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“I’ve seen all I need to see. Hire this one.” He flapped his hand at Willow. “She’ll do.”
“How nice of you to say,” Willow trace, only the faintest trace of irony in her voice.
I cut her a look, half amused, half annoyed with the both of them. “That’s not how it works, Miller. As I mentioned, I get final say on this hire. HR is getting tired of the new hire paperwork considering this is thefourth timethey’ve had to do it.”
Miller was already heading for the door. He flipped his hand up, like he wanted to give us both the finger, but he managed to restrain himself and keep all five fingers up. It was just barely a goodbye instead of a fuck you, but pretty good for Miller. Then he banged his way out of my office, said something loudly to my executive assistant on the way out about a waste of good waves, and we heard his clomping footsteps fade down the hall.
Willow and I had both been staring at the door, but now, slowly, we looked back at each other. She raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Did I get the job?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose again. Did she? I didn’t fucking know. Her resume was great. I had no doubt her references would be the same. She would absolutely be able to handle Miller. My only question was–would he be able to handle her? I pulled my hand away from my face and did my best to hide my irritation. “We’re still in the middle of the interview process, but we’ll be in touch,” I said smoothly.
Willow glanced pointedly toward Miller’s empty seat, then she stood up and held out her hand. “Thanks so much for your time, Mr. Lewis.”
I took her hand automatically, and a jolt ran up the length of my arm all the way to my elbow. I tightened my grip reflexively. Willow’s eyes widened fractionally, and she pulled her hand out of mine with a jerk. We both stared at each other, the air thickening with tension around us. I opened my mouth to apologize, but I didn’t know what for. I didn’t know if she’d even felt the jolt, or if the wary look in her eyes was because I’d clamped down on her hand like one of us was falling.
“I–thank you,” I said, trying to get my bearings.
I stayed on my feet until she let herself out of my office, then I sank down into the chair. I had no doubt she was going to be the best interview, but how the hell was I going to hire a woman who kept knocking me off balance like this?
5
WILLOW
There was no doubt in my mind I’d gotten the job. The falsified resume and references that Fletcher put together for me might have done it by itself, but on top of that, I knew I’d nailed the interview. Miller was your classic, temperamental, didn’t-want-to-be-understood genius.
I understood that. My mom, after the fiasco with Fletcher, had dated a dozen creatives just like Miller. They were drawn to her startling, stunning, unusual beauty. She became their muse. Artists painted her. Composers wrote songs about her. Writers wrote books about her. Watching her with each of these pseudo-stepfather figures had taught me exactly how to handle a man like Miller. Patiently but firmly. Recognize the brilliance but shut down the shit. If you worship the ground they walk on, they’ll walk all overyou.
Even though Julian Lewis, the winner of the nepotism lottery, had tried to play it cool, I knew that he wasn’t going to hire anyone else. Who else could handle Miller? Three other production assistants clearly hadn’t, and now he was desperate.
Almost giddy with satisfaction, I called my mother when I got home. She knew exactly what I was doing, and she didn’t approve, but she knew that her disapproval wouldn’t stop me.
“I got it,” I told her when she picked up. “It’s not official, but I’m sure of it.” I told her about Miller and how much he reminded me of her various ex-lovers.
“Well, if anyone can handle him, it’s you, baby girl.” I heard the distracted pride in her voice, the sound of a zipper being pulled closed. She must still be packing. I pictured her leaning her weight on it, dragging her hand around the perimeter, the small silver key between her thumb and forefinger. Sounding slightly out of breath, she asked, “And you’re sure you want to do this?”
“I’m sure,” I said determinedly. Seeing Julian Lewis’s smug, golden boy face had erased any niggling moral hangups I had about taking this job under false pretenses. This stupid town was built on false pretenses. It wasn’t like he’d earned his position either. It had been served to him on a golden platter instead of slipped under the table, but it amounted to the same thing.
“-very handsome,” my mother was saying.
I dragged my attention back to her. “Who?Miller?” I didn’t see it, but my mom had a soft spot for creatives. She was as attracted to the spare, elegant composer with the soft voice and black turtlenecks as she was to the grungy artist with years of paint staining his nail beds and the hair that hadn’t been washed in so long it was turning into dreads.
“No, well, him too, but I was talking about Julian Lewis.” I heard her exhale and pictured her falling across her bed beside her suitcase, phone wedged between her shoulder and ear. “He looks just like his father used to.”
“His father? You didn’t–” I wrinkled my nose, unable to finish the question.
“No, no. He was already married, and you know me. Fool me once.” My mom paused, “I would have otherwise though. Those eyes alone…”
“Okay, I have to go.” I walked into my kitchen. It was early for dinner, but I hadn’t eaten lunch. I’d been too nervous.
My mom laughed. “My girl, the prude. There’s nothing wrong with admiring a handsome man, baby. Just keep your hands off the married ones. Julian isn’t married, is he?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” I opened my refrigerator and frowned at the contents. A full shelf of Cherry Pepsi because I couldn’t function without it. A half-empty jar of pickles. Yogurt. I pulled open my freezer and found pizza rolls and vodka. None of it appealed. “Do you want to go to dinner?”
“At three pm?”
“It’s six in New York.”
“Compelling argument, but I’m leaving for the airport in an hour.”
