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I am sitting at my desk, keeping my head low, just waiting for that paycheck to come. My desk phone rings. I press the speakerphone button. “Sarah. Please come to H.R. immediately,” the woman’s voice booms on the other end of the line.
My heart begins to race. Oh my God. They know. Why else would I be called into Human Resources? I look around the office. My eyes peer over at the red “exit” sign leading to the emergency stairs.
When I rise to my feet, the first thought in my head is to run. Just run. Everything on my resume is a lie. What is there to gain by going to Human Resources to suffer the humiliation of being fired. What if the police are waiting for me?
I can hear my heart beating through my chest. I can feel the heat emanating from my cheeks. My temples throb. I walk down the hall to the large glass panel offices of the Human Resources department. I see Anne, the woman who gave me my orientation. She is sitting at her desk with a rather confused look on her face. This can’t be good.
“Anne? You wanted to see me?” I say softly.
Anne looks at me, shaking her head. “Mr. Peak wants to see you in his office.”
Mr. Peak. Mr. Ryan Peak. The owner of the Peak Fund. The Billionaire Owner of the Peak Fund. His mere name makes people’s backs straighten. I have been here for two weeks and have yet to lay my eyes on him. And now he wants to see me!
“I’m sorry, Anne. What did you say?” I ask in a daze of fear and confusion.
“Mr. Peak wants to see you right now,” Anne tells me as she grabs a gold card from her desk. “Take this security card and press it against the button marked PH in the elevator. His office is the Penthouse Floor of this building.”
I don’t say another word to her. I can’t. I just grab the card and begin the long walk to the elevators. I step inside the maplewood personal elevator and tap the gold card against the secured Penthouse Button. As it turns out, Mr. Peak reserves the entire floor for his personal use. As the doors close, a creeping feeling overtakes me. This guy could have me killed and no one would know about it.
As the elevator slowly ascends up to the top floor, I begin to feel claustrophobic. I squandered my only chance to escape. What the f**k am I doing? Why did I consent to see Mr. Peak? As I look up at the security camera, a little voice inside of me says, “You want to see how a billionaire lives. You want to lay your eyes on the Master. Even if the results are horrific, you want to know what it is like to see, touch and smell unimaginable wealth and power.”
The doors open to a rather simple white marble room with an incredible floral centerpiece sitting inside an Oriental vase. The vase appears to be centuries old. It is massive - perhaps two feet in height. The pedestal looks like ancient relic right out of the height of the Roman Empire. I couldn’t even begin to calculate the value of those items.
The elevator doors close behind me. I am alone in this simple room. Beyond the vase loom a set of frosted glass double doors. The doors suddenly open. A tall, thin man walks up to me. “Follow me,” he says.
I follow this man, who I as**sume is the as**sistant to Mr. Peak. We walk into this massive open space. I am not even sure that I am inside an office until I see this large desk next to the floor to ceiling windows.
As I begin to open my mouth, the as**sistant leaves the room and closes the double doors behind him. Silence. The first thing I notice is that floor to ceiling windows comprise two entire sides of the room. I look out and see a view of the Pacific Ocean, the Santa Monica Pier and the Malibu coastline. What a view!
"Wie machst du heute?" a booming male voice says to me. I turn my head and see a big, brooding man. He is at least six feet, five inches in high, broad shoulders, dark, incredibly handsome. He looks up at me with eyes that pierce right through my body. I have no idea what he just asked me.
“I asked you how you are doing today,” the man says as he lifts up a familiar piece of paper from his desk. “According to your resume, you are fluent in German.” As I watch this very intimidating and well dressed man walk towards me, I can feel my heart ready to thump out of my chest.
“Mr. Peak?” I say in my softest voice. He looks at me and gives me the very slight hint of a smirk.
“And you certainly are not Ms. Amy Chou. Though you did do an admirable job of stealing her resume,” the billionaire lectures as he places the resume on a nearby table.
I close my eyes. I can see her name on that resume. More specifically, I can vividly remember erasing her name and putting my own name on it. Dammit. That just feels like the dumbest thing I have ever done in my life. I open my eyes and Mr. Peak is standing right over me. This man must be at least a foot taller than me. And I haven’t felt shorter, smaller and more insignificant in my life.
