My phone buzzes a moment later—an unknown number. I open the message with my heart in my throat. “It’s tomorrow! Eight a.m.!”
“There you go. You’re welcome,” Martin says, leaning back with a smug grin.
“Thank you!” I cry, diving across the bed, knocking him and Maeve over in a clumsy hug, my heart pounding with gratitude I don’t know how to express. “Thank you, Martin!”
We chat for another hour about Martin’s breakup and Maeve’s new fashion studio. My mood couldn’t be higher. Livingin New York is expensive, even in a shoebox like mine. And I wouldn’t be able to afford it if I didn’t find a new job. A well-paying job. Being temp has its own cons, meaning you can be thrown anywhere without notice, but the pay in popular agencies is usually good.
And I need good pay like I need air in this moment, and I’ll do anything as long as it lets me stay in New York close to my sister.
10
Bea
“Absolutely not,”I declare firmly, shaking my head so forcefully, my low-sitting ponytail whips my cheek.
Julian, Martin’s ex and the agency manager—crisp navy suit, Martin-level handsome—quirks a perfectly sculpted brow.
“I was under the impression that you need a job,” he drawls, leaning back in his chair and making the leather creak under his weight.
“I do,” I admit, nodding like a bobblehead on a potholed street. “But can you assign me somewhere else? Anywhere. Please.” My voice cracks, betraying the panic clawing at my chest. Working for Noah King, the man I’ve avoided for a year since the island disaster, is a nightmare I can’t add to my already scary life.
Julian’s gaze drops to the paper on his desk. “Sure,” he says in a casual tone, flipping the page. “We need a printer cleaner on the tenth floor.”
“I’ll take it!” I blurt out while my desperation overrides logic. I have no idea what a printer cleaner does or why it has to be aseparate position, but I’ll take anything to avoid Noah’s smirking face and the scorching heat coming from his body that I still recall on cold, lonely nights.
“The pay is five times less.”
My enthusiasm evaporates, along with my smile. “Five?” I echo in a small voice while my shoulders sag into a stiff chair.
“Five,” he confirms, nodding once.
“Why such a big difference?” I ask as my fingers dig into my thrift-store blazer’s cuff.
He leans forward, staring me down. “Because cleaning printers is not the same as being a temp assistant to one of the best architects in the city.”
Deflating even further, I sink back into the chair, not worrying about how I look. After a year of failing jobs, this shouldn’t surprise me. It’s exhausting living in the relentless grind of this new moneyless life after having all the luxuries in the world. Working for Noah, the asshole extraordinaire, is the last thing I want, but rent doesn’t pay itself as it turns out.
Letting out a loud sigh, Julian drops the paper, his fingers tapping the desk.
“Look, Beatrice, we really don’t have anything else right now,” he says in analmostsympathetic voice. “We’re the best agency in the city, therefore we hire the best. When our temps get placed, they stay because we’re that good. And you,” he glances at my resume on the table, “are not our ideal candidate. Let me be frank.” His tired sigh is so deep, I can feel it on my face. “I’m hiring you because Martin vouches for you.”
I swear his cheeks pinken a little when he says Martin’s name.
“I trust his opinion. He’s never wrong. Usually.” This time, his voice darkens slightly. “Usually.” Quickly snapping his professional mask back on, he continues speaking with a light smile. “King needs an assistant, and you need a job. No onelasts there anyway, so maybe when you run away screaming, we will have something else available.” After a quick glance to the side as if someone might hear us in his glass corner office with a closed door, he says, “I asked Martin if you’ve ever met Noah King, and he said you hate each other.”
My jaw snaps at the mention of his full name.
“Is that true?”
His question rings tingly bells in the back of my head. But I reply with a short nod, making him visibly relax.
“Then you’re perfect for this position. Just take it.”
“Why?”
“He is… What shall I say?”
“A jerk?”
