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Two minutes later, Lucas walks in, a half-eaten bagel in his hand.
I give him a pointed look.
The company lawyer shrugs. “I got hungry on the way. Don’t worry though. I ordered you something. Elise will let the guy up.”
“Then, why’re you here?” I frown.
Lucas takes the seat next to Oliver.
“That was not an invitation for you to sit,” I state.
Lucas chews thoughtfully, before saying, “Lana looks mad. I just ran into her on my way here. She told me to tell you that your head is stuck up your ass and you’re a little bitch.”
“She said all of that?” I study him blandly.
Lucas shrugs, once again, unrepentantly. “I added the last part, but it was in her eyes.”
“Amusing,” I respond with a deadpan expression. “Now, what do you two want?”
“Information.” Lucas raises a brow, an effect that s lost on me due to the cream cheese sticking on the side of his chin.
“About what?” I ask, reaching out for some papers. “I’m a busy man.”
“He’s lying,” Oliver says with a malicious look. He glances at Lucas. “He’s lying. I know for a fact that all his paperwork is done for this week.”
I wonder if it’s possible to ban my top consultant and my lawyer from the building.
“There are four ladies in the lobby and yet, Lana says you’re set on only one of them to be your PA. Why?” Lucas’ eyes gleam with interest.
I lean forward.
He instinctively shifts towards me, believing that I must be about to impart the truth.
“None of your fucking business,” I say. The words are said with a faint smile.
Lucas looks irritable. “You know we’ll find out, eventually.”
I smirk. “As
long as you steer clear of her, I don’t care.”
Oliver studies me with an intent look, his calculating mind probably drawing conclusions. He finally says, “You know her.”
I choose not to dignify that with a response.
So he continues slowly, “You know her but she doesn’t know you, does she? Otherwise, you wouldn’t be going through this whole charade of interviews.”
My intercom buzzes and a male voice says, “Mr. Starr, Miss Renald is here for the job interview.”
My eyes don’t leave Oliver’s as I arch a brow, arrogantly. “I think it’s time you ladies left.”
Three interviews later, I fix my tie and smooth my hair out, anticipating the arrival of the final candidate, the one I intend to hire. My hand reaches for the polished stone in my pocket and I roll it between my fingers, idly, a force of habit now.
“Mr. Starr, should I let Miss West in?”
I release the stone. “Yes.” I turn to face the window, not sure whether she would recognize me or not.
The clicking of heels on the marble tiles and a hesitant voice that has only grown so much sweeter over the years says, “Mr. Starr?”
