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Her eyes are as wide as dinner plates and although her mouth is opening and closing like she's trying to speak; no words are coming out. She seriously looks like she's seeing a ghost. I'm doing my best to hold in my laughter. Given the fact that historically, she's always been a bit – prickly – with me, I somehow don't think she'd appreciate it. Let alone see the humor in it.
I take a seat across from her at the conference table and fall silent as I take her in. She looks almost the same as she did the last time I saw her. Emily's honey-blonde hair is pulled back into a simple ponytail that falls to the middle of her back, her eyes the color of warm, rich caramel, and her skin is still flawless and a cool shade of pale. Her full hips, round breasts, and hourglass figure are every bit as appealing today as they were back in the day.
The only difference I can see in her today is that her wardrobe isn't top-of-the-line anymore. She's dressed nicely and is well-put together, but I remember the girl who always wore the latest fashions and looked like she stepped right off of a runway. The woman before me is still smartly dressed, but I can tell that it's been done on a budget.
Which makes me very curious about the turns her life has taken and how she went from affluent law student to a woman searching for an hourly job that seems – well – far below her station, not to mention her intelligence level.
“Mr. Steel, I –”
I tilt my head at her. “Seriously? Mr. Steel?”
Her cheeks flush and she can't quite hold my gaze. “Well, considering the fact that if I sign these papers, you'd apparently be my new boss, it's only appropriate to address you properly.”
“If you sign the papers?”
“I'm just – considering all of my options.”
I rub at the stubble on my chin, producing a dry, scratchy sound as I take her in. It doesn't surprise me that she has options – Emily's always been a whip-smart, driven woman. Which is what makes having her sitting before me all the more confusing. She should be some big-shot lawyer like she always planned by now.
“Fair enough,” I say. “Is there an issue with the salary? If there is –”
“No, no, it's not that,” she interrupts. “It's more than fair. It's incredibly generous, actually. I assume you had something to do with the increase from the posted salary?”
I shrug. “I may have said something to Ms. Reynolds about altering the offer sheet,” I say, then add quickly, “But it's only because I know what we'd be getting in you and I understand that you have to pay to acquire top talent.”
She sits back in her seat, her eyes still focused on the offer sheet sitting in front of her. I can see she's debating with herself. Honestly, I have no idea which way she's leaning. The room is silent, the air between us filled with a tight sense of tension. I know we didn't end things on a particularly great note – after I came back from my year abroad, she flat-out disappeared from my life – but that was all in the past. At least, it is as far as I was concerned. I don’t know, though, if she was still holding a grudge.
“What's keeping you from signing?” I ask.
“I just – I don't know if working for you is appropriate given our – history.”
“That was a long time ago, Emily,” I say. “It's ancient history as far as I'm concerned.”
“Yeah, but –”
“For one thing, I'm not the same man I was back then. And for two, I'm a businessman. I know how to keep things professional,” I cut her off. “Our – history – isn't an issue for me. If anything, that history makes you a better candidate; simply because I know what I can expect from you.”
“And what is it you think you can expect from me?” she counters. “After all, I'm not the same woman I was back in college either.”
“I'd hope you're not. As much as we grow and evolve, I know that some personality traits never change within a person,” I offer. “I know you're a tireless worker. A perfectionist. I know that you're dedicated to whatever you put your mind to and you're incredibly driven. Also, I appreciate a person with your level of intelligence.”
“Flattery doesn't work on me,” she mutters. “You of all people should know that.”
“Oh, believe me, I do. That's why I only deal in facts and reason,” I shoot back. “And that's something you, of all people, should know.”
She looks at the page and fidgets with the pen in her hand as the room around us falls silent. I honestly have no idea what she's going to do. If there's one thing I know about Emily, it's that she's a woman of principle. She's tough. And she won’t put herself in a bad position. I'd hoped the years that had passed might have alleviated the awkwardness between us, but it doesn't seem to have dulled it very much.
“Know how to keep things professional, huh?” she asks, a small grin on her lips. “Is bumping up the pay for a menial job to this level – professional? I'd call it more personal.”
I shrug. “Call it my discretion as the founder and CEO of this company then,” I tell her. “I pay people what they're worth. That's always been my way.”
“The original salary listed was already above industry standards for this sort of position, though. I checked.”
“See, and this is why you're worth every penny on that offer sheet,” I chuckle as I point to the binder. “You do your homework.”
“Still doesn't explain how that pay bump is keeping things professional.”
“Call it my prerogative then. I believe in paying for quality,” I explain. “And believe me, you're going to earn every penny of it. I'm sure Ms. Reynolds has already briefed you about how difficult I can be?”
