Chapter 12 The Interview

POV Liam:

Near lunchtime, I had already finished most of the documents assigned to me. Being the financial manager of a large corporation like Blackwell Enterprises demands a lot of work and very little free time. And if there’s one thing I love, it’s having my free time to recharge from the stress the company causes me.

I was closing my laptop when the phone on my desk started ringing. I grumbled when I saw on the caller ID that it was coming from reception — specifically from Amanda’s phone. I considered not answering, but it could be about the candidate.

“Mr. Blackwell.”

“Is this about the candidate?” I hoped it was.

“Yes, I have her on the line. She’s interested in the position and asked if it would be possible to have the interview today?” I closed my eyes, deciding to put an end to this once and for all.

“Ask if she can come right now.” I waited on the line and could hear Amanda relaying the question.

“Sir, she’s on her way.”

“Thank you.” I hung up and sat back down.

Another day skipping lunch because of one of my brothers.

Excellent.

...

I was sitting in my chair when I heard a knock on the door. I told them to come in, and Tasha opened it, her eyes gleaming — she’s been thrilled ever since I announced her promotion. I stifled a sigh of frustration that threatened to escape my lips; not because she didn’t deserve the promotion — she absolutely did — but because I hated losing such a good secretary.

“Sir, the candidate has arrived.” I nodded, motioning for her to bring in my possible new secretary.

I straightened up, and it didn’t take long for Tasha to return, accompanied by a woman I recognized immediately. I held back a smile when her eyes widened as she looked at me. This is going to be fun, I thought. Her cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink as I pointed to the chair across from me.

I dismissed Tasha for her lunch break — I could handle everything myself, and I very much wanted to handle everything myself.

So, let’s begin this interview.

I’ll admit it — I’m eager.

(...)

POV Scarlett:

Mr. Perfect Ass?

Stunned, I stare at the man sitting in front of me. This cannot be happening. I feel my face heat up at the mere memory of what happened in the elevator when I saw him. I was on my way to the interview with the jerk when this gorgeous man stepped into the elevator, distracted by a phone call. He had earphones in, his hands full of papers, and he didn’t even notice me—or if he did, he didn’t show it.

And with nothing else to occupy me but the stunning man with the deep, raspy voice who filled the air with his intoxicating scent, I found myself admiring him… and that’s when I noticed. His ass. And what an ass. Big, firm, and just slightly lifted. Believing he was still on his call, I shamelessly whispered, “Hello, Mr. Perfect Ass,” and that was my mistake. He turned his head toward me instantly—but my eyes were still on his ass, which made the whole thing an unprecedented embarrassment. Luckily for me, he turned back around and didn’t say a word.

Now, as he looks at me, I can’t tell whether he remembers or not that I’m the elevator pervert. Mr. Perfect Ass pointed to the chair in front of him for me to sit, and I walked toward it, trying not to let him see how nervous I was.

“Tasha, you can go to lunch,” the raspy voice said to the woman behind me, making me swallow hard.

I lowered my eyes, trying to control my breathing, reminding myself how important getting this job is to me. Gradually, I calmed down, though my cheeks still burned.

“I don’t have your résumé on hand,” he said. “Would you mind introducing yourself and telling me about your qualifications?”

I breathed in through my nose and exhaled through my mouth, lifting my gaze to meet his eyes fixed on me.

“My name is Scarlett Monroe,” I said—keep breathing, I told myself. “I have a degree in Economics, and I speak three languages fluently: Spanish, Italian, and English, which is my native language.”

I caught his surprised look.

“A degree in Economics, fluent in three languages—why do you want to work as a secretary?” I lowered my head, embarrassed to admit it.

“I didn’t get my final grades,” I replied, biting my lip.

“May I ask why?” he questioned. I sighed.

“My parents owned a small farm on the outskirts of Texas.” A sharp ache spread through my chest as I remembered four men who still live there. “Unfortunately, the prejudice of people assuming I wasn’t capable kept me from getting the best internships available, so I couldn’t achieve the necessary grades.” I shrugged, as if that summed it all up, pretending not to care—as if it hadn’t crushed me at the time.

“All right,” was all he said before clearing his throat and returning to the interview. “And what brought you to Detroit, if I may ask?” The tightness in my chest deepened.

“My mother had pancreatic cancer. My father sold the farm, and we moved to Ann Arbor.”

“Why Ann Arbor and not Detroit?” His question was logical, but I preferred not to say that the real reason was because my father didn’t want to bring his ‘whore of a daughter’ to live in a big city, where she might lose herself completely.

“He didn’t want to live in such a busy city,” I lied.

He was silent for a few seconds before continuing the interview.

“And how do you plan to deal with the distance issue?” I hadn’t thought of that—and I scolded myself for it. “You can’t be commuting every day. Besides being exhausting, it wouldn’t be practical for me. I might need you on weekends.”

What can I say to convince him? I can’t lose this chance.