He simply lifted his chin before tilting his head toward the table. “Is that your resume?”
“Oh. Yes.” I handed the paper to him. “A lot of my work has been on a volunteer basis, but I still took it as seriously as a paying job. My expertise is in organization, but I’m also great with communication.”
“Does that include phone calls?” he asked, glancing up at me.
“Of course.”
“Good because I hate making them, and Alex never managed to, either.” He continued scanning the minimal list of my unsalaried accomplishments.
I untucked my blonde hair before sliding it back into place as I gnawed on my bottom lip. Unable to keep the words in, they tumbled out in a breathless ramble. “I know most of that is helping with medical fundraisers and events, but the organizational concepts are the same. Those were just the opportunities I had because my father is a doctor.” Realizing how that came out, I quickly amended, “Not that I got thembecauseof him. I worked very hard. And I did very little workforhim.”
Likely because he was selling prescriptions. Who knows what else he was hiding?
Tripp raised his focus to me, and—thank God—it was enough to halt my words before that inner thought became an outer one. He already sat close, but he leaned closer still, his gray eyes seeming to sear into me like he could read my every inner thought anyway.
I wonder if he wears colored contacts.
Or maybe he got some experimental rich person surgery to change the color.
I don’t think I care either way, I just want him to keep looking at me.
He smiled, and a surge of panic shot through me that he really could read my mind. Or, more likely, that I’d been so mesmerized by his handsomeness that I’d said it out loud. But that wasn’t it. “Don’t worry. As a certified nepo baby, I know that you aren’t one.” He shook the paper. “You have too many sensible skills.”
My brows lowered. “You’re a nepo baby?”
It was his turn to look a little confused. “My dad is Clark Carter.”
“Oh,” I murmured, not knowing who that was but being polite enough to pretend.
Tripp saw through my weak act. “I take it you never watched soaps when you were home sick?”
“I was aThePrice Is Rightkid.”
“A better choice. Clark was the longest running star in the longest running soap opera before he retired.”
“That’s really cool.”
“It’s something,” he muttered as he looked back down at the paper. “All of this looks good.”
I worried he would offer me the job.
I mean, I wanted the job. But I didn’t want him offering it on the same breezy whim that he might eventually fire me on.
But he wasn’t done with the interview.
Sitting up straight, he rotated the chair so he was looking directly at me. He had a knack for that. Focusing in like there was nothing else around. It was disconcerting and distracting, but I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to.
Which I didn’t.
Should I count his attractiveness as a con to working for him?
Tripp was all business, and I felt guilty for inappropriately ogling him. “Since you’ve never been a personal assistant, it would probably be easier if I told you about the job. After that, you can let me know if it’s something you’re interested in.”
At my nod, he listed off the day-to-day obligations I’d expected. Setting and tracking appointments. Running errands. Reservations. Travel arrangements.
All things that I could easily handle. All things Ilikedto handle, and that would help strengthen those needed skills for when I moved on to my actual career.
But then he got to the nittier of the nitty gritty, and the looming doubt grew more encompassing. “Of course, you would also be attending events, press junkets, and filmings with me.”
