The Interview: A Romantic Short Story

A romantic, and slightly erotic, short story.

A chance encounter in a taxi relieves the stress of a pending job interview--or does it complicate the matter? 

Grace Wisdom made one wrong decision this evening in the name of sex, she'd be damned if she'd make two. She walks out on the job interview of her dreams and leaves her potential new employer staring after her like she's crazy.

Except she didn't count on one thing--her potential new boss is not about to let her walk away so easily.

Available only at AMAZON as a Kindle Unlimited Title.

The bellman flagged the cab. I stepped forward as the vehicle drew closer to the curb. My latest issue of Cosmo was a poor excuse for an umbrella, but I thankfully held it over my hair anyway. Par for the course. The airline lost my luggage. I was running late for my dinner meeting. And it was raining and foggy.


Only good thing to happen was that my hotel room was ready. Too bad I couldn’t afford the Hamilton where my dinner meeting was scheduled to take place. Avoiding flat hair would have been nice.
Snagging the cab was also a stroke of luck. The bellman nodded and opened the cab door, and I darted through the rain holding the magazine over my head. Just as I tipped the kind man who was now dripping himself, the opposite door opened, and a man in a black suit slipped inside.

The bellman slammed my door and the cabby took off.

I stared hard at the intruder. “You have balls. This is my cab.”

He shrugged. “I do have balls, and it looks like we’re sharing.”


I leaned toward the cabby. “The Hamilton Hotel. Downtown. Take me there first. I don’t care where this asshole is going.”

“This asshole has a name. It’s Mitch.”

I sidled a glance to the man and childishly stuck out my tongue, then turned to look at the rain pelting the window. “I don’t care if your name is George Freakin’ Clooney. You’re an asshole.”

He spoke to the cab driver. “The Hamilton, please. I won’t take you out of your way.”
I didn’t want to look at him, but I did. “That’s absurd, you couldn’t…”

“I could.”

I went back to examining the pattern of raindrops on the window.

“Nice tongue.”

I rolled my eyes. My reflection in the mirror confirmed it. Yet again, another childish moment. What was wrong with me? I glared beyond the pattern of raindrops and saw the man staring at me in the reflection. Sandy hair, businessman’s cut. About my age. Drop-dead gorgeous body and wearing a suit that probably cost more than my month’s paycheck.

I looked at him. “Some people think so.”

“Care to put your money where your mouth is?” He patted himself.

I arched a penciled brow. At least I had managed to spruce up a bit, my makeup was in my carry-on, but I wasn’t about to ruin my face by administering a blowjob here in the backseat of an uptown cab. Particularly when my pending dinner meeting meant a potential new job and a transfer to the city.

“Sorry. Just put on my lipstick.”

“I don’t mind. I’d like seeing your red lipstick on my…”

I put up my hand. “Stop. No more. You are so out of line.” I rapped on the Plexiglas separating the cabby from the backseat and urged, “Can you hurry up?”

Mr. Asshole scooted closer. “Are you always this uptight? Hot date?”

I shook my head. “That is none of your business, but no, I’m meeting a…well, potential new employer and look…” I pushed away. “Back off. I’m stressed, okay? Let’s just share this cab and be done with it.”

He nuzzled closer and I could smell the musk of his aftershave. Dammit, but that smell drew me in. “I could fix that, you know,” he whispered, “the stress thing? I’m good.”

He held up his hands and wiggled his fingers. “I have great hands, or so I’ve been told, and long, caressing fingers that can reach high into very tight and wet places…”

I jerked back. “I don’t know you.”

“You could.”

“I don’t want to know you.”

“Name’s Mitch.”

“You already said that.”

“And yours?”

I smirked. “None of your business.”

“Okay, so I’ll call you…Gina. No. No, that’s not it. Grace. I’ll call you Grace.”

I about bit my tongue. Grace. What the hell? Was it stamped on my forehead or something? Time to look back at the rain. The city sped by. He kept talking.

No way. Fluke. Lucky guess.

“No my name is not Grace,” I lied.

Available only at AMAZON as a Kindle Unlimited Title.