I check my watch and it’s 4:05.
“This one can’t even show up on time,” I mutter under my breath. I hate lateness even more than I hate incompetence.
Two minutes later, there’s a subtle knock. The door opens two inches and a woman’s face appears, eyes wide as she takes in all six-foot-five of me. I tend to evoke that kind of reaction, especially from women.
“Ms. Williams?” I cock a brow and ask.
“Yes, sorry,” she says quickly, stepping in and clutching a slim manila envelope against her chest. “Maddy Williams. I hope I’m not?—”
“Late?” I finish for her, gesturing at the clock on the wall. “Well, you are.”
She glances, lips pressed into a line. She breathes out, her brown hair bouncing slightly against her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I got turned around at reception,” she says, her voice quivering just a little. “The building directory isn’t very helpful.”
And I hate that I agree with her.
“Noted.” I motion to the chair. She sits, careful to keep her black skirt from hiking up.
I move behind my desk, pull out the paper with her name at the top, give it a quick once-over, and then lower myself into my chair. “I’ll be direct. Your resume is mediocre.” And it is. That’s the truth. She’s twenty-five with a bachelor’s degree in marketing, and not a single job that’s given her any kind of decent experience.
She blinks, suddenly looking confused. “I… well, thank you for the feedback.”
I nod, for some reason enjoying the way she shifts uncomfortably in her chair. “Can you tell me anything about this position?”
I watch the gears turn in her head.
She inhales, smooths her hair behind one ear, and then meets my eyes, “I noticed how many times this job has beenposted over the last three years. I assume there’s a high turnover rate for the position. Maybe that’s why you accepted mymediocreresume.”
Well fuck. I was expecting a nervous ramble about how being detail oriented is important. Not this.
Maddy blinks again, then looks back at me. “This means you’re either very hard to work for, or everyone who gets the job thinks it’ll look good on their LinkedIn and then immediately burns out.” She raises her shoulders, feigning casualness. “Or both?”
I could fucking kiss her for the transparency, and that thought has me internally reeling as my mind considers what those plump lips would feel like against mine.
But instead, I slide the job requirements across the desk. “Why should I believe you’d do better than the others who have taken this job?”
She takes it, skims the printout, but I can tell she’s not reading it.
She’s thinking. And I like that.
After a few moments, she drops it to her lap. “To be honest, I don’t have a perfect track record. But I do learn fast. And I don’t scare easily.” She glances up, meets my eyes. “Though maybe I should.”
Once again, not what I expected. I lean forward, fixated on her wide eyes. “And why is that?”
She doesn’t hesitate for a second. “Because you’re clearly the kind of boss who’s never satisfied.”
Who the hell coached her on this?
I keep pushing. “You’re not wrong. Most people want to be liked. I want things done correctly. I don’t give a shit if you like me or not.”
She crosses her legs, and I can’t help but notice her toned, tanned legs. “May I ask what happened to the last assistant?”
I take a moment to answer, my eyes running up the rest of her body and landing on her red lips that match her blouse.
When I meet her eyes, her gaze is steady.
My cock twitches.Fuck.
I clear my throat and ignore my body’s reaction to her. “The last assistant quit after a week with a very dramatic email. She sent it to everyone here at the firm.”
