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This position is more than a title and a salary bump; it’s my ticket to prove my worth. To the world, and to myself. It is my chance to prove that a girl who had to work three jobs to get through college could not only survive in the corporate world but knock it out of the park.
As I get myself worked up, I'm transported back to a cold wintery night growing up, huddled over textbooks.
My eyes are stinging with exhaustion, but I keep them trained on the page in front of me. I'm determined to memorize every single word.
The front door creaks open, breaking the silence. And heavy, tired footsteps echo down the hallway.
"Bailey," my mom sighs, dropping her purse to the floor. "It's past midnight, honey. You should be sleeping."
"I can't, Mom," I say without looking up from my textbooks, my hand gripping my pen. My voice is small but determined. "I need to study, need to do well so we won't have to..."
There's a beat of silence before I hear her tired sigh. "Bailey..." she starts, her voice strained with exhaustion. "You're just a kid. You shouldn't be worrying about these things. That's my job."
She tries to laugh, but it sounds hollow, devoid of any real humor.
"Well, you're never here, Mom." The words slip out before I can stop them.
There's another silence, longer this time. "I know," she finally says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m doing the best I can.” I hear her footsteps retreat, leaving me once again in the silence of my solitude.
The guilt washes over me, but I push it down, focusing once more on the words in front of me. In the silence, my father’s absence is loud.
The memory stings, a harsh reminder of the hurdles I’ve jumped and the battles I’ve fought to be where I am today.
I shake my head and look up at Logan and I can see the amusement in his dark brown, hypnotic eyes. I force my eyes to my desk chair and start walking toward it. As I sit, I remind myself that I am here to work, not to let the playboy Adonis invade my professional territory and jeopardize everything I've worked for.
I'll be damned if I let anything or anyone, especially Logan Atwood, stand in my way.
"I will need to verify this so-calledtrainingyou're here for," I say as I start my computer. "I mean, considering you've never had to work a day in your life..." The words leave my mouth with a snappiness that I didn’t know I had in me.
There are more rumors about Logan that I've heard. There's one about how he can't hold a job to save his life. He bounces around from one cushy position to another, never bothered by the fact that he's never had a steady job.
I mean, his dad – my boss – is a mega-billionaire. Logan is a billionaire by inheritance.
And it pisses me off.
Logan looks at me, completely unfazed by my attempts to intimidate him. His eyes scan me up and down, taking in my slicked-back bun, pinstripe skirt suit, and black frame glasses.
"You know what you need?" he says, raising an eyebrow.
"What's that?" My voice comes out more curious than I intended.
He leans back on my desk. “A little bit of fun.”
I roll my eyes. “Right. A little bit of fun...that’sthe secret to success."
"It seems to be working for me.”
"Advice from someone who's had everything handed to him in life." I glare at him. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." I swivel my chair back around, dismissing him.
Logan chuckles, pushing off my desk. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, don't you?"
I fight the urge to roll my eyes again. Instead of appearing insulted, he seems entertained.
He walks over to the window, arms crossed over his chest, and looks out at the city below. "I do have my fair share of fun, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand hard work."
"Right. You work hard partying, womanizing... Very impressive, Logan."
He turns around to face me, leaning back on the window sill. "And what about you, Bailey? What do you do for fun, or is fun not part of the plan?"
