Julia Russell walked into my conference room, and every carefully prepared interview question disappeared from my brain.
I'd seen her photo with the application. Attractive. Professional. Dark, expressive eyes. Shoulder-length mahogany hair. But photos didn't capture the way she moved—confident without being showy. The perfect tailoring of that suit. She was younger than me, but appeared to be in her forties. She wore a gray Italian wool tapered suit and carried a bag that matched her shoes.
"Miss Russell." I extended my hand, already breaking my rule about keeping interviews professional and distant.
"Mr. Vanetti." Her voice was steady, but her hand was cool. Pulse visible at her wrist, beating just a little too fast. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
I held her hand a fraction longer than necessary. Felt her pulse jump.
So. Not as composed as she was pretending.
"Please, have a seat."
I returned to my chair, opened her folder. "You've got an impressive résumé."
"Thank you." She'd recovered her composure. Sitting straight, hands folded. "I believe I'm a strong match for this position. I understand the value of discretion."
"Do you?" I closed the folder, watched her reaction. "Tell me."
She launched into her background. Former positions at international corporations—several of which had been raided by federal agencies. She'd never been charged, never even questioned.
Either she was extremely good at keeping her mouth shut, or she'd been exceptionally lucky. Or her entire background was fabricated.
I made a mental note to have Forrest dig deeper into those companies. Something felt rehearsed about her delivery. Too smooth. But that could just mean she'd prepared well for the interview.
After going over her résumé, I sprung my question about a personal interest or hobby. She was into thoroughbred race horses. Who would have guessed?
Listening to her story, I saw a different side to her. Her eyes lit up. This woman was genuine. Passionate. Authentic. And there was something else in her demeanor. The way her eyes flashed, like she could hold her own, and wasn’t afraid to challenge me.
After chatting about thoroughbred horses and her ponies, I had a final question. “Do you know what the most important part of this job is?”
“Loyalty.”
Staring into her eyes, they reminded me of mysterious deep pools. Beautiful and dangerous. “That’s one hundred percent correct.”
I swear something magical flashed between us at that moment. I knew I should thank her and send her on her way. Instead, I stood. She stood too.
"Thank you for coming in, Miss Russell."
"Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Vanetti."
We shook hands. I held on longer than I should have. Felt her pulse racing under my thumb.
She felt it too—this thing between us. Whatever it was.
"I’ll walk you out."
She nodded, smiled—trying to look professional—and stepped to the door.
I opened it and ushered her into the hallway. “After you.”
“Thank you.”
Her confident stride was professional, but I noticed a little something extra. I tried not to stare. Unsuccessfully. We walked silently down the hall. At the elevators, I pushed the button for the visitor’s parking level. The doors opened and she stepped inside.
“Thank you again, Mr. Vanetti.
“I’ll ride down with you.”
