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“Wow,” I muttered, as I crossed to the front desk. “This guy has a thing for plants.”
At the desk, I introduced myself. “I’m Jamie Reed,” I said. “I’ve got an interview with Mr. Slade.”
The lady at the front desk looked up at me and gently tossed one of her blonde locks to the side. I’ve always been jealous of girls with blonde hair. My mom was a blonde, with a kind smile and blue eyes that never let me out of her sight. As a teenager I’d tried all kinds of things—peroxide dyes, balayage—but these days I’d accepted I was going to be mousey-brown for the rest of my life. Turns out there are some things even airbrush can’t fix.
“With Mr. Slade?” she said. “Are you sure?”
“I think so,” I said carefully. My dad had warned me that it was rare for Eric to interview someone for a job, even in a corporate role. I knew I was lucky that a billionaire bigshot like Slade was even going to give me the time of day. Not that I cared all that much. I figured he’d take one look at me and send me back to my dad. After all, it wasn’t like I knew much of anything about metals and technology—despite the frequent lectures I’d received about platinum mining and computer tech from my dad at the dinner table. Back then, I was far more interested in curating a perfect Insta story or filling my Facebook with pictures of fancy coffees.
“It looks like you’re booked in for three o’clock,” the receptionist said, as she looked nervously at the clock behind her. I checked my phone for the time. It said 2:58.
“That’s right,” I said cheerfully.
“Well, go on,” she replied.
Did I detect a hint of nervousness? I thanked her, took a visitor’s pass card, and proceeded to the elevator. Inside the cold metal box, I scanned my card and selected the top floor of the building.
“This place is pretty high-tech,” I said. But then, I expected nothing less from Eric Slade. He not only mined and engineered rare metals, but also designed and built things with them. Communications, military hardware, high-tech batteries, and solar panels. He was at the cutting edge of technology. Hence, the fancy elevator.
I got out on the twelfth floor and walked down the narrow corridor. Unlike the lobby, this part of the building was quiet. It was late on a Friday, and I guessed that most of the employees had probably gone home by now. It wasn’t until much later that I realized the twelfth floor was specifically reserved for Eric’s private office and the high-tech, secure servers that powered the building’s state-of-the-art laboratories.
When I got to the end of the long corridor, I found myself in a small waiting room. Through the window, I could see across the bay. And by an enormous, dark wooden door, I could see a brass plaque. It read:
Eric Slade
CEO
I looked at my clock again. It read “3:00.” I was right on time.
“Excuse me,” I said to the PA, who was furiously typing at her computer. “I’m Jamie Reed? I have an appointment with Mr. Slade.”
“Oh, thank goodness you made it!” she replied, without even looking up from her computer screen. “Please, go in.”
“You don’t want me to wait?” I said.
The PA looked up with more than a hint of anxiety. Wide-eyed, she whispered to me.
“He’s waiting for you,” she told me. As though I should shake in my boots at the prospect of meeting with Eric.
I don’t normally suffer with nerves, but I confess that my heart skipped a beat as I walked up to the heavy oak door. What did I know about Eric? He was my dad’s friend—but then again, I paid about as little attention to my dad’s social circle of forty-something businessmen as he did to mine.
I knocked on the door and opened it before stepping through.
White walls. A white floor of cold stone. The room was enormous—Slade’s office was about as big as my entire apartment. And it was bare, too. My eyes slowly wandered to the enormous, pale desk by the window. And there, by a huge, dark chair, standing with his back to me, was Eric.
He was big. Broad-shouldered, with muscular arms and powerful legs. He must have been well over six feet, too. And he wore his hair cropped close. I could see it was turning steel-grey around the sides. I couldn’t resist smiling a little as I saw that. I’d always been a sucker for a silver fox—while other girls my age were mooning over Zac Efron and Robert Pattinson, I’d always preferred the older movie stars, like George Clooney and Leo!
He turned around, revealing a chiseled jawline and a pair of chocolate-brown eyes that seemed to gleam bright against the gray landscape that was visible through the window. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
“You’re late,” he growled.
My hands fell to my sides in astonishment, and I gasped as I heard my phone fall out of my hand and clack on the floor. I bent down to pick it up, and as I rose back up again, I stammered a little.
“Sorry,” I said. “I thought it was three o’clock.”
“It is,” he said, gesturing to a huge, silver hand pointing upwards on the clock face mounted on the wall of his office. “I’m rather keen on punctuality, Miss Reed.”
“Please, call me Jamie,” I said, stepping forward with my hand outstretched. In a few powerful strides, Eric crossed the room to meet me. He took my outstretched hand in one of his enormous paws. His grip sent a shock of warmth through me.
