WANTED: A Hot Wife - Chapter Three

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WANTED: A Hot Wife

Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved

Chapter Three

Picture on the side is Torah (Actress Olivia Wilde)

I'm screwed... extremely and royally f*cked.

Why you ask?

You see, in a war, a soldier never goes out to battle without ammunition.

It's suicidal. It's reckless. It's catastrophic.

And obviously, no man would attempt to do something that moronic, much less have a death wish.


As I eyed Torah's dossier that Lianna provided me yesterday, I couldn't help but send hateful daggers at its white, pristine paper... the printed words that made me want to scream ugliest litanies to the highest heavens on how useless and meaningless it was.

Everything about Torah spelled clean.




She was as clean as a whistle and it frustrates me to know that I couldn't use something against her when a drastic situation arises. I had never in my life had come up short handed and I wasn't keen with the whole 'there is a first time for everything'. That's just plain stupid if you ask me.

In short, I am just as good as dead in this freaking war zone.

"There has to be something,,," I murmured, still eyeing the dossier like it was the freak of nature. "Anything at all..."

Great, now I'm talking to myself.

With a sigh, I threw the dossier on my desk and slumped deep into my leather chair, pinching the bridge of my nose with my pointer finger and thumb. Finding a wife can't be this hard for a guy like me - hell, I would just do the whole mail order bride thing and everything would be over and done in less than four months.

If you think about it, the mail order bride was not a bad idea...

Before I even considered that, a loud knock brought me out my thoughts, making me frown. I already told Lianna I don't want to be disturbed for the next few hours. If that woman is doing that on purpose, I swear I'm cutting her wages in half and make sure she'd run to me crying a river and beg for forgiveness, bleeding herself dry.

"Come in," I said, gritting my teeth.

The door opened, and in came Sandy, the Executive Manager's daughter who I banged on her father's desk a few months ago. I was trying so hard not to eye rape her in her little ensemble; short gray high waisted pleated skirt, white, short sleeve blouse with three buttons undone, with a teasing hint of her lacy black bra and paired it off with her black screw-me high heels.

Okay, she looked hot, but what the hell is she doing here?

"Hey, Xander," she cooed, closing the door behind her and locking it. "How are you?"

Oh, really now? Locking the door, are we?

I shrugged. "Same old, same old," I said, still slumped in my chair. "What do you want?"

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