I push my chair back and stand. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for the opportunity to interview with you.”
She shakes my hand and then sits across from me. I, too, take my seat.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” she says, setting a folder down and then clasping her hands together on top of it. “I had an impromptu meeting a few moments ago, and it put me a touch behind schedule.”
She presses her lips as if she’s trying to hide a smile.
“Of course,” I say, speaking slowly so I don’t ramble.
“Tell me a little bit about yourself.”
I clear my throat. “I worked as an EA for five years, most recently for Monroe Companies here in Savannah. I managed the schedules and communications for the CEO, as well as coordinated travel, assisted in various special projects, and prepared information for meetings with staff.”
Toni smiles.
“I’m a good communicator, can juggle multiple tasks at once, and I’m discreet and professional. Always,” I say, straightening my posture. “I take pride in my work and approach all projects with enthusiasm and optimism.”
A bead of sweat trickles down my spine. I hope I wore deodorant.
Toni nods. “That’s great. Now tell me a little about you, Ms. Brewer.”
I squirm in my seat. My mind races as I try to figure out what she wants to hear.
“Don’t overthink it,” she says nicely. “Just tell me a little about yourself. Give me an idea as to how you, as a person, would fit in here.”
Toni’s eyes shine with sincerity. I still don’t know how to answer this question, but I have to say something.
“Well,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, “I just turned thirty a month ago, and I’ve found myself at an interesting place in my life. I’m not where I thought I would be, if I’m being honest. Not that I ever really knew where I would be. I wasn’t the kind of little girl who knew what she wanted to do with her life when she was ten. My mom thought I was going to be a vagrant, I think.”
I force a swallow. I know I’m word vomiting, but I can’t turn it off.
“I’m motivated,” I say, trying to read Toni’s reaction. “I love setting goals and exceeding them. I’d love to find a business where I can settle down and meaningfully contribute. Make a home, so to speak. And then go to my actual home and rest a little bit.”
Toni’s head tilts to the side. “Thank you for your honesty.”
“You’re welcome.”
She watches me for a long moment, and I fight an urge to squirm. I can’t tell what she’s thinking—only that she’s thinking something.
Finally, she picks up the papers in front of her. “I want you to meet someone.” She gets to her feet. “Just sit right there, please.”
“Sure.”
My face heats as I watch her leave the room.
The song overhead reminds me of the Dua Lipa song that’s been stuck in my head all morning. I try to focus on that and not how I might have just ruined my chance at this job.
I knew the Tell me about yourself question was loaded. It’s some magic trickery that interviewers use to get to know you. I’ve read dozens of articles about it and how to prepare an answer ahead of time to dazzle them.
“Now tell me a little about you, Ms. Brewer.”
I had it until that moment—until it turned to me.
My eyes fall closed. I consider emailing Mr. Monroe, my old boss, and asking if he’s looking for anyone. He liked me. I’m sure of it. He just couldn’t wait on me to get my shit together after Luca passed away almost three years ago. I couldn’t blame him for that.
The door handle clicks as it swings open.
I heave in a deep breath. But instead of settling me down and helping me prepare for the second part of the interview, something else entirely happens.
My senses are overloaded with the warm scent of amber and tobacco.
I gulp.
With every cell in my body on high alert, I turn my head toward the door.
I gulp again—this time harder.
Oliver Mason, the man I hit with my car only yesterday, is standing in the doorway looking like nothing less than a magazine cover. A pair of khaki pants hugs his thick thighs, and a leather belt showcases his trim waist. A black button-down shirt shows off his broad shoulders. A plaid tie with subtle hints of yellow ties the entire look together.
He shuts the door behind him, keeping his eyes trained on me.
I can’t help but look anywhere else.
The air crackles around us, getting thicker and hotter by the second. He’s one item in the room, but somehow, it seems like he fills it. Everything else takes a back seat to his presence.
“Hello, Shaye,” he says, wrapping his voice around my name.
“Hi, Oliver.” My statement is much more a question than a statement. It’s a why in the world are you here more than a hello.
He walks to the table and stops at the chair Toni was sitting in. He grips the back of it with both hands. There’s no confusion in his eyes—just pure confidence.
Damn.
“I … I’m confused,” I admit.
His lips twitch.
My brain scrambles to understand this situation. How could I run into this man again? It’s not possible—not by coincidence.
Then slowly, it occurs to me.
“You are a cop, aren’t you?” I ask, lifting my chin.
His brows pull together.
“I thought it yesterday with the zip ties.” My face flushes as—snap, snap snap!—the pieces fall in place. “But then you played that off really well, and I didn’t think much more about it. Because I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m a law-abiding citizen. I only went along with not calling the police yesterday because you suggested it. So, if you’re here to arrest me for leaving the scene of a crime …” I swallow back a lump in my throat. “Please don’t. I have enough problems.”
His lips part, and a solitary laugh escapes them. “What on earth are you talking about?”
The confusion on his face seems genuine.
I slink back in my chair. “I mean … I’ve watched crime television. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility.”
The smile that breaks across his face leaves me speechless. It’s wide and refreshing, and I wonder how anyone can think with him around.
“Don’t you think it’s much more plausible that I work here?” he asks.
“I bet that department doesn’t get much done,” I mutter to myself.
His gaze picks mine up and holds it midair. It causes my stomach to flip-flop.
He grins again. “What was that?”
“Nothing.”
He pulls out a chair and sits down, relaxing back into the seat and crossing one ankle over his other knee. It’s like he has all the time in the world.
“Where’s Toni?” I ask, glancing quickly at the door.
He shrugs. “Hopefully doing her job. That’s what I pay her to do.”
“I …”
That’s what I pay her to do.
My mouth closes.
He bites his lip, clearly amused, as I begin to sort through the situation. It’s a clumsy process full of possibilities and disbelief, and by the time I work everything out, Oliver is downright entertained.