Which is why I have the sense to step back out of the elevator, while keeping my hand over the door so it stays open.
“Get the documents in the necessary hands today or you’re fired,” he finishes, hanging up the phone. I blink back the trickle of fear that makes me want to hide.
I wanted a look at a Smith. I got one. And now it’s best to steer clear of the powerful and irritated man closing the distance between us.
His gaze catches mine and for a moment, I freeze.
It might be attraction, or maybe it’s just fear, that zips down my spine. But either way, I lower my gaze, dipping my chin as he’s about to pass me by.
But he stops just in front of me, my breath holding in my lungs. “Getting in?”
“I’ll take the next,” I answer, and drop my hand so as not to impede the elevator any longer.
This time, it’s his hand that covers the doors. “Get in. I insist.”
I ignore the tremor that slides through me, I force my shaking limbs to unlock and step in. He follows.
There are a lot of rules to living with powerful men.
Staying out of their way when they are in a mood is one, but obeying a direct command is another.
The door closes behind him. “What’s your name?” he asks as he moves to the back corner, while I hover by the panel with all the buttons. We still feel unnaturally close.
My tongue darts out to wet my dry lips. “Gigi Hope.”
He pockets his phone, leaning casually against the handrail. “What are you here for, Ms. Hope?”
“Interview,” I answer weakly. “Administrative assistant.”
“Qualifications?” His brow draws together as he looks me up and down. He doesn’t look like he’s happy with what he sees.
“I have a bachelor’s degree in history from Stanford University.”
He snorts and I stiffen. It’s the not the first time someone has intimated a history degree makes me qualified for nothing. “And two years of law school at the University of Chicago.”
I doctored my original transcripts to match my new name. If anyone digs, I’ll be in big trouble, but hopefully, no one does.
“Law school,” he repeats, sounding less judgmental. “Why didn’t you finish?”
I turn my head to the side, not sure how truthfully I want to answer. But I remember Erika’s advice. “My father died.”
He makes an indistinct rumble that I don’t know how to interpret, as the doors finally open.
A brief glance up reveals that this is my floor.
A rush of relieved air leaves my lungs as I turn to step out, glad that the most painful elevator ride ever is finally over.
As promised, a woman stands by the doors, a wide smile on her face.
A smile that completely slips when she looks behind my shoulder. “Mr. Smith.”
So, I was right.
He steps out next to me, with barely a nod, as he walks by us both and disappears down the hall to the left.
We both watch him go.
“It isn’t right for a man to be that handsome,” the other woman mumbles under her breath.
