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I scurry after her waddling form to his office. The corridor is deceiving in the way it makes the space appear small, but past the first three offices resides an open room full of cubicles.
It’s all so foreign to me—the office atmosphere, the attire, and the acrid scent of burned coffee mixed with printer ink.
I haven’t held a steady job, in well… ever. My sister claims it’s because I’m flighty, but what does she know? She’s got it easy working for Dad at his international branch in London. She never had to bother with this kind of thing.
The truth is, I’ve never had that one thing that called to me. Everyone in my family has a place and purpose, but not me. I’m the black sheep and the complete opposite of business savvy.
The older woman knocks once and a deep, masculine voice drawls, “Come in.”
When the door swings open, I gape at the man sitting among stacks of papers on top of an artfully crafted wooden desk, and I hardly catch my jaw before it unhinges in shock.
“Wow,” I manage, shifting my weight when his piercing eyes flick up to mine. “I mean, you’re not my type, but you sure are pretty.”
There’s a smirk flirting with a pair of lips that are too sensual to be real when I take a seat in the chair across from him.
“Do you mind?” I point at my feet, not waiting for permission before I pop the wretched things off. “Ahh. That’s better.”
He blinks at me, all sun-kissed with blond hair that’s longer than typical for most men, and sweeps just beneath his ears. His shoulders are going to bust the seams of that button-down he’s wearing at any minute, but that doesn’t stop him from leaning forward for a better look at me.
“Well, I suppose that’s one way to start an interview.” Stretching his hand out to me, he offers a firm shake before introducing himself, “Declan Murphy.”
“Penelope Vance.”
“Vance.” One dark brow raises. “Any relation—”
“Nope.” My smile’s a touch too enthusiastic, yet alarmingly fragile. “None whatsoever. Get that from time to time, though.”
I won’t be needing my dad to land me any jobs, pay my bills, or rescue me, thank you very much.
He studies me for a moment before releasing my hand. “Still, your name is familiar…”
Clearing my throat, I point at my application. “I think you’ll find some pretty good stuff there. Lots of jobs that speak to my, uh… skills and such.”
I uncross my legs and strive for poise, but wince when I kick the front of his desk, squeaking a quiet, “Ow.”
He turns his attention to my resume, decorated with a purple border and flower bullet points.
“Yes, I admit, of all our applicants, your extensive humanitarian work was the most attractive. As Mr. Anderson’s assistant, you’ll be required to sit in on, and possibly participate in, meetings with some of our partners, as well as clients.”
I shake my head, that name knocking a rusty old screw loose. “I’m sorry, who will I be assisting?”
The mere mention of that name makes my blood boil, and unbidden, panic slowly settles in. Surely, he doesn’t mean that Mr. Anderson.
“Logan Anderson. The CEO of Summit Estates.”
Shit. Shitty, shit, shit, actually.
Wide-eyed, I sit on the edge of my seat, ready to bolt the second my brain locates my legs. “No.”
Declan tips his head. “Excuse me?”
Logan can’t be here. He’s supposed to be in the States, happy and in love with a chick named Rachel–whom I’ve never fantasized about mailing a bushel of glitter dicks to just because she married the boy who broke my heart.
“Are you okay, Miss Vance?”
Blood whirs in my ears as I clutch the arms of the chair.
Declan’s office door snicks open, and without looking, I know who’s entered the room. I can sense his stare on the back of my neck like prey hiding from its predator. It tickles and teases down my spine, penetrating my senses like a near-tangible caress.
