Mr. Mouthful

1. Josh-4

The rest of the day flew by. Sneaky took off after lunch to work next door at her bar, though she popped over every hour or so to see how things were going. Business was great. I finally figured out how to make a great cappuccino and we sold out of all the pastries. But there was one thing I’d been itching to do all day long that had to wait until later.

As soon as Luke had counted down the register and left for the evening, I ran upstairs, poured myself a glass of wine and powered up the laptop.

“Dracula, huh? Let’s see what I have to look forward to on Monday.” I murmured at the screen then typed in my new boss’s name, or at least how I thought his Russian name was spelled. After two attempts I got it right, and his image filled the screen.

“Holy shit.”

This man was s*x on a stick and totally out of my league. And I was about to spend lots of quality time in the same room with him. Oh, and a few dozen other musicians, but who was counting?

He had the whole tall, dark and handsome thing going on, but he also looked kind of menacing. In the first image he was sitting in front of a piano surrounded by a group of violinists. It took me almost a minute to notice them though, because he overwhelmed the photograph. His dark eyes stared straight into the camera, almost hypnotizing the viewer, while a hint of a scowl played on his full lips. Sergei Kuznetsov was magnetic, and I could see why any orchestra would want him. It didn’t matter if he could conduct a high school band or the New York Philharmonic. People who didn’t even listen to classical music would come to his performances just to stare at his ass while he waved a baton in the air.

“Stop ogling your boss. You want to make a good impression. Hell, it might be your last day on the job if you can’t keep your hormones in check.” I chugged down the rest of the wine.

Clicking off of the sexy images, I switched to the news results. In the Richmond Times Dispatch this morning, there was a story about him in the style section. Damn it, we had like five copies of the paper floating around the coffee shop all day and I’d never even thought to browse through it.

Sergei graduated from The Curtis Institute in Philadelphia and besides conducting he was an accomplished pianist. He’d worked with The Cleveland Orchestra and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra.

“Sounds like he was sick of the snow.” I muttered. The stud was born in St. Petersburg and came to this country in the 90s, but other than that, not much on his background. I was about to dig deeper when I realized it probably wouldn’t do my career much good stalking my boss before I even met him. I closed the laptop and sank deeper into the sofa.

“So why is anyone that handsome and successful so mean?”