I take a deep breath, relax my shoulders, and walk up to the desk where a uniformed security guard sits.
“I’m here for an interview with Miss Hunting,” I say.
She picks up a walkie-talkie. “Hunting, you have an arrival. Over.”
I’m so out of place here.
This has to be a vicious joke. My stomach twinges, imagining all the wicked surprises Heron might have planned for payback. What if I open the door and he’s armed with a garden hose that shoots lukewarm latte?
Crud.
I should probably leave now. Before I find out what kind of sick revenge scheme a man who’s arrogance and ego personified cooks up.
I’m actually turning to head back the way I came when a voice behind me says, “Miss Bristol! Welcome. I’m thrilled you could make it. Please come back and talk to me.”
She doesn’t sound thrilled. Not exactly, but her voice is warm and calm enough to risk it. I spin around to face her.
A tall woman with auburn curls in a black dress with split sleeves holds her hand out. “I’m Ruby Hunting, HR Director for HeronComm.”
“Sabrina Bristol.” I shake her hand. “But everybody calls me Brina.”
“Right this way.” She motions for me to follow, and I do, trying not to trip over my own feet.
We go behind the security desk to a door she uses her badge to open. We walk down a long hall in silence until we finally come to a conference room with tall leather chairs like someone attached rollers to medieval furniture and a long glass table fit for King Arthur, if his knights were a band of corporate cutthroats.
Okay.
Breathe.
My stomach is in stitches. I know I’m t-minus sixty seconds from getting punked.
I know it.
And I had Paige lend me her four-hundred-dollar black pumps, too. Another huge mistake if Heron decides to have a billionaire ragey man-trum with my shoes.
The room is dark.
“Lights.” No sooner does Ruby say it than the lights come on. She points at the table. “Wherever you’re comfortable.”
Um—that would be down the street somewhere. Not in this building where I could probably disappear forever and he’d get away with it.
Still, I take a seat at the very end of the table, folding my hands together tightly so I don’t start fidgeting.
No easy task. Everything about this feels weird, unnerving, sinister.
“I have to say, I’m surprised I got this interview considering the way I met Maggot—” Crap! Did I say that? “Magnus, I mean. Mr. Heron, I mean?”
So, this is off to a flawless start.
Ruby laughs, her cherry-red lips peeling back in a grin.
“That makes two of us,” she says.
Not the response I expected.
Okay, then.
“I’m sure you know I have pretty limited design experience, but I’m willing to learn. Whatever you need me to do, if this is for an entry-level thing.”
“You’re not interviewing for a creative job,” she says, her voice flat.
Come again? I’m sure I look as bewildered as I feel. Ugh.
What am I interviewing for? I literally have no other skills.
“I’m not?” I venture. “Oh. I guess I just assumed, after he saw my designs—”
“Mag was quite impressed with you. You’re interviewing for an Executive Assistant position. But you need to know he’s hard to work for. This won’t be a cakewalk, and you’ll work for every penny of the generous compensation package we’re offering. He’ll expect you here by six a.m. and I doubt you’ll leave until he does. The man is married to his work.”
I don’t doubt it. But I get the odd feeling she’s trying to talk me out of the job.
Why?
Because you’re being punked. Duh.
I’m about to shove the chair away from the table and run but my parents’ leaky roof pops into my head. I keep Paige’s heels planted firmly on the ground.
“Can you tell me more about this role? What does an Executive Assistant do, exactly?”
“Whatever Magnus needs. You’ll do his filing, work on contracts, be a point of contact, and fetch his coffee. It won’t be fun, and time off is practically nonexistent.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and blink them open, trying to believe what I’m about to say.
“Look, Ruby, you seem like a nice lady, so I’m going to ask you to be straight with me. The way I met Mr. Heron was godawful. I had a blowout with your boss in public, insulted him, and then you invited me for an interview that I guess I can’t afford to turn down. I lost my job last week, and I’ll be honest. I really need a new one and don’t have time for games. So tell me. Is this real, or is it some twisted revenge plot because I spit on a rich boy’s fancy shoes?”
She purses her lips. “Okay. For reasons I won’t pretend to understand, you intrigued Magnus Heron. He’s not used to people doing anything but fawning over him or else cursing him after he’s won a negotiation. Frankly, I believe it’s a horrible business decision to hire someone with few qualifications for this position just because they piqued his curiosity. I couldn’t convince him otherwise, though, so here we are.”
My gut sinks as she pauses.
“You need to understand his assistants don’t last long,” she continues. “They never have, and after they quit, they usually need therapy. Don’t get all starry-eyed over the compensation package and starting salary and bite off more than you can chew. This would be a hard job for someone with a lot more direct experience than you have.”
I swallow air and push a strand of hair out of my face. “What is the compensation?”
Before she can answer, the door whips open.
And there he stands.
King Dickwad himself, staring at me with an oh-so-superior look imprinted on his face as he adjusts his cufflinks. He’s a razor of a man, so tall and chiseled and rock-hard it’d probably hurt any girl unlucky enough to wind up in his arms even before he smashes her heart to bits.
Magnus strolls in and sits right beside me like I’m already his. Practically in my freaking lap.
In his element, he looks like less of a jackass. Ever so slightly.
But my eyes could be deceiving me because, yes, he’s sculpted like a Greek god, and I hate it.
He looks past me to Ruby. “Have you got the paperwork done yet? I need my new assistant today. There’s more than enough work and no time to waste.”
“Since when do you interrupt my interviews?” Ruby stares him down.
“Since I haven’t had an assistant in weeks,” he growls.
I glare at him. “I bet that’s not Miss Hunting’s fault. She says you’re a dick to work for.”
He scowls at me but doesn’t answer.
Ruby’s eyes trace from me, to him, and back to me.
Her lonely laughter breaks the silence. “You know, you might work out.”
Mag darts a glance at Ruby. “Glad you concur. So, no more holdups?”
“I’m ignoring you so I can finish this interview,” she says. Her eyes connect with mine. “Do you have any experience as an executive assistant or an executive-level secretary?”
I shake my head. “My experience is all graphic design if you don’t count summer jobs in fast food and groceries. I’ve made a lot of memes.”