Shit. I’m weirdly staring at his face. And his hair.
I look away even as beads of sweat break out on my brow. Am I smiling? I smile. Shit, that probably looks weird. I just started smiling all the sudden. I drop my lips into a straight line. Dammit. That probably looks even weirder. I wasn’t smiling, then I smiled, then I stopped again. What. The. Hell. Am. I. Doing? And what is he thinking?
He finally looks away from me only to glance down briefly at my resume. His mouth twitches. Was that a good mouth twitch or a bad mouth twitch?
“Background in Computer Science, you said? I’m to assume that’s from the undergraduate courses you listed, by name.” His eyebrows go up.
His deep voice doesn’t sound mocking, but I don’t see that there’s any other way to take it. I sit up straighter in my chair. “Yes.” My voice is firm.
“But you never actually finished college.” His eyes are brown. They meet mine. I still don’t know how to take him or his words. I can’t read him. Dammit. Even if he’s mocking me, I still have to fight for this.
“I understand that it might not be conventional to list an unfinished degree in the educational experience area, but those courses are relevant to the work this company does.” I hold my trembling hands together and hide them in my lap. “For example, in my advanced robotics course, we studied the real-time reaction simulation algorithm you and Jackson Vale developed while at MIT. You were only students, but you pushed the state-of-the-art years forward from where it had been.” Good. My voice is coming out confident. I sit up even straighter, if that’s possible. Fake it till you make it, right?
I continue. “I’m only on a short hiatus from Stanford, with just a semester left. So it’s not that I never completed college,” I smile a winner’s smile, “it’s that I’m about to finish and for now I’m just after some real-world experience.” He doesn’t have to know that with a toddler and a constant need for steady income, the thought of tackling my last twenty-one credit hours of college has been too overwhelming to even consider.
“Real-world experience.” This time the lip twitch is definitely a smirk. Bastard. It’s a struggle to keep my face open and pleasant, but I do it.
He glances back down at my resume. “Such as The Bridge Bar & Grill? And Hooters? I assume that’s where these communication skills you touted were developed?”
Fuuuuuuuuuck. I knew I should’ve left Hooters off. But if I had, I’d have no work history before a year and a half ago. I worked at Hooters for three years, from when I turned eighteen till I was twenty-one. I had to hide it from my parents when I was still at home and going to community college for my first couple years before transferring, but it was the only place to earn any real money in our podunk-freakin’ town. Plus, I was an assistant manager by the end. That counts for leadership skills.
I feel my cheeks heating up, but when I look at Bryce Gentry, his eyes aren’t where I’d have predicted they’d be. He’s not looking at my double D’s again. He’s staring straight at me. In the eye. It’s like for the first time in the entire interview, he’s looking at me.
I don’t care if he’s being an ass and judging me like everyone else in my life has. I keep my voice confident. “Look, I did what I had to do to get out of the tiny-ass town where I grew up. No one there ever amounted to anything special. That wasn’t going to be me.”
He doesn’t have to know that I’ve already learned my lesson the hard way that I’m not a special fucking snowflake. I was an idiot with all my big dreams and princess wishes.
All I want now is to be able to pay rent and keep custody of my son, Charlie—and all this bastard needs to know is that I want this job and I’ll do anything to get it. “I know how to work hard and do whatever it takes to get the job done.”
One of his eyebrows lifts and there’s challenge in his face. “Will you really, Callie Cruise?” Even the way he says my name is clearly mocking. My name has never sounded blonder than it does coming from his lips. “Will you really do whatever it takes?”
My jaw thrusts out. I can take what this guy dishes. “Absolutely.”
He smiles an easy, carefree smile. “Then open the front of your shirt and take out your tits.”
“What?” I choke out.
Some of his easy demeanor drops. A challenging glint enters his eye. “You said you’d do whatever it took. Do you need this job or don’t you?”
I— I—
I cannot believe this. This is— I can’t— how can this be happening in the 21st century? After Harvey Weinstein and Matt Lauer and Me Too? Yeah my assets have gotten me work, and tips, and I know that we live in a shady world where bosses still ogle their employees. But this? This man—so respected in his field, just asking so blatantly for me to… to…
Bryce Gentry waves his hand as if dismissing me. “I really thought you wouldn’t be so squeamish considering your work history.” He looks completely uninterested now.
I stand up, ready to spit fire at him. “I’m not a fucking prostitute!”
He stands up as well, his interest from a moment ago reappearing in a blaze. His hands are closed fists on the table as he leans over.
“Good,” he says, his voice low, brown eyes blazing. “Because I don’t want a fucking prostitute. If I wanted a fucking prostitute, I could hit East San Jose any time after dark. I want you, with your big titties, your gorgeous smile, and the fact that you know what a simulation algorithm is. But,” he flashes a smile, and I swear it’s straight from the devil itself, dimples and all, “I really do need to see the headlights in person.”
I can only just stare at him. I don’t even know why. This isn’t the first time I’ve been propositioned like this. Well, all right, it’s certainly never been exactly like this.
This office just looked so classy. Bryce is so handsome. He could have any woman he wants. It doesn’t make sense.
He comes around the desk toward me and I take a step back. He holds up his hands and sits on the edge of the desk.
He’s got an easy smile back on again, like we’re having an everyday conversation. He seems kind of schitzo that way, moving between intensity and a California laid-back vibe. I don’t know which one is really him, or if either are. If this guy is showing any of himself at all. This is clearly a game to him, and I don’t know the rules.
So much is at stake for me. What am I going to do if I don’t get this job? How am I going to afford a lawyer? For half a second, the panic threatens to choke me. I know from the little my ex, David, told me that his (supposedly ex) wife is wealthy—yeah, I found out after he broke up with me that he wasn’t divorced after all, just separated. Another juicy tidbit in the train wreck that was my relationship with Charlie’s dad.
And now I can barely afford an ambulance chaser type lawyer. I can’t let them take Charlie. I work two jobs as it is, but it’s not enough. Not enough. I look up at Bryce and he’s just sitting there on the edge of the desk, staring at me, that easy, expectant expression on his face.
Shit. Shit, shit, SHIT. Are my options really to expose myself to Handsome Boss Man or suck off sleazy landlord Mr. Jenks-a-lot? I shudder even thinking about the second option. And that would only get me one month’s rent. As opposed to what?