“So, tell me Miss Nichols,” Caleb says, like he’s actually paying attention now. “Why do you want this job?”
For a split second, I imagine telling the truth. What really brought me here—and what I plan to do if I can get the position. But if he knew that…
I’d be marched out of here in handcuffs.
And not the fun kind.
“You’re the best,” I say simply. “You’ve managed to take your family company and turn it into an international empire. You were the first to switch to conflict-free gemstones. The first to give your employees stock options—even the janitors. Your benefits package is exceptional, and what can I say? I love a good retail discount.”
This time, Caleb can’t hide his grin. Although, I kind of wish he had, because when this man smiles… ?
It’s downright illegal.
“Anything else?” I ask. “Do you want to know my blood type? Marital history? Credit score?”
“No. That will be all.”
Victoria looks relieved. “Well, it was certainly interesting meeting you,” she says, already getting to her feet. “We’ll be in touch.”
My heart sinks. I’ve been on my share of job interviews. This is what is called the brush-off. The ‘Don’t call us, we sure as hell won’t be calling you’ …
I nod, hiding my disappointment. “Thanks for your time,” I say, already thinking of the bills from the care home coming due. And my empty bank account.
This was it. My last shot. And I screwed it up.
But I’m halfway to the door when Caleb’s voice stops me. “You start tomorrow.”
I freeze. What?
“Mr. Sterling—” Victoria protests, as I turn and gape in amazement. “We still have a dozen more applicants to see—”
“Then I’ve saved us all a wasted morning.” Caleb rises, already dismissing them. “Ms Nichols. Welcome to Sterling Cross.”
His words finally sink in. I got the job.
I look to the others, who seem just as shocked by his decision. But it’s Sterling’s decision to make. There is no higher power he needs approval from. He’s the man. The final word.
He motions to HR guy. “Get her info. Her paperwork. And send the rest of the people in the lobby home.”
Then he marches out—leaving a row of faces looking at me, wondering what Caleb saw in me that they don’t.
“He does this sometimes.” Victoria narrows her eyes at me suspiciously. “Makes decisions on a whim. But he can undo them just as quickly.”
It’s a warning, but I don’t care. Nothing can dampen my mood now.
I got the job!
This is it. The answer to my prayers.
I fill out some paperwork and wander out to the elevators in a daze, beaming with delight and relief. Sterling Cross, my new employer. I’m going to be working in this building. I’m going to be collecting a salary—and that’s just the half of it. Maybe now, my troubles will be over.
And yet ...
I thought I knew what I was getting into. But I wasn’t expecting Caleb. I’ve seen my new CEO half-naked, I’ve felt his body pressed against mine and his tongue sensuously exploring my mouth, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to unfeel it. Truth be told, I’m not sure I want to.
And that could be a big problem.
The elevator arrives and I step inside, but just before the doors close, a hand catches them.
And Caleb Sterling gets in.
I press the DOWN button and find myself grinning into the glass, ice-palace doors. Sterling Cross, my employer. I’m going to be working in this building. I’m going to be collecting a salary, bringing real money in, and maybe now, my troubles will be over.
“Ms. Nichols,” he says, and I swear that low voice ignites something deep inside me.
Oh God.
I stand there beside him as the doors slide shut and we start to descend, but I can’t stay silent any longer. I turn to him, and my words come out in a rush. “I’m sorry. About what happened…” I trail off.
“And what’s that?” Caleb asks, a glint in his eye like he’s toying with me. “Your disrespectful attitude in your interview, or… Something else?”
I grit my teeth. If he’s trying to make me flustered, I don’t want him to know it’s working. “In the restroom,” I say tactfully. “That shouldn’t have happened. It wouldn’t have, if I’d known who you were… Well, I just want you to know that I plan on being a lot more professional next time.”
I expect he’ll nod curtly, and wish me a good evening. Put the whole thing behind us, and go back to pretending like it never happened. That’s what CEOs do.
Instead, he takes a step closer and gives me a slow, assessing look. Head to toe, his gaze sliding over my body like molasses—bringing a shiver to my skin all over again.
I catch my breath, aware of his presence. His heat.
“Next time, hmmm?” he murmurs, leaning in to whisper in my ear.
I restrain a shudder as his breath lands, hot on my ear. “There won’t be a next time. It won’t happen again.” I insist, sounding firmer than I feel.
He grins. “We’ll see about that.”
It sounds like a sinful promise. A delicious threat. But before I can react, we reach his floor, and he gets out.
I’m thankful for the doors, sliding shut behind him. They hide the tremble of my body, and the twist of desire that clenches between my thighs, and the fact that I have absolutely no clue how to answer that question.
Am I sure it won’t happen again?
No. I am not sure about anything, at least where Caleb Sterling is concerned.
By the time I get outside and check my phone, a dozen increasingly frantic texts have filled my inbox, demanding to know how it went.
Well?
What happened?
CALL ME.
My stomach flips as I type, On my way.
I take the subway to the Upper East Side, and then walk the long way through Central Park. My pulse is racing again, but not from lust or excitement, no, this time, it’s with the sick feeling that I’m doing something wrong.
It’s not wrong. Not really, I remind myself. Think of the greater good.
Finally, I reach a stately brick townhouse nestled between Madison and Park: one of the largest and most imposing in a zip code of obscenely expensive homes. I pause at the foot of the steps, glancing up and down the street to check that nobody is watching.
But why would they? I’m officially a nobody—which is why I even got this gig.
A dour German butler answers the door and ushers me inside. Faint strains of Chopin greet my ears as the noises of the city fade away. I’m led me through a magnificent marble foyer, to a living area the size of my Chinatown apartment, where an elegant blonde woman is playing the piano, her lithe fingers dancing over the keys. She may be my age, but that’s where our similarities end: From the luxurious gloss of her hair, to the designer clothes on her back, everything about her screams refinement. She was born into this life, and feels as comfortable here as Caleb Sterling had been in his board room.
Olivia Cross. Co-owner of Sterling Cross—and my real employer, no matter what Caleb might think.
She’s the one who told me to interview for his assistant. And she’s the one I’ll be secretly answering to, all along.