In His Arms

A young woman with long， dark brown hair， deep hazel eyes and skin as pale as winter snow sits by the fogged windows in the restaurant， dressed in a checkered white shirt the front tucked into a pair of well-worn black jeans， a pair of brown rectangular glasses perched on her nose.

Polly Nichols， a Whitechapel whore， was profoundly grateful to gin. ~Gin helped her. It cured her. It took away her hunger and chased the chill from her joints. It stilled the aching in her rotten teeth and numbed the slicing pains she got every time she took a piss. It made her feel better than any man ever had. It calmed her. It soothed her.

She picks up a mug from the table in front of her， her eyes continue to read the thick papers on her lap， raising the steaming liquid to her soft， pink lips， she cautiously takes a small sip.

Swaying drunkenly in the darkness of an alley， she raised a bottle to her lips and drained it. The alcohol burned like fire. She coughed， lost her grip on the bottle， and swore as it smashed.

In the distance， the clock at Christ Church struck two， its resonant chime muffled in the thickening fog. Polly dipped her hand into her coat pocket and felt for the coins there.

A sudden ringing from her blackberry on the table causes her to jump， and her papers fly everywhere， cursing at her clumsiness， she gets on her knees and begins to gather her papers.

This clumsy wrapped up in her own world person is me.

My name is Janetta Summers. I am the main editor at Blueburg Publishing House where I had interned when I was in university. I am twenty years old， single， a clutz with two left feet， a church mouse and a terrible bookworm.

Scrambling to get the papers from the tiled floor， I manage to locate most of the manuscript I had been reading but I can“t seem to find the last pages.

Getting up， I push my long hair behind my ear and look around the coffee house. Where are those pages?

"Excuse me，" a deep manly voice asks， a long slender finger taps me on my shoulder."I believe these are yours?"

Whirling around， I see a man in a dark blue business suit， the jacket in his arm and the missing papers of the manuscript in his other.

His rich chocolate hair that had tousled griminess which promised finesse. He had strong arched brows and his eyes a deep and catastrophic， stormy grey.

Looking down at my feet， I avoid eye contact with the stranger and take the paper out of his hand， mumbling a quick thank you， I walk back to my table， gather my stuff， pay for the tea and leave the coffee house as quick as I can， my cheeks flushed， answering my phone on the way.

"Hello?" I mumble into the phone， dodging the people on their lunch break. "Summers speaking."

"Hey， Etta，" My boss， Lucifer King， sings from the other line. "What“s my favourite editor doing?"

Smiling at the sound of my boss“s voice， I stride into a ten story office building， with Blueburg Publishing House written discreetly over the glass front doors.

I walk into the enormous – and still intimidating – glass， steel， and white sandstone lobby. Walking over to the bank of elevators past two security men.

The elevator whisks me with terminal velocity to the ninth floor. The doors slide open，"I“m at the office."

"Wonderful，" he cheers down the line. "I have someone coming in to meet me and I want you to be there."

Hanging up， I enter the office， weaving through the workstations， passing by my assistant editors who are all sitting around， chatting with each other all on lunch break.

Dumping my bag in my office， I head for my boss“s office wich is next door， not bothering to knock on the door， I go in.

"There she is!" he exclaims as I enter， looking at him in surprise. "How did you know I was going to ask you to cut your lunch short?"

I give a small laugh and proclaim teasingly.，"Every time you call me during lunch or at five in the morning， you tell me to come to the office."

"Right，" he drones， like his only realising it now， and I give him a small smile. "Anyways， I got you a part-time job!"

"Huh?" I tilt my head sideways in confusion. " A what?"

"Remember， I went to see my bud from university last week?" He asks， placing his chin on his palm in an innocent gesture."He“s been looking for a nanny recently cause his kid is young and he has to work."

"He hasn“t been too successful lately in finding one so I recommended you，" he chirps， innocently， his eyes shining with pride at what he has done.

"What?" I squeak， my eyes widening. The thought of working for someone unknown terrifying me. "Mr King...I...I"

"No. No，" he flaps his hands at me. "It comes with full accommodation， the pay is by the week and he“s single. There will be no need to thank me."

I gulp nervously， looking at my boss. If this is one of his， I“m-going-to-find-this-girl-a-boyfriend-before-I-turn-thirty-even-if-it“s-the-last-thing-I-do plans， I“d rather die than participate.

I still remember the god awful dentist he set me up with last month. Jeez， the guy kept glancing at my teeth throughout dinner. I shudder at the memory.

"Mr King， I..."

"Lucifer，" the deep manly voice from the coffee house comes from the office door which swings open. "I need that girl you were talking about now. Where is she?"

Mr King smiles excitedly and points to me， I feeling like I“ve just received a death sentence， I slowly turn around， coming face to face with the man who had picked up my papers for me， his eyes are solely trained on mine causing me to blush and turn away immediately. Oh no.

So， this is how I met him. Alexander Holt. CEO of Haven & Holts Incorporated and my boss“s latest “set up my editor with a guy“ plan.