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8. The Interview
Jules
Finding a job is tougher than I thought it would be. Sure, the opportunities are plentiful, but there’s also more competition. For the past three weeks, during every job application and interview, Mom’s scathing disapproval followed me around like a destructive shadow. She laid into me over the phone the morning I called her and told her where I was.
Seattle? Seriously, Julia?
Do you really think you’ll make it on your own, halfway across the country? You don’t know how to be alone. When have you ever been alone a day in your life?
Running away is cowardly. It’s beneath you. Chris dumping you was the best thing that could have happened, as was getting fired from that wretched job. That boy did you a favor, so stop acting like a child and come home.
No doubt, she thought her sharp words would be enough to get me on a plane back to Oklahoma, but truth be told, my first phone call home only drove me to succeed.
No fucking way am I going back. If I have to take Les up on her offer and work in a coffee shop for a while, I will. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. The issue is my pride…and possibly my aversion to all things java. The main reason I’m determined to push forward is the voice in my head whispering that I have something to prove to the world.
But mostly to myself.
As I enter the atrium level at Mont Center, my heels tapping across the immaculate floor, I’m still in shock I was called up for an interview here. I submitted my resume on a whim, despite being ridiculously unqualified to work as an assistant for a CEO of such a well-known conglomerate. And don’t get me started on my lack of experience. I doubt The Powers That Be at MontBlake Holdings will appreciate the two years I worked for a small accounting firm in the midwest.
And yet here I am, striding across the first floor of the elaborate atrium like I belong here. Like I have a shot in hell of landing this job, never mind my fear that Perry will bust any chances I have at working as an assistant again. He promised to give me a good recommendation, but no one’s hired me yet, so I’m skeptical.
Jabbing the button for the elevator, I can’t help but gawk at my surroundings. A vaulted ceiling rises several stories high. The space overhead is monstrous and full of sharp angles. It’s an asymmetrical masterpiece. But I would expect nothing less, considering the company’s track record when it comes to the design of buildings and hotels.
Patrons meander in and out of the various boutiques as the rich aroma of coffee wafts through the air, mingling with the fresh scent of plant life. My favorite part is the towering wall of windowpanes where the sun beams through. A person could lose a whole day in this place, shopping, sipping tea, and reading a good book while curled up in one of the overstuffed chairs scattered throughout.
As the doors to the elevator slide open, I can hardly believe I’m interviewing for a position as the CEO’s assistant. I’m sure I’ll exit the building in the next hour as jobless as when I entered, but at least I can say I tried, because I sure as hell don’t have the luxury of giving in to my insecurities now. My living situation feels more crowded every day. I have no idea how Les can handle living surrounded by guys all the time, but if I have one more bathroom incident with Garen, I’ll lose my shit.
The guy seems to know exactly when I’m in there, and the fucking lock on the door doesn’t work. I wonder if he broke it just to have an excuse to walk in on me. Maybe it’s payback for my faux pas my first morning there.
I don’t think so, though. Garen Ashmore has a voice as seductive as sin, and a body to match. The problem is he knows it, and ever since I moved in, he’s had his sights set on me. When he’s not too busy banging anything in a skirt, that is.
The elevator dings on the thirty-eighth floor, and the doors part before me to reveal a sleek reception area. Floor-to-ceiling windows stand to my left, offering an up-close-and-personal view of downtown Seattle. I stride across spotless white marble and approach the young brunette behind the reception counter. A wall of slate tile stands behind her, providing a contrasting backdrop to the floor that seems too clean to set foot on.
“Welcome to MontBlake,” she says with a welcoming smile. “How can I help you?”
“I have an interview with Mr. Montgomery. I’m a little early.” Better to be early than late, is my motto.
“You must be”—her manicured fingers dance over the computer keyboard—“Julia Harley?”
“Yes, that’s me. But most people call me Jules.”
Real smooth. For fuck’s sake, Jules. Calm the hell down.
Her smile doesn’t slip. “Mr. Montgomery will be with you shortly, Jules. Feel free to take a seat.”
I settle into a wingback chair and try not to twiddle my thumbs, or bite the nails off of them. Someone offers me something to drink, but my stomach is one giant knot, so I decline. While I wait, I people-watch. The reception area is a busy place, but all activity seems to stall when a woman with striking black hair steps off the elevator. Everyone in the vicinity takes notice as she crosses the room, the tap-tap-tap of her heels sounding off a purposeful echo. Luscious, curly locks cascade down her back, and her red power suit is obviously designed by someone important.
This woman, whoever she is, doesn’t buy things off the rack.
“Hello, Mrs. Montgomery,” the receptionist greets her with the same warm smile she graced me with.
“My husband is interviewing today, yes?”
“Yes, he is, Mrs. Montgomery.”
“Clear some time on his schedule for me after his next interview,” she says quietly, her voice a melodious lilt.
So this is the CEO’s wife.
