Prologue
The espresso machinewhirls to life as people talk and music plays in the background. The coffee shop is packed with everyone on their way to work. While usually I take this time to people-watch, I can’t help but fret today.
I need this job.
On paper, I’m a shoo-in. I have all the right training and experience. On paper, I am perfect, but that doesn’t mean anything. Not in the world of being a personal assistant. It doesn’t matter how good I am. If my boss and I don’t get along, I’m screwed.
Which is the position I find myself in now. I hate my current boss. He’s always running behind on projects due to his lack of time management skills and blames it on me. If that isn’t bad enough, he has me order gifts for his side pieces and his wife at the same time.
I just can’t keep doing it.
If I get this job, I’m going to write his wife an anonymous note and give her all the proof she needs to divorce his ass and take him for all he’s worth.
I just need to get this job first.
A steam wand hisses to life as a barista calls out someone’s order. A man bumps into me from behind.
“Sorry,” the man murmurs.
I look over my shoulder at him, and my breath catches.
His dark hair is short on the sides but messy on top. He’s got on a suit, looking the part of a businessman, but his tie is askew. His eyes are brown with hints of gold and scream kindness.
If you looked up my type in the dictionary, his picture would be front and center.
“Are you all right? I didn’t hurt you when I bumped into you, did I?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I murmur, not able to take my eyes off of him.
He tilts his head to the side and studies me. “Are you sure? You look a little stressed.”
It’s the crooked grin that has my lips loosening.
Maybe if I speak my worries out loud, they will fade away.
“Actually, I’m so far from okay, it’s not even funny,” I blurt out, my nerves over this morning getting the better of me.
Before he can say anything, I spill my guts out to him. I tell him how I’m on my way to an interview. How I hate my current boss and how horrible he is. I tell him everything.
“So you see, I really need this job. I need to nail this interview like my life depends on it.” My eyes widen. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I just told you all of that. I am so, so sorry.”
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t laugh at me.
He steps forward so he’s next to me and gives me his full attention.
“Are you qualified for the job you are going for?” he asks.
“One hundred percent. I worked as an assistant all through high school and college. After I got my degree in business management, I moved on to a bigger company. I got my foot in the door and hoped it would lead to a management position, but when the man I worked for retired, there was nowhere for me togo since they eliminated the position, so I had to start all over. That’s how I ended up with this job.”
“The one you hate,” he muses.
“Yes,” I say, feeling my cheeks flush.
“What makes you want to work for the company that you are applying for?” he asks.
For a moment, I contemplate telling him the name of the company, but choose not to. He’s a stranger, but he doesn’t need to know where I might end up working. That would be going a bit too far even if part of me hopes that if I got the job, he might come looking for me.
“I did a quick Google search, and not a single negative thing popped up. The company has a solid reputation. The listing also said that there would be a possibility of travel from time to time, which sounds fantastic. I love Boston, but sometimes it’s nice to get out and explore for a day or two.”
