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I can’t believe he’s a goddamn billionaire…
If I didn’t land this job, I would take the remaining money from Sarah Kay and travel to Portland next week for an interview with Nike. If I did get it, I would check out of this place the moment the sun came up and find another short-term rental that was (hopefully) a tad less shitty.
My phone suddenly pinged with an email notification and I took a deep breath before opening it.
SUBJECT: IN REGARD to the Marketing Director Position at Pier Autumn Coffee
Dear Miss Kennedy,
Thank you for your interest in the marketing director position. We appreciate you taking the time to visit our Seattle office and interview with our board.
While we were impressed with your skill set, we regret to inform you that we have chosen to proceed with another candidate.
We wish you the best of luck in your career.
Human Resources,
on behalf of Sean Holmes
MY HEART DROPPED. I couldn’t believe it.
I contemplated showing up to their office tomorrow and asking if there was another position I could be considered for, but my email pinged again.
SUBJECT: RE: IN REGARD to the Marketing Director Position at Pier Autumn Coffee
Dear Miss Kennedy,
Please disregard the previous email. Our CEO must have made a mistake when speaking to Human Resources.
Our board was thoroughly impressed with your interview and blown away with your demonstrated skill set. We’d like you to return to Pier Autumn Coffee on Monday for an official overview and a salary negotiation session.
If you’re interested, please reply, and we look forward to meeting you on the 50th floor.
Human Resources,
on behalf of Joseph Jewell
like you never existed
Kate
RAINDROPS DANCED AGAINST the top of the town car as I rode to headquarters Monday morning. My plan to focus on non-James things over the weekend had failed miserably, and I was hoping I wouldn’t have to see him around the office for a while.
At least not today.
I hadn’t been able to sleep since I accepted the job offer, and I’d driven myself crazy thinking about how terrible the two of us working together would be. In between wild thoughts of him firing me (and fucking me), I’d spent hours researching “Sean G. Holmes.”
Just like when we were younger, though, there wasn’t much to be found. There were a few popular finance blogs that extensively reported on his company, but very little about him.
I had to dig past thirty web pages just to get a picture, and it was on a defunct gossip blog with two small bits of information.
Rumor has it that Mr. Holmes is not a fan of having his picture taken. With a gorgeous face like that, we can’t understand why. (He also wields NDAs like a fucking weapon and shut down our blog for reporting him. #effhim )
Still, I read the small printed bits about his numerous relationships with high profile women, and I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy. My heart was hanging in an uncomfortable limbo—dangling between the hurt and pain of seeing him again, and the love of knowing that he was doing so well for himself.
“We’re here, Miss Kennedy.” The driver smiled at me through the rearview mirror as we pulled into the circular driveway.
When he stopped, a doorman approached my door and opened it for me.
“Welcome to the team at Pier Autumn Coffee, Miss Kennedy,” he said. “Glad to have you here. I’ve heard great things.”
“Thank you.” I smiled, wondering if I was overreacting. If working under James wouldn’t be that bad.
He did insist on getting me town car service…Then again, maybe that was Mr. Jewell.
Walking inside, I headed straight for the elevator and hit the up button.
The doors glided open and my wish for not seeing James today was instantly denied. Looking gorgeous as ever, he stared me up and down. Then he hit a button and the doors began to close.
Is he serious?
I stuck my hand in before they could completely shut and stepped inside, quickly hitting the button for the fiftieth floor. I tried to think of something to say, but small talk seemed too insignificant. “Why the hell didn’t you come back to me?” seemed a bit much.
The doors closed, revealing our reflections in their polished silver. James’s eyes met mine as I stood next to him. I tried to resist looking at him, but I couldn’t help it. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were pushed up to his elbows, revealing the tribal tattoos on his arm.
The scent of his cologne was intoxicating, and I felt myself being drawn to him against my will.
The elevator came to a sudden stop on Floor Seven, and a group of fifteen people stepped on mid-laughter, pushing the two of us to the back.
His fingers brushed against mine, and before I could move my hand away, the elevator stopped again. This time on Floor Eleven, this time with six more people—forcing everyone to step back.
