The moment I see him, all smug behind his desk—even if he stands when I get in—I just want to grab that pen sitting near his fingers resting on the desk, and take him into a chokehold, pen dangerously pressing on his carotid. Instead, I repeat the words Neil has hammered into me relentlessly this past week, 'Kill with a smile, babe. Kill him with a smile, then kill him with a weapon if you must.'

It's my go-to mantra now, because how can I forget what he's done?

'What you assume he's done,' Neil's overtly logical voice trickles into my thoughts as I lean into morbid scenarios once again.

Fine. What he might have done!

So I flash the man in his large, unnecessarily huge office a meek smile, hoping he reads it as intimidation. Let Thebes think he has me figured out. I'm just a girl standing in front of a boy, asking him to hire her so she can dig out his dirty secret and send him to jail if he so much as hurt a hair on Nina's head.

Shit, Nina. Where are you? What did you get yourself into while I was away?

"Mr Thebes, this is Avery Honey, the last interviewee for today." The frosty woman snaps, her tone unmistakably hostile towards me and I can't help but steal a look between the two. He's probably doing her because it's him, the BadBoy of all Badboys, as if that's something to aspire to these days, and she probably sees me as competition.

Maybe Neil wasn't wrong to curate my look.

I'm hardly listening when Carter extends a hand I'm loathed to shake and eyes me from head to heels.

Kill with a smile. Then kill with a weapon—if I must.

I slip my hand into his, mindful not to shake it like I usually do. I want him to think I'm weak, gentle. Soft. Then thwack! He won't see it coming.

When the first question rolls in, I'm already anticipating it. I shift in my chair, demurly, and tell them how I recently graduated, blah, blah, blah. The backstory Neil and I spun for a bored socialite looking for some new adventure. 'Avery Honey'—I still can't believe I agreed to that stupid last name.

I see him glance at my CV and almost roll my eyes. He couldn't even be bothered to remember that odd fact. It was placed there for a reason, dumbass! To see how much attention you pay to details right under your nose. See if you're likely to catch onto me before I finally slip that cuff on you.

And so, the interview or the farce continues for several more minutes, and with each question his squeeze asks, designed to make me realise I'm not suitable for this job, the more my resolve settles. I need this in the bag. Like yesterday. And I'm not leaving until I'm the last person Carter Thebes thinks of tonight; the last person he pictures before he goes to sleep. I want to haunt his thoughts like he's haunted mine since he said those stupid words on camera not so long ago: "I honestly don't know where Karenina Harlow is, but I had nothing to do with her disappearance. And I hope for her family's sake, she is found soon or turns up soon, very much alive."

So, I do what I have to do. I make the most of what I have right now. My current wet damsel-in-distress look has to have a reason to be. I sigh, thrust out my chest ever-so-slightly so he has to look at it, and wave my freshly manicured hand in the air like some airy diva. Gotta make the most of all that money I spent, and say, "I certainly don't have the credentials you're seeking, but, I do this daily in my own life."

The few gold bracelets I borrowed from Nina's jewelry box tinkle at my wrist and I bat my eyelashes at him. "I am a willing learner, and I savour thriving at a challenging job. With my skills in navigating research and notable peers, I'm fairly sure I can handle your daily schedules as meticulously as I would that. I am excellent at details and problem-solving."

I sit up straighter now, making sure my head is high and my assets higher. Yes, look at them, you perv!

After that, I spout some more nonsense about being trustworthy and hardworking, and mention his recent appearances on the media. Of course, I'm talking about the news, how he cowardly runs into the arms of his bodyguards and heavily tinted SUVs whenever questions about Nina fly in the air. But the guy has his head so far up his ass he probably thinks I'm talking about his Casanova status.

Yet, his face blanches a shade.

Interesting.

I try not to squint a him. Stay neutral. But I can't help it. What are you hiding Carter Thebes? Besides what you did to my sister?

Sometime between me lying to him and him sitting there thinking he's the shit, the woman interrupts.

"Ahem ahem." She pointedly glares at him. "What would you say your strengths and weaknesses are...?"Oof. The vibe screams, 'He's mine!'

You can have him back little lady, after I play with him a bit; get what I want. What I need.

I quickly assess him and his surroundings, note his sleek shirt and tie. The expensive-looking coat hangs off the back of his chair while the coatstand stands empty in the corner. His hair looks slightly different from all the photos of him online. Perhaps he recently got it cut.

It's not what I had in mind, but the opulence of the office, combined with the fact that this guy is definitely hiding something—in the set of his wide shoulders, the tension that ripples in his movements, and that strangely animalistic about his gaze, the way he searches for something in my eyes—sets my alarm bell ringing. Wonder what he sees. Maybe his next conquest?

Well, hate to tell you, but you're never going to woo me that easily, asshole.

When this ordeal comes to an end—thank god for the storm and the blackout—I'm almost relieved. I can't wait to get home and shed this rich-girl-looking-for-some-fun-in-life, Avery Honey, and just be me. Ann Avery Harlow, sister to the missing Karenina 'Nina' Melody Harlow, missing for more than a month overseas, and I'm hunting down the last person to see her alive if it kills me.

"I'll personally give you a call," Carter says and smiles, and even in the dark his white teeth gleam like a hunter's and I'm the prey. Was that what Nina was? Prey?

Irritation grazes the back of my neck. The last person I want 'calling me' is him, but this is what I signed up for. Why can't I just put him in a chokehold and force the answer out now? Why do I have to work this guy so he confesses all by himself?

'Easy, Tiger. You want to do this right? Let him think you're prey.' Forever my sanity saviour, Neil's voice prompts. It's as if the man lives rent-free in my head these days, but he's not wrong. I have to be smart about this. Gather the evidence. Then bye-bye, Carter Thebes, hello jail.

I quickly ramble, "Thank you for seeing me, despite the mishaps," and grab my bag. It's gonna be a pain in the ass to walk down thirty-plus flights of stairs in these damn heels so I better get a move on. I'm itching to text Neil, 'Bring me flats' so that by the time I reach the pub, the fellow has time to buy me cheap flip-flops from some convenience store.

"Are you heading home now, Miss Honey?" Carter Thebes grabs his coat in his hand and walks around his desk to join me. 

I internally groan. It's begun. My torturous double-life for the next few weeks. Not that I'm complaining.

I nod, smiling my most come-hither smile.

By the time we head for the stairs with Ms Third-wheel tagging behind, complaining about her bag being in her office downstairs, I'm ready to run, though. Ready to scream to Neil, 'I can't do it. Time for Plan B,' because I'm bound to get caught the way this woman watches me.

But thank the gods, the building whirs back to life and the lift dings open in the quiet corridor.

"Ah, it's working," there is a delight in Carter's voice. Of course, there's delight in his voice. The man was probably sweating at the thought of walking downstairs like us plebs.

I quickly sum him up, from head to toe, as he leads us to the lift.

Five eleven? Eighty, eight-five, give or take a few kilos. Likely works out, from the way the shirt strains at the biceps. Lean, not bulky, so eats healthy. Probably all that money spent on personal chefs and whatnot.

For an average woman my height and size, a struggle to overpower. But I could take him down.

As he presses thirty-four the other woman, and the ground floor for us, I fight the urge to pray under my breath that no one stops the elevator until we reach the lobby so I can get away from him. Go home. But, if Neil was here, he'd say something stupid like, 'Make the most of this alone time, you idiot,' and he isn't wrong.

Go on. You're alone with him for once. Talk to him. Say something... something innocent yet something sexy...

I steal a glance at him on the mirror-finish walls of the lift, not daring to turn my head even slightly should he catch me.

He looks like he's ready to throw off his shoes, kick his legs up on his shiny, absurdly expensive coffee table at home, and order around his servants for a drink, a foot massage, an elaborate dinner for one he suddenly wants them to prep.

Jerk. How am I supposed to woo this guy? I just want to drive my knee into his back and ask him, 'Where is she, asshole? She went on a trip with you and didn't come back. What did you do to her?'

"Do you live far?" I catch his lips moving and remind myself not to snarl. I'm supposed to be charmed by him, remember? But what do I answer? If I'm far, he'll probably think I'm lying about being a rich brat looking for work so I'm not bored. If I say close, and things progress the way I plan the only possible place I could use would be—

Shit. He's staring at me. I have to shoot my shot now. To hell with what Neil will think... This was his idea as much as mine.

"Not far. I live here, in the city." Sorry, Neil. Plan B, it'll have to be.

He's quiet for a moment and I turn the damsel one tempo up. "I don't stand a chance, do I?" I'm talking about the job, but I also want him to imagine I'm asking about us. Us. Ugh. I could throw up. But I'm not going to. Kiss a few frogs to get your man and lock him up, no?

"Unless you're in the habit of hiring latecomers who look like they took a wrong turn and ended up in an office instead of a bachelor's party?" I laugh breathily. Let him think I'm nervous. Let him think I'm devastated that I botched my chance. Let him think I care enough to think how he perceives me.

"Who am I kidding? Your assistant already told me I don't stand a chance," I add, nervously playing with my hair when he turns to me.

"Did she now?" He smiles at me as if he knows my dirtiest secret—that I am willing to die for the people I love, and it's not just a sentiment, that and that I have a tattoo I deeply regret getting when I turned eighteen.

"I'm sorry." I smile again and avert my eyes, playing with my bottom lip. The modern-day damsel. I need to blush, so I stroke one of my arms with the other and discretely pinch myself hard on the inner part. A trick I've taught myself to blush on cue. The pain, and subsequently, the anger, heat my blood, thus my cheeks. "I've had the worst day possible, as you can see!" I pull at my dry-ish hair, framing my face. I'm tempted to pull my shirt, but perhaps that's trying too hard.

Avery Honey is 'classy, sophisticated, and mysterious' as per Neil's instructions. I am not to give in to desperation and act needy, nor am I to take this guy for a few rounds in the ring and see what shakes loose.

"Sorry," I say again as the lift opens into a fairly empty lobby. The rain outside is still going strong. Damn. Of all the days to forget my umbrella. "Rocking up fifteen minutes late for a highly sought-after position isn't exactly inspiring, I suppose.

"I'm usually not like this." I turn to him again, extending a hand. "It was really nice to meet you, Mr Thebes, even if I'm not your favourite tonight. I wish you luck."

I'm shaking my head internally.

What am I going to do now? This probably went as well as it was ever going to go with me. Fuck, how's Neil going to swing me in as one of their top candidates?

"Col—" He clears his throat as if choking on a fly and wears a stifled smile. "Carter. Call me Carter."

"I'm sorry." I blink at him. Was he still talking to me?

"Are you okay, Ms Honey?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." I eye the exit. Will it be bad form if I walk away now? Why didn't Neil tell me when it's appropriate to walk away?

"You don't have an umbrella."

"Sorry, what?" I turn to him again as the lift behind us opens and a couple of workers hesitate to walk out as we're still blocking the way. I step away and he follows my lead, almost placing his hand on the small of my back protectively. Almost.

"You don't have an umbrella," he says into my ear. The move feels intimate enough that I want to step away. But remember just in time that I'm supposed to have him warm to me. "I've had quite a day myself." He steps away as if picking up on the vibe I'm putting down. Might one call it a come-close-and-I'll-flail-you vibe?

"Can I help you drown it in a cup of coffee?"

His stormy grey eyes flicker like candlelight on my face, and for the briefest of moments, something flutters in my core.

He's flirting, a voice in my head says, a voice that acutely sounds like Neil again. Dammit, Neil. He's flirting. Flirt back. Time to bring this home.

"What does that have to do with my umbrella?" I flash him my cutest smile, knowing my one wayward dimple will show. For some reason, that one feature of mine usually tops the 'sensual' list of any guy I've dated.

His gaze locks in on that dimple and pride swells in my chest. Maybe I got this.

"Nothing." He licks his lips and my eyes are suddenly drawn to them.

I try to school my features. I try not to stare at those lips.

"I just thought, it's a good excuse to ask you for a coffee, and maybe offer to drop you home?" His eyes are dazzling. "I know a great cafe around the bend, and my chauffeur is but a call away. Better than an umbrella, wouldn't you say?"

Hot damn. Did he just turn the conversation that smoothly?

"I shouldn't. Some may see it as a desperate move to secure a job. But—" I bite my lips.

"But?" He eyes the movement, as planned.

"But I'm freezing and coffee sounds" like a god-send "better than sex."

He likes this answer. I can tell, because a light blush creeps into his cheeks as he laughs.

"Or some may say it was me?" He steps aside and bows, saying after you, and as I head for the door, keeps pace. "I'm Carter Thebes, after all," he added quickly, but there's a strange note in his voice I can't place.

It feels as though he is at war with himself, with his name, or rather, the notoriety he's earned around his name. Wonder what that is about? Could it be Carter Thebes is tired of being himself?

Interesting. Very interesting.

"One can lead a horse to the water," I begin, but he cuts me off with a laugh.

"How unfair to the horse, Miss Honey, that it should be compared to you when it stands no chance."

I almost walk into the revolving door. Is this guy real?

"Avery." I smile as he hooks his arm around my torso and saves my face from being smeared across the glass. "You can call me Avery."

"Avery." The way he says my name sends a shiver right down to my core. "After you."

A/N: Well, that was an interesting chapter to write. I usually don't do dual POV, so I'm learning how to handle it. How did I do? Was it entertaining enough, even though I covered some of the chapter with the same event as the last chapter?

And did this chapter 'work' for you, in terms of their chemistry? Any feedback on what I could do better?

Thank you for reading BADBOY CARTER. If you enjoyed the chapter, consider leaving a comment, clicking the star, and/or follow me!