In the middle of the Las Vegas strip sat the high-rise building in which Calliope Publishing resided, a well-known publishing house that any editor would dream to work for. I looked up at the skyscrapers that seemed to shoot into the heavens. It made me feel small, but I bolstered myself with confidence that I was larger than all of that. It was time to nail it.

I took a deep breath and stepped inside, taking one last look at the strip before entering.

My hands started to shake as it was now beginning to feel real. My heels clacked on the marble floor that was so clean I could see my reflection in it. There I was, my Givenchy blazer paired with an A-line skirt. I could barely see my blouse when looking down because of my cinched waist and large breasts. I traced the lines of the marble tiles until I stared directly into my dark blue eyes. I looked good. I was ready.

Soon I noticed myself being distracted by my own reflection, but I knew it wasn’t because of vanity. I really didn’t want to mess this up. Calliope Publishing only hired top-notch writers and editors, which meant that other talented young interviewees had once walked these halls just as eager as I was. There must have been thousands of new applicants that clacked their own heels along this floor, excited for their first interview only to be rejected. They would never walk these halls again. That wasn’t going to be me though. The junior editor position went to the best of the best, and my grades and references meant that I had to be among the best, right? I wanted to be a realist, and not too cocky, but I really felt I had a shot at this.

Looking ahead of me, I took in the room. It had the same floors, but besides the wall-to-wall windows that framed the room, there was little at reception except for some scattered, well-upholstered chairs and a desk against a floor-to-ceiling accent wall that was labeled with “Calliope Publishing” across it. Beyond the accent wall, I could see a reading nook if I really crooked my neck, but there didn’t seem to be anyone sitting there. I also noticed that besides myself, there was no one else in the room. No other guests, no assistants, and no receptionists; all I could hear was my beating heart. If it weren’t for the clearly labeled plack on the wall, I would have thought I was in the wrong place.

“You seem lost, dorogoy, do you need some assistance?” I heard a gruff, deep voice echo across the empty room. When I looked over to where the sound came from, my eyes went wide with shock. The man standing in front of me was tall and solidly built, like he could easily bench-press me with little effort. He had blond hair and blue eyes with a slight accent I wouldn’t have been able to place if it weren’t for the Russian he spoke.

When I locked eyes with him, finally, he gave me a sly smile. I let out a shaky breath. He was the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen.


While taking the elevator down to the main floor, I couldn’t help but be excited. What a hilarious prank it would be. I’d turn the corner, and the new interviewee would see a gorgeous, tall, dark, and handsome man standing before her, instead of a cool, but haughty receptionist. I chuckled to myself. I couldn’t wait. Before the elevators reached the receptionist desk, I quickly glanced at myself to make sure everything that needed to be in place, was in place. Then, I stepped out to greet Sascha, who was standing in the middle of the room with her head in the clouds.

“You seem lost, dorogoy, do you need some assistance?” I remarked, smiling as I did so. Sascha glanced up at me, looking me up and down. I couldn’t help but do the same.

There’s an old saying that you can tell a lot about a woman from looking at her, and from the look of Sascha, I could tell that she would look better in my bed than on my floor. She was likely shy, a little high strung, maybe, judging from that high-ponytail she placed neatly on the back of her head. I wondered instantly what it would be like to pull it gently while I rammed her from behind, or, once I was done, running my fingers through her hair until those long tresses splayed all over my sheets. Then, as I traced my eyes over her breast, to her torso, and finally to her heels, I could see reflected from the marble, red panties.

I shot my eyes back to hers; I should remain professional. I walked up towards her, hand outstretched as I got closer, and smiled.

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