Hilda

The morning sun glinted off the glass towers of the financial district as Hilda stepped out of her towncar. Clutching her designer briefcase, she adjusted her mauve silk blouse—which, as usual, was strained to its absolute limit by her 72-inch bust. She was distracted, checking a high-stakes email on her phone, when the screech of tires tore through the air. A distracted courier van was barreling straight toward her. Hilda froze, her massive frame making it impossible to dive out of the way in time. The Rescue Before the impact could occur, a pair of powerful, corded arms wrapped around her waist. She felt herself lifted clean off the ground as if she weighed nothing. Her savior dove toward the sidewalk, shielding her body with his own. As they skidded onto the pavement, Hilda found herself pressed against a chest like granite. The man stood up, breathing heavily. He was breathtaking—a ripped, handsome young man with piercing eyes and a jawline that could cut glass. Without a word, he shook off his white blazer, which had been scuffed in the fall, leaving him in a form-fitting dress shirt that struggled to contain his bulging biceps and broad shoulders. "Careful, Madam," he said, his voice a deep, melodic rumble. "The world would be much darker without you in it." He gave her a brief, intense look that made Hilda’s face turn a deep crimson, then he vanished into the crowd before she could even find her voice. The Interview Room An hour later, Hilda sat in her high-back leather chair at the Indian Branch, still trembling. Her heart wouldn't stop racing—partly from the adrenaline of the accident, and partly from the memory of those muscular arms. She had spent the last three hours interviewing candidates for the Co-Manager position. One after another, the applicants had been disappointing—unprofessional, lacking vision, or simply intimidated by her overwhelming presence. "This is hopeless," she sighed, rubbing her temples. "I'll never find the right fit for this branch." She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to compose herself, when a polite knock sounded at the mahogany door. "May I come in, Madam?" Hilda’s eyes snapped open. She took a sharp, hot breath, her lungs hitching. Standing in the doorway, holding his scuffed white blazer over his arm, was him. The man from the street. Hilda's Inner Thoughts

“Oh god... it’s him. The man from the sidewalk. Up close, he’s even more... magnetic. Look at the way that shirt clings to his shoulders... those eyes are looking right through me. My face must be bright red; I can feel the heat radiating off my cheeks. Is it fate? I was nearly crushed by a car, and now the man who saved my life is standing in my office asking for a job? How am I supposed to stay professional? Every time I look at him, all I can feel is the memory of his arms around my waist. My heart is pounding so hard I’m worried he can see my blouse jumping. Focus, Hilda! You’re a Bank Manager... but how am I supposed to be his boss when he already feels like my hero?”

Hilda straightened her back, her massive bust resting against the edge of her desk as she tried to find her "manager voice," though her trembling hands gave her away. "Please," she managed to whisper, her voice breathy and flush with color. "Have a seat."