“If you’re going to be my personal assistant, Miss Riley, you don’t need to use the formalities.”
“In that case, you may call me Nora.” I don’t flinch at the lie. After all, my real name has only a one-letter difference.
He smiles, but this one appears to be another forced one. “I’ll see you tomorrow at nine, Nora.”
“That’s it? No other questions?” I blurt, my calm composure slipping a little. I expected more of an interrogation.
He almost laughs, his mouth twitching. “No. My employees were comprehensive with their interviews, and I read their extensive reports on you. I did a little research, myself.”
“Oh?” He has me sweating as I stare at the almost conspiratorial look on his face. I take a sip of coffee to hide my surprise and rising panic.
“You never mentioned your modeling career in the interviews.”
I almost spit out my drink. I’ve never had a modeling career, and I have a feeling I know where he got that information.
“It was very short-lived,” I comment, trying to sound sincere, but it comes out through clenched teeth. Squeezing my fists beneath the surfaceof the desk, I try not to hang up and go straight to Ella, who is the one responsible for my fake identity with each assignment.
She failed to mention that little detail about my “past.” Likely because she knew I’d hate it.
“Not your thing, Miss Riley?”
I thought I told him to call me Nora?
“No. Not enough action for my liking.”
“Action?” The ghost of his dimple reappears.
I could punch the insinuation off his face, but I smile sweetly. “I need lots of different types of tasks that keep me on my toes, Mr. Mills.”
He doesn’t miss me calling him Mr. Mills instead of Owen.
His smile broadens. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Riley.”
His image disappears, leaving me staring at the post-video blue and white screen.
“Ella!” I call from my desk.
From the slow way the door opens, I can tell she knows I’m unhappy with her.
“Yes?” she squeaks.
I swivel my chair around, finding her poking only her head through the doorway, her red curls falling in front of her face.
“A modeling career?” I drawl, but I can’t help the quirk of my lips.
Ella laughs nervously. “Seemed appropriate for the literal hottest, richest bachelor on the planet.”
“I appreciate the thought, Ella, but the man is not interested in looks when it comes to his employees. He only wants brains and a good work ethic. He made that very, very clear in our conversation.”
“Really?” Ella sounds horrified that she made such a terrible miscalculation.
I sigh. “It didn’t cost me the position, but he only asked me two questions, and one of them was about my ‘modeling career.’”
Ella opens the door so her entire body is visible. “Perhaps he was just curious?”
I snort. “The man couldn’t stop making assumptions based on my looks.”
“Like every other man who ever meets you?”
