Shit, this kid had balls.

All I knew about Leonel was that he was blessed with the kind of looks that had got him in the front door, apparently had relevant experience, and was fueled with the bravado and arrogance of a twenty-two-year-old for whom the doors of the city would open in a flash… bedroom or boardroom.

The first part was the most important to me.

I’d walked in right when Leonel was sassing Shay, implying that he should check his résumé rather than ask stupid questions.

I kind of liked that attitude, as much as I hated to admit it. I recognized it in myself; it was what had grown Prestige so fast. I’d been pretty young -- just about this guy’s age -- when I’d started the business. At twenty-seven now, that hadn’t been that long ago.

In my early twenties, I hadn’t had as many friends or contacts as most other agencies. I’d just acted like an important CEO -- too important for everyone -- for a couple of years. Then, the agency had become important.

Fake it until you make it.

Leonel clearly thought he was too good for expense reports. I was inclined to agree -- at least, for now, he was too pretty for them.

The consultant last year had insisted I look for an assistant of my own within the next eight months, rather than micromanaging my own affairs. It was the next phase in growth. Even a modest increase in my productivity would, apparently, pay for an assistant’s salary.

But I liked booking my own flights, calling my friends and business contacts at other companies to get in touch directly, and fuck it, ordering my own lunches. I wasn’t lazy.

On the contrary, growing up, I’d been called a higher-functioning kid. I had always needed to stay busy to keep myself sane.

In the last few months, that had become especially true.

I pulled my thoughts away from myself to take in Leonel as the little blond spitfire rose to his feet.

God, he was pretty. He had full, pink lips and long lashes -- the kind that looked great wrapped around my cock and peering up at me for approval, respectively.

He was thin -- maybe a bit too thin. Model-wannabe? As he held out his slender hand to shake, my eyes fell to the slender fingers and limp wrist. He screamed gay from about the other side of the city.

And those baby-blue eyes were captivating. I examined them for long moments, trying to guess what was going through his mind.

“Leonel James.”

“So I’ve heard,” I told him, keeping my voice soft and not confrontational. I was intrigued by this guy’s attitude. Another hot, firebrand young stallion raging against the world, but there was intelligence behind his eyes, whatever vain fashionista gay he liked to play the part of.

Interesting.

“Is this the final interview, then?” he asked, his long fingers sliding just a little too far down my palm. Soft fingertips pressed to my wrist for a moment before Leonel’s palm lined up with mine for a single slow handshake.

Shit, this guy wanted me, and the feeling was mutual. I was aware that Shay was watching us, so I stuck to one handshake before dropping Leonel’s hand. I circled around the desk and leaned on the side of it, shaking my head once when Shay tried to rise to offer his chair.

“Carry on,” I told him.

Shay looked unnerved by my presence, which was slightly amusing. Even though I worked from the office whenever possible to keep everyone familiar with me and keep the tight ship running, I had a public image that intimidated a lot of guys.

“So,” Shay told Leonel as he sank back into his chair and sprawled, knees apart and one heel braced on the ground, “you have fashion experience and admin experience… but not both at once. You haven’t been an exec assistant in a modeling agency before, specifically?”

“According to my résumé, no.”

I bit back a smile. Jesus, this guy had attitude.

Shay quickly glanced down the résumé again, then nodded. “Right. That was a rhetorical question.”

“Sorry.” Leonel didn’t sound sorry. “I won’t answer it, then.”

A muscle twitched in Shay’s jaw as he glanced up at me as if to say, See?

When I’d heard about this guy from Shay -- a quick “perfect fit, great image, but too much attitude” on his way to the waiting room -- I had stopped him from sending Leonel home.

I had wanted to see this for myself.

I didn’t need an assistant. Might as well have a pretty face hanging out, and a clever brain that could keep up with my quips. And I liked to be entertained.

God, I was glad I’d come. Shay wasn’t my favorite employee. He was a bit too uptight for my liking. He didn’t like the close bonds that invariably formed in offices full of attractive gay men with a lot of testosterone and constant tight deadlines.

He really didn’t like me dating the interns.

Fine. Leonel wasn’t an intern. My lips twitched into another smile as I nodded back at Shay as if to approve.

His eyes widened slightly, and then he glanced back at Leonel. “Right. Well, your criminal records check needs to process--”

“I can wait,” Leonel informed him.

Shay sat up a bit straighter, his chest swelling.

Oh, here goes. I hid my smile expertly and folded my hands in my lap to watch the lecture.

“It’s important in this office that we have a team attitude at all times. We provide business-to-business services, after all. We’re hiring out models to others’ projects. If something goes wrong on our end, we can destroy another company’s reputation.”

Leonel was listening, however much he fiddled with his fingers and examined the perfectly manicured nails.

“So, in your dealings with other employees, clients, models… it’s critical you have the utmost professionalism while conveying the company image.”

“The same sort of image as your front desk secretary?” Leonel spoke up, the question seemingly innocent enough.

Holy shit, that was a loaded question.

Lincoln had been hired specifically because he was an excellent gatekeeper. You had to be able to play rough with him to get in to see anyone at short notice without an appointment.

He had a generally surly attitude toward strangers, though he could switch into instant flattery to woo their existing models and clients.

And Lincoln got a little more… standoffish… toward the new models.

It was good, because it kept clueless new walk-ins away. On the other hand, he might have thought Leonel wanted to be a new face.

I couldn’t blame Lincoln for thinking that. Leonel did have the right cheekbones, the right build, the right way of carrying himself…

He’d be killer on the runway. So what the fuck was he doing here?

“I don’t know if this will work--” Shay started to speak up, but I interrupted him.

“Could we have a minute, please?”

That was directed at Shay, not Leonel.

Shay stared back at me for a minute, then slowly flipped the folder on his desk shut and rose to his feet. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” I waited patiently for a few moments, until he brushed past me and out the door and the door clicked shut.

Leonel stayed where he was, still sprawling with his knees apart and a hand on the back of his head, tangled in his close-cropped blond hair and fidgeting with just a bit of the longer hair on top.

This was going to be fun.

I shifted around the edge of the desk until I sat right in front of Leonel, perched on the edge with my legs apart and hands casually braced on the desk. It forced him to sit up straighter and look further up unless he wanted to stare me right in the crotch.

He took his time dragging his gaze up my body until he looked me in the eye, which was more courtesy than he’d shown Shay.

My lips twitched into another amused smile. I had a crazy idea, and Shay was gonna hate me for it.