This place screams style and exclusivity. Mere mortals not invited.
Except I am, today.
I approach the front desk. “Hello, I’m Juliet Nichols, here to interview for the executive assistant position?”
The terrifyingly chic blonde barely glances at me. “To your left. Wait with the others.”
I follow her directions to a packed waiting area, full of equally stylish-looking people. I find a spare corner of a bench to wait, and try to get my head in the game, but it’s impossible with my heart still racing and my whole body alive with adrenaline after that kiss.
Who was he?
I fan my face with a copy of Fortune magazine, and listen to the young man beside me mutter to himself.
“Founded in 1945 when Levi Sterling fled Europe… Originally a watch-mending business… partnership with Charles Cross expanded into jewelry…”
I gulp. I cribbed the same research to prepare, but I’m not sure what’s going to set me apart from the crowd. This is a big-deal company, and the CEO, Caleb Sterling, is the biggest deal of all.
Ruthless. Respected. Even revered, if the press is to be believed.
I tried to research him, but the guy stays out of the spotlight. Somehow, he’s got everyone talking about him, without actually showing up anywhere. No posed photos, no red-carpet appearances… The most I could find was a years-old PR photo showing a stern-looking man half-hidden under wire-rimmed glasses and too-long hair.
He’s a mystery.
I would be nervous at the best of times—even if I didn’t have a whole lot more than just a job on the line here.
“Juliet Nichols?”
I bolt to my feet, and follow a brisk-looking red-headed woman down the hallway to the corner office. “I’m Victoria,” she says. “Mr. Sterling’s first assistant. You’ll have ten minutes,” she says, looking me up and down. Clearly, she isn’t impressed with what she sees, because her lip curls slightly, and she adds: “Or less. Mr. Sterling doesn’t suffer fools lightly.”
Then she opens the door and gives me a light push that I’m not expecting, so I stumble into the room. I struggle to keep my footing—and my grip on my leather-bound resume.
“Sorry, hi! Pleased to meet you—”
I start—and then stop dead. Because sitting on the other side of a long conference table, flanked by serious-looking people in suits, is the man from the coffee shop.
The one who kissed me senseless in a bathroom not twenty minutes ago.
The one who is staring icily at me like we’ve never met before.
“You’re late.” He says shortly, disapproval clear. “Sit. Speak. I don’t have much time.”
I stare at him—at the way the other people in the room are all turned to him, like he’s the freaking sun—and I finally put two-and-two together and come up with holy hell!
This is Caleb Sterling. And I need to make him hire me in the next ten minutes—or my whole life will fall apart.
2
JULIET
Caleb Sterling must keep an extra shirt in his office.
That’s the stupid thought my brain hitches on while I’m fumbling to scoot myself into a chair.
Not that my potential boss just kissed the life out of me. Not that he’d leaned in and basically propositioned me in a public ladies’ room. Not that I enjoyed every last second of it.
Oh sure, those things are in my head, but they’re bouncing around like pinballs. I can’t quite process them. Heat, starting in my core, has crept up my neck, and is now threatening to engulf my entire face. My cheeks sizzle. And all the introductions basically go flying over my head.
All I can do is stare at him. The chiseled profile. The commanding presence.
And all Caleb Sterling can do is scroll through his phone, ignoring me all over again.
“So. Miss Nichols,” the HR man, a bald guy whose name I can’t remember, says, glancing over my resume. “Tell us about yourself.”
I try to pull myself together. There’s way too much at stake to screw this up over some kiss.
Even if it was spectacular.
“Well, I’ve worked a few administrative assistant positions recently,” I begin, “A financial magazine, a bookkeeper, I also assisted a small business owner—”
“Those aren’t strategic moves.” Caleb interrupts, finally looking up and fixing me with a piercing stare.
“I… Excuse me?”
“Your jobs. You’ve bounced around a lot.” Caleb says, almost sneering. “I would have thought someone like you would show more forethought. Planning. Calculating your optimal move.”
Someone like me?
I frown at him for a moment, trying to figure out what he’s talking about. I know my credentials aren’t impressive. I landed my dream job at a nonprofit in Chicago after college, but I had to move back when my mom got sick, and I needed to be there to take care of her. Dad split years ago, and it’s just the two of us. After that, I worked a series of admin and secretarial jobs, performing great—until there was an emergency, or I needed time to take mom to a doctor’s appointment. It’s tough climbing the career ladder when you can get a call at any moment that mom’s wandering the neighborhood again in her bathrobe, confused about how to get home.
But Caleb Sterling doesn’t know any of that—and I hope he wouldn’t be sneering at me if he did. Then I realize: He thinks I bumped into him today on purpose!
I have to stifle a snort of laughter, it’s so ridiculous. Does he really think I tracked him down to his morning coffee shop, engineered our meeting, and then, what, tempted him into kissing me?
Or maybe people do that to him all the time.
Maybe he kisses strange women every other Tuesday. I wouldn’t be surprised. Still, I don’t like him implying I’m some manipulative hustler, so I straighten up in my seat.
“Calculating isn’t a word I’d use to describe myself—as you’ve already said my resume shows. Maybe if I were, I would have been able to find more impressive credentials for you. But I think hard work and dedication should count for something. Don’t you?” I add, challenging him.
Caleb narrows his eyes. “It depends on what you’re dedicated to.”
“Well, what are you dedicated to?” I can’t stop myself asking. After all, he was the one who jostled me. Kissed me. “Expensive watches and fine Italian suits?”
I see Victoria gasp at my question, but Caleb seems amused.
“This expensive watch was handcrafted by my grandfather. It’s the foundation for this company,” he replies. “And as for my fine Italian suits… They feel rather nice against the skin. Don’t they?”
The glint in his eye as he gazes at me sitting in his shirt is the first sign he even remembers our bathroom encounter.
“I suppose.” I give a careless shrug. “I don’t usually get to enjoy them. Us mere mortals shop at the GAP.”
Caleb’s lips twitch, like he’s trying not to smile. My confidence grows.
‘He likes tenacity,’ I was told. ‘Don’t be afraid to talk back. It’s the only way to make him respect you.’
Since my resume sure isn’t doing the trick, it’s all I’ve got.