is technically an interview so there's no pressure to carry any likeability?

"Are you divorced or a widower?" she asks.

I shake my head. "Neither. The girls showed up at my doorstep when they were just weeks old. There was a letter in one of their carriers from their mother that explained that our one night stand nine months prior had a more lasting effect than intended. I barely even remembered who she was, but knew just from looking at the twins that they were my daughters. My family pushed me to get a paternity test and I hadn't for the longest time. Then, a couple of years ago I remembered that a rare disease killed my mom and it would be wise to test the girls for peace of mind. Thankfully, they were clear. So, all it did was confirm what I already knew."

Celeste's eyes are wide. "I did not expect that."

"Expect what?"

"A one night stand."

"Why? Because I'm a gentleman or whatever you had said the other day?"

She nods. "I guess," she presses a finger to her lips, "should I be concerned about you bringing strange women around my new home? I have to think of my safety and that of my fellow colleagues," she says teasingly.

Something unfurls in my abdomen, and I can't contain the laugh that leaves me. "Well, you'll be pleased to know I don't typically bring strange women to the house. I left that life behind a long time ago. I used to go out and party a lot, but ever since the twins, I've been more cautious with who I share companionship with." When she doesn't respond, I shift my tie which feels a little tight. "Like you said, if anything were to happen, I'll be sure to keep out of the house or..." I trail off, just now realizing where that sentence was heading.

She busts out laughing and the sound is like a soulful record that I could listen to over and over again. "Or what, Marc?"

My name on her lips sends a thrill through me. Staff don't usually call me by my first name, but I don't feel like asking Celeste to not say my name. Especially with the slight rasp she has when she says it. "Nevermind. Forget I said anything," I say before letting out a huff of laughter through my nostrils.

"Doesn't it get lonely though? Not being with anyone for a long period of time?"

I shrug. "I've learned that life isn't all about dating and sex. I have my company and the girls and it's been fulfilling so far. But, I'm not a lost cause. I'm very open to getting married in the future if I find the right person." I don't say that my goal for getting married would be to help with the girls versus to fill some void for a partner. That's probably unnecessary information.

She leans back in her seat and raises a brow. Does she not believe me? It really has been awhile since I've had sex though. I mean, I still get my release from time to time in the shower or in bed, but I'm not about to fill her in on my masturbation habits, even though I already know she uses a vibrator. Shit. Don't start thinking about the vibrator again.

"What do you like to do for fun? Outside of work, or outside of being a dad?"

"I don't really have time for fun."

"What? Everyone has time for fun. You can't survive without fun."

"Well, I'm still living and breathing so that's not true."

"Well, let's say you get one day off of everything– work, being a dad, and whatever else. What would you love to be doing?"

As soon as she asks, I know exactly what the answer is. I debate whether I should say anything but if honesty is what I'm asking of her then I might as well practice what I preach. "I own a motorbike I haven't ridden in years. It's currently collecting cobwebs in the garage. Sometimes I think about riding again."

A smile so wide covers her face. "You should ride again! Why don't you, even if it's just a little?"

I quickly shake my head. "No. It's not wise. I know the stats about crashes."

"It doesn't have to be like the busiest time of the day. You could go in the early morning or late at night when there are hardly any other cars." She fiddles with a strand of hair that touches her collarbone. "Besides, I bet you'd look-" She stops, her big blue eyes growing even wider. She flings her hair behind her. "Alright, those are all the questions I have."

Whatever she was about to say, I will, under any circumstances, not be thinking about it. There are already too many things she's said to me during this interview that are being thrown about in my mind endlessly. "That's it?"

"Actually, one more! What's your favorite food?"

I shake my head. "You wouldn't really be cooking for me."

"I know. But I can tell a lot about a person by their favorite food. This feels like pertinent info in order for me to consider this job."

I smile and lean back. "Loaded nachos."

She tilts her head back and then lets out a laugh. "What the hell? I thought you were going to say a raw carrot from the ground or something like that."

"No, that's my second favorite," I quip back.

She smirks, drawing my eyes to the little beauty mark on her face. "Got it. I can do an amazing loaded nachos whenever you want, Marc. I'll save the carrot for dessert," she says in a sultry voice that plays with my veins.

"Sounds good," I respond in the most professional voice I can muster.

We're quiet for a moment, both smiling. "So."

"So," she echoes.

"Thank you for meeting. I'll take everything you said into consideration and Kristina will let you know the final verdict."

"Any hints you can give me beforehand?"

"Make sure to grab some moving boxes on your way home today."

She gasps loudly. "Shut the fuck up! Is that a serious hint or like a joking, bait and switch hint?"

"What? No, Celeste. You got the job. You're free to start whenever. But the sooner the better so my daughters don't starve to death. Also, no swearing in front of my daughters."

"Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!" She claps her hands like a kid seeing the carnival open and my body heats for the umpteenth time today. "Marc! Seriously, seriously, thank you so, so much! You will not regret this. I swear, I will be the best damn cook you've ever seen!"

Weightlessness fills me. "I bet you will."

"And I swear, no more swearing!"

I laugh as I glance at my watch. Shit, it's already way later than I thought. I quickly stand up and Celeste follows. "Alright, I have to head back to work. If you need anything from me, just let Kristina know."

"Thanks so much again, Marc!"

I lift up my hand for a shake and she takes it. Electric energy sears through my palm as her hand seals against mine. Does she use this hand to touch herself with the vibrator? I briefly picture her hand sliding beneath her pants and reaching her center.

The heat from our gripped hands courses throughout my body. My dick traitorously shifts in my trunks. I let go like I just touched an open flame and nod. "Bye, Celeste," I manage to let out before rushing out of the coffee shop and before she can see anything down south moving up north.

The warm breeze hits me and the air outside feels lighter, awakening my cells with fresh oxygen. It's like I can finally breathe and think normally again. And calm down.

What is wrong with me? Flirting with the cook? Picturing the cook with her fingers between her legs?

Shit, this is bad.

Okay, so it's clear there's an attraction between Celeste and I. I can no longer deny there's something there. But, so what? There is still no way that anything could or would ever happen between us. I thought hiring her would make it even more clear that "hanky panky" is a non-issue.

But as I walk back to my office and replay the conversation with Celeste, the reality of the situation weighs on me. Two things are bright as day– 1) Celeste will be working for me and 2) I need to steer clear of her no matter what.