Page 1 of Sweet Deception

Chapter one

Kylie

What in the hell am I doing here?

My knee bounces rapidly, causing the heel of my sandal to pound out a rapid staccato on the tiled floor as I chew my thumbnail down to the quick. My mind is racing for an alternative to what I'm about to do when I'm yanked back to reality by someone's cell phone blasting Taylor Swift'sYou Need To Calm Down.

Believe me lady, I'm trying.

The music cuts off as I straighten in my chair and roll my shoulders, hoping to relieve some of the tension I'm feeling.

My curiosity over whose phone went off gets the best of me and I swing my gaze around the room. I’m not one to be insecure about my looks, but when you find yourself in a room full of women who look like they just stepped off the runway … well, it’s hard not to second guess coming here. Not that I wasn’t already battling with doubt considering what we're here to interview for.

The woman across from me snags my attention when she answers her phone and my mouth drops open in shock. It's not because she's stunningly gorgeous with long, flowing blonde hair and the deepest blue eyes I've ever seen. No. It’s the glow of happiness she's radiating as she chats away on her cell phone while twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

I don't get it. My stomach is churning with fear. Meanwhile, this girl acts like she doesn't have a care in the world. I turn my stunned gaze back to the other women in the room only to find them looking just as relaxed.

Am I really the only one here on the verge of a nervous breakdown? I'm aware I’ve led a pretty sheltered life, but I still can’t believe this would be a casual decision for anyone.

At the reminder, my stomach flutters with nerves again. I place a hand there before taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly as if it'll help.

Sadly, it doesn't. Which has me questioning whether I'm cut out for this when all I really want to do is bolt despite the ramifications of doing so. The thought alone has me looking back to the exit for the hundredth time since my arrival.

I'm seconds away from leaping out of my chair when the creak of a door followed by the sound of heels clicking on the tiled floor brings my attention back to the front. A woman—who I'd guess is in her fifties—enters the room and stops next to the reception desk.

I'm puzzled over her appearance. She reminds me of a librarian dressed in a dark gray pencil skirt and a white frilly blouse. Her hair is even in one of those tight buns pulled so severely, you wouldn't need Botox injections to smooth out the wrinkles. To complete the look, her glasses sit halfway down her nose as she peers around the room with a clipboard in hand.

Considering what this business is, she's not who I expected to give the interview.

"Kylie Davis?" she calls with an impatient tone, making me realize it might not have been the first time.

Heart pounding out of my chest, I shakily get to my feet while gathering the courage to raise my hand. "That's me." Instead of coming out confident, my voice cracks at a high pitch, making me wince.

Ugh, pull it together, Kylie. You can do this.

Clearing my throat, I lower my arm and grip by hands together to keep myself from fidgeting as the woman sweeps her gaze over me with furrowed brows. I getthe impression I don’t measure up, so it's a relief when she finishes her inspection and gives a crisp, "Follow me," before turning back toward her office.

Looking over my shoulder, I allow myself one last longing look at the exit before I push back my shoulders and rush after her.

"Have a seat." She waves her hand, indicating one of the guest chairs sitting in front of her desk.

All grace leaves me as the loud click of the door closing startles me to the point that I plop down with a loud thud. Embarrassed, I briefly close my eyes and chastise myself before I blow this interview altogether.

While her attention is off of me as she rounds the desk, I force a smile onto my face, cross my legs, and smooth my dress before placing my hands loosely on my lap.

"My name is Margaret Wesley," she announces as she settles into her chair. Placing two fingers on the paper in front of her, she slides it forward, then places a pen on top. "This is an NDA. You must sign this before we begin the interview."

"A-a what?" Clearing my throat, I lean in to scan the document. "I mean, I know what an NDA is. It means I can't discuss what you mention here, but what I don't know is, what happens if I do?" I glance up to find her eyes narrowed on me. Sitting back, I rush to explain. "Not that I would. I just meant that if I accidentally breach the contract …." I trail off, and gulp, intimidated by her stare.

"It would mean, Miss Davis, that Sweet Connections, Inc. could sue you for everything you own and then some. It's important you understand we have a high-profile clientele who use this service. If, because ofyou, word gets out that they're members … therewillbe consequences."

"Oh."

Really, what else is there to say?

"Now, are you ready to sign, or are you wasting my time?" She glances at her watch as if to make a point.

"No—I mean, yes, I'm ready." With a shaky hand and a pit in my stomach, I take the pen and sign on the dotted line.