"Ms. Quinn." I gestured to the chair across from my desk. "Sit."
She moved with deliberate grace, spine straight, chin lifted. Confidence without arrogance. Her resume sat on my desk—impressive credentials, excellent references. But a piece of paper told me nothing about the woman herself.
"Why do you want this position?" I asked, remaining standing. Power dynamics—I'd perfected them years ago.
She met my gaze directly. "I don't believe in wasting time, Mr. Barone. I'm the best at what I do. I organize chaos, anticipate needs, and solve problems before they become problems. I'm discreet, efficient, and I don't require handholding."
Direct. Refreshing after the first two candidates. But something else caught my attention—the slight pause when she first looked at me, a tension in her shoulders that hadn't fully released.
"Your previous employer was Jensen Financial. Why leave?"
"The glass ceiling there was reinforced steel." She didn't blink. "I prefer environments where competence matters more than gender or connections."
I circled my desk, leaning against it, closer to her. "And you believe Barone Industries offers that?"
"Your company has a reputation for rewarding results, not relationships. I deliver results."
As she spoke, I caught her scent—citrus with something softer underneath. Vanilla, perhaps. It triggered something—a flash of memory. Warm skin under my hands. A laugh, low and intimate. A hotel room overlooking water.
The memory dissipated before I could grasp it.
"You'd be required to travel," I said, watching her reaction. "Sometimes with little notice."
"I'm adaptable." A slight hesitation. "Though I would need advance notice for overnight trips."
Interesting. "Family obligations?"
Her expression cooled. "Personal obligations. Nothing that would interfere with my performance."
I moved closer, ostensibly to retrieve her resume. In reality, I wanted to see if she'd flinch. She didn't, but her breathing changed—faster, shallower.
"You're overqualified," I said bluntly. "Your skills would be wasted on calendar management and travel arrangements."
"With respect, Mr. Barone, you don't know what skills I bring until you see me work. Executive assistant is the title. What you're really hiring is someone to make your life run smoother. I excel at that."
The corner of my mouth twitched. Backbone. I respected that.
I sat in my chair, studying her. Something about her pulled at me—familiar yet foreign. Her eyes held secrets, and if there was onething I'd learned in both my businesses, secrets were either valuable or dangerous. Often both.
"Tell me something that's not on your resume, Ms. Quinn."
She paused, considering. "I have an eidetic memory. I never forget a face, a name, or a detail once I've seen it."
My instincts sharpened. "Useful skill."
"It can be." Something flashed across her face—caution, perhaps.
She claimed never to forget a face. If we'd met before—and that nagging sense of familiarity suggested we had—would she admit it? Or was she here under false pretenses?
I leaned forward, testing. "And what do you remember about me, Ms. Quinn?"
Her composure slipped for just a fraction of a second—a microexpression most wouldn't catch. But I'd built empires on reading people's tells.
"Only what research told me. Your reputation precedes you."
Lie. She knew something she wasn't saying. The question was: what?
I stood abruptly. "The position requires absolute discretion. You'll see and hear things that never leave this office."
