While I wait for a callback, I retreat to the living room and settle into my favorite armchair by the fireplace. I should be catching up on emails and writing, but the thought of sipping coffee and milking my hangover by reading some good smut sounds a hell of a lot better. Even though my shelves in the living room are packed with unread books, I settle on my Kindle instead.
Just as I am about to dive into a new read, I startle from the loud ring of my phone, forgetting I turned off the silent button so I wouldn’t miss the call. I grab my phone from the pocket of my robe.
I recognize the number as being the same one I called to leave a message for Mr. Moretti. I swipe the green answer button, feeling a sudden surge of unease swarm over me.
“Hello?” I try to sit up, as if moving will somehow help me feel less nervous than I already am.
Then, a deep baritone transcends through the phone, capturing my attention, rendering me momentarily speechless.
“Hello, Ms. Ricci. It’s Carmine Moretti,” he says. I freeze, trying to sift through my memory. I know I have heard that voice before, or one like it. I just can’t place where I have heard it. He speaks into the phone again, snapping me out of my momentary trance.
“Ms. Ricci, are you there?”
“Yes, hello, Mr. Moretti. Sorry about that,” I say, trying to compose myself. I’m thankful this first interaction is on the phone, because the nerves that just his voice gives me without even matching it to a face is absurd.
“That’s quite alright,” he says, his words lingering in an oddly seductive way. “I have been awaiting your call. I trust my proposal arrived to you in one piece?” I swear I can hear his grin through the damn phone.
“Yes, it did, thank you.”
“Excellent. Have you had time to consider?” There is an eagerness in his voice.
“Forgive me, but before I get into any discussion of the proposal you had delivered to my house, I am curious how you found me?”
“Oh, I have my ways.” His tone is equal parts flirtatious and sinister. I should just hang up, but for some reason, I can’t. I’m not satisfied with his answer—it’s as vague as his job proposal—but he is intriguing me, nonetheless. So, I continue the conversation.
“I am a freelance writer, Mr. Moretti. I mainly write interest articles while I work on some of my own publications. I have never considered a public relations firm. So, I am uncertain of what my role would be.”
“Vital.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your role. It will be vital to the company, not to mention to myself.”
I can’t help but notice the emphasis he is putting on what my presence at Marked Inc. means to him personally.
“You own a public relations firm, and I am a writer. How exactly is that vital?” I blurt, without taking a moment to polish my response.
I feel a rush of heat on my cheeks when he does not answer right away. I know I have a tendency of being overly direct, but maybe I am being too forward? I mean, it is a job interview, I probably should dial back my intensity a bit.
Clearing his throat, he responds after a brief pause. “Inquisitive, aren’t we?” he says with a sadistic chuckle. “Who and what I deem vital is as I say. I am in the business of representing my clients the best way I can, and to do so, I need employees who can help me control the narrative. What better way to do that than with someone who has an uncanny gift to manipulate words artistically? Someone who can write the narrative. Someone like yourself, Ms. Ricci.”
The way my name rolls off his tongue makes my stomach turn into knots. There is a commanding presence he exudes. It’s not just something I can hear through the phone, it’s something that I can feel.
Unsure of how I want to respond, I settle for, “Okay.”
“Oh, c’mon. I know you can do better than that,” he says, trying to provoke me.
He continues. “Don’t bite your tongue. What is on your mind?”
“What is it exactly that you need from me, Mr. Moretti?”
“Many things.” He pauses, clearing his throat before continuing to speak. “As of now, I need you to work on written statements for our clients for press conferences, things like that. Also, there will be some public functions where your attendance will be required. Just good to have a writer with a face like yours in our company.”
A face like mine? What the fuck? How does he know what my face even looks like? The allure I felt upon first hearing him has now dissipated and replaced by utter annoyance.Fucking asshole.I do not like that he is basically insinuating I will be some trophy. I want to work, not be his arm candy.
I take a deep breath in, trying to give myself a second to calm my boiling blood. This man is seriously testing me. He must be. Who conducts a Goddamn interview like this? He is ballsy, I will give him that, but his rich, CEO ass doesn’t intimidate me. I’m the daughter of a professional conman, his tactics don’t phase me so much as they ignite my desire to beat him at his own game.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Moretti, but have we met before? Your last name sounds familiar to me. I just can’t place the full name,” I ask, wanting to pry more information out of him.
