***

*Andrea*

***

“If you’re easily intimidated, you can leave now."

For some seconds, there was heavy silence. Yet, no one moved.

Everett Langston leaned back on his chair still scanning the four of us like a man weighing apples for freshness. With one ankle rested casually on his knee, his fingers drummed once against the armrest before he looked away.

How arrogant!

"Good... That saves me time. You could have your seats" he ordered.

He reached for the four cream envelopes sitting in a neat row on the polished table and slid them toward us. "One of you doesn’t belong here. Decide."

What? My brows knitted.

"Decide? Based on what?" The other male candidate whispered nervously to his neighbor.

The eyes of the lady who had been staring a little too openly at Everett sparkled with excitement as she shifted in her seat. It was as if the challenge only heightened her interest in him.

I ignored her. I wasn’t here to gawk.

"Everything is part of the interview,” Everett replied calmly. “Five minutes."

The man at my right cleared his throat. “Based on what criteria?”

He shrugged. “Any you like.”

He goes on to rotate his chair slowly, folding his arms as his eyes tracked every reaction.

"This is ridiculous," the third candidate muttered. "We don’t even know each other."

“Exactly,” Everett replied. “That’s what makes it interesting.”

They turned on each other faster than I expected.

The same man spoke first, “She came in late,” he pointed at me, nodding. “That alone should count against her."

All eyes swung to me.

I blinked, trying to keep the irritation out of my face. I wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t cared earlier when he pushed past me just to get to the front.

“Excuse me?” I shot back. “Traffic happens, and I never arranged for my car to quit on me.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you were late,” the woman said lightly, flipping her hair. “Excuses or not, I was here an hour early.”

“And I don’t see how a few minutes defines whether someone can handle clients professionally,” I countered, hoping logic still counted for something.

Everett's eyes lingered on me just long enough to make me uneasy, before returning to the others. "Confidence doesn’t mean competence. We'll see how you hold up under real pressure."

He removed one from the envelopes, tossing the others aside like they had already served their purpose.

I clenched my fists under the table, her giggle audible enough to be heard.

Lucky her! I was so happy to know she had been waiting for this moment. Hilarious.

“Next."

“Let’s make this interesting." He continues, clasping his hands together. “I want to see who can handle responsibility. Someone who can execute a task flawlessly, anticipate problems, and act without supervision. You’ll pitch me a plan to manage a high-stakes client scenario. Convince me you can handle it. Begin."

All of us exchanged awkward glances. I almost wish for a fire alarm or a sudden earthquake to save me.

Just immediately, the first male candidate launched into a rehearsed speech about questionnaires and client profiles, stumbling slightly over jargon he clearly didn’t understand. The lady babbled a little, trying to charm her way through instead of focusing on a plan.

I stayed back, observing and waiting for my turn.

Then my phone chimed.

My stomach did a flip, and the tick of the clock suddenly amplified.

I knew it was probably a message from Tahlia. Maybe I shouldn't have told her to give me an update on my car. I shut my eyes briefly in embarassment, muttering softly, "I'm sorry."

Everett’s head snapped towards me, “Well, at least your phone is punctual. Next time, keep it quiet during meetings like this.”

His tone was dry, cutting and arrogant all at once.

Heat crept up my cheeks, and I swallowed. I saw the lady's grin widen, and a pang of disgust follows. Her delight at someone else’s embarrassment was painfully obvious.

I opened my mouth to apologize properly, but Everett didn't pause. He turned his attention to the group.

"Now. Who among you can personally find me a match? I don’t mean general matchmaking. I mean… someone who can manage the entire process. Meetings, introductions, schedules —every single detail, from start to finish, until it’s done. Someone I can rely on completely. A female."

The lady raised her hand almost too quickly, a smile lighting her face as she spoke. “Absolutely! I’d love the opportunity"

"Good. Get to it." He said in response.

Her gasp of delight made my chest tighten further. I almost scoffed, too stunned at his decision. She had literally swooned over him since we walked in, and now she was rewarded with a small, deliberate gesture that confirmed she would be his Personal Strategist?

“Interview’s over,”he said, and it hit me like a wall. I hadn’t expected that.

He sat up in his chair with a casual arrogance that made my skin crawl. "I'm pleased to inform you all that we have our selections, too."

I felt frustrated. I wanted to speak, to protest, to remind him that I had arrived late for a reason beyond my control. But his presence was oppressive. Late or not, I had the skills. I had insight. I could read people, handle clients, organize meetings flawlessly. Tahlia was right when she said all that.

“Actually,” he went on, “I only need two of you."

My stomach twisted.

Just two? Out of all of us?

A familiar hush fell over the room, just like when he first introduced himself.

Everett didn’t hesitate.

“Marina Prescott” he said with a faint smirk, relishing the moment.

Her face lit up like a candle in the dark. She rose gracefully, excitement dancing in her eyes. Meanwhile, I was still flustered, my pride simmering in a way I didn’t want to admit.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, almost matter-of-factly, as though she had expected to hear those words.

I should've seen that coming.

Of course. She’s exactly the type he wants. Every glance she threw his way seemed designed to inflate his already enormous ego.

My pulse raced as he glanced down at the envelopes, then slowly lifted his eyes to scan the rest of the room.

“And…"

He hesitated now, letting the words hang in the air.

The name he mentioned flung me straight into self-doubt.

“Daniel Brooks," Everett's throaty voice haunted my thoughts.

It's been minutes he said that, but it bounced around my head like it had nowhere else to land.

I bit my lip. There was nothing to do but nod. No one argues their way out of a room like this. I kept my face neutral, pretending I didn’t care, while my brain spiraled through a dozen thoughts at once. Maybe job hunting would just have to continue. Maybe this was another polite rejection dressed up in arrogance and sharp suits.

The man who had pointed out my excesses earlier looked briefly distraught, his shoulders sagged before he quickly straightened and followed the two chosen candidates toward the exit.

I hesitated, fingers tightening around my bag strap. Somehow, I tried to maintain some semblance of dignity, but Everett’s eyes darted to me briefly before he looked away like I had already been filed under irrelevant.

Then he stood, slipping the envelopes into his inner pocket.

That should have been the end of it, but something surprising happened.

Just as the three candidates left and I reached for the door, he cleared his throat. It was subtle, barely noticeable, yet it broke the silence.

“Miss—Andrea, was it?” he asked, narrowing his eyes as he pick his cellphone from the table.

I froze.

“Your résumé," he said swiftly, thrusting his hand out.

I handed it over, and he nodded once as if confirming something only he could see.

“The psychology minor." He said.

A wave of confusion flushed through me. “Yes?”

“You didn’t exaggerate it."

It wasn’t a question, so I replied. “No," still stunned.

Then he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small white slip, he scribbled for some seconds, placing it on the table instead of handing it to me.

“HR will reach out to you.” he said casually. “Hopefully, tomorrow morning"

I blinked. “I—sorry. About… what?"

“Onboarding," he answered lightly, raising one of his brows like I had said something silly.

I let out a low gasp, and before I could ask another question or demand clarity.

He quickly said, “We’re done here," already halfway toward the door. And just like that, the room emptied. I stood for a moment, staring at the card.

Candidate ID: 041

Override Clearance Granted

Proceed with Onboarding

E.L.

~ ~ ~

The hallway outside buzzed faintly with office noise. I leaned against the wall of the executive lounge, taking deep long breaths.

“What just happened?” I whispered to myself, too exhausted even when I had only spent a little over thirty minutes in there.

I felt my cheeks redden, and I was pretty sure someone was staring right through me.

I turned to the left. There he was, standing near the coffee station, arms crossed, while he watched me with mild amusement. Kylian looked like he’d been there for a while. With a smug smile, he immediately dropped his arms, making his way over.

“Hey.” he started when he finally got close. “You look like someone who just found a plot twist in their own life."

I let out a breath that was half laugh, half groan. “That’s uncomfortably accurate."

He grinned. “So?"

“So,” I said slowly, staring at his face. “I didn’t get picked. Except, I later did?”

He pouted, shaking his head. “That's not reassuring. Tell me about it."

Then, as if just remembering, he added, “The VIP — what’s his name again?"

“Everett Langston."

Kylian whistled. “Yeah. Him. He’s known for being intense.”

“That’s one word for it,” I muttered, pressing my lips together. “He basically implied I had no sense because my phone buzzed.”

Kylian chuckled. “Welcome to Love Incorporated, but you left notifications on? That's flirting with disaster...”

“I had a broken car, Kylian!"

“Sure, sure. Rookie mistake,” he teased with a grin. “Congrats anyway, I guess?”

“I don’t even know what I’m congratulating myself for.”

“He was awful.” I added.

“Oh, he’s famous for that.” Kylian sounded amused.

“He literally insulted everyone.” I snapped.

“Also famous."

“But then he—" I licked my lower lip and stopped. “Never mind. I guess I’m supposed to hope HR contacts me by tomorrow morning."

Kylian studied my face. “Mr. Langston doesn’t change his mind often."

That didn’t reassure me. I only shrugged.

“Well, HR doesn’t just ‘reach out’ for fun," he convinced further. “Trust me."

“Thanks for the ride earlier. Seriously, I mean that.”

“Anytime,” he replied, smiling again. “Just know you owe me coffee, but first, you’ve got to survive your first week."

My smile freezed as my phone starts to ring. Kylian swiftly lifted a hand in goodbye and turned to leave.

I exhaled hard, waving back as I accepted the call. While stepping into the elevator lobby, I could feel the strain in my legs.

God! I wasn’t entirely built for stress.

“Tahlia,” I said into the phone, stopping at a closed elevator.

“Okay,” she cut in without greeting, “start talking. I fixed your car, by the way. She’s alive. Barely. But alive."

“Oh my God," I exclaimed. “You’re an angel!"

“I know. Now tell me everything."

“He was unbearable." I went on, rolling my eyes.

I hit the call button, and it light up.

“Who?" Tahlia asked.

“The VIP client. Everett. Tall. Arrogant. Looks like he’s never apologized in his life.”

She chuckled. “I already hate him… well, almost. But Everett? Ugh! That name's so appealing..! Wait a minute... a VIP client? For our interview?”

I let out a dramatic sigh, shaking my head. “You're hopeless, Tahlia. Only you would find his name appealing."

“Some admin said he'd be the one, I had no idea why. Can you believe he said my phone was punctual… yeah, my phone, not me. And then he lectures me to keep it quiet during meetings, like I’m some clueless intern!"

“You’re kidding.” Tahlia burst into laughter.

“I wish. And then he picked this young woman who was throwing herself at him like it was an Olympic sport, and he was the gold medal.”

“You don't say!.”

“Her job's to personally manage his love life. Like, per-so-na-lly. Meetings, schedules, the whole thing."

Tahlia gasped. “That’s not a job, that’s a rom-com setup!”

“Right? But she volunteered like it was her destiny."

“Please tell me you didn’t.”

“I was too busy being humiliated.” I quickly said.

The elevator dinged, arriving slowly.

“And so,” I continued, “he picked a guy for client accounts, said the interview was over, and I thought that was it.”

“But it wasn’t?” Tahlia asked, as if she knew.

“Yeah... it wasn’t,” I confirmed. “HR is apparently reaching out to me."

She squealed. “Andrea! I'm so emotional, right now...”

“I don’t even know what I’m hired for!”

“Details. We’ll unpack later. I’m outside with your car. Hurry!”

“I’m coming down now.” I muttered.

The door starts sliding open.

“I hate him already. And just so you know,” I added, lowering my voice, “if I ever have to work directly with that man, I might actually—”

I stopped mid-step, phone still pressed to my ear, when my words died in my throat. His gaze lifted, slow, deliberate, before it landed on me.

Our eyes met.

It's Everett Langston standing inside. Alone. Hands in his pockets.

“What? Hello?" Tahlia said faintly through the phone. “…Andrea?”

I could feel my heart hammering, a lump formed in my throat and I swallowed.

From the look on his face, he certainly had caught the last line.

God, Andrea… what have you done now?

***

• Everett •

***

She’s bold. Too bold. Threatening me over the phone. Who does that? This is why I dislike people, especially ones who feel the world revolve around them after they have tasted a little success and forgotten who held the door open.

I had given her the chance because she looked one rejection away from a bathroom breakdown. But now? The raw fear that was once present in her face is no longer there, it vanished like magic.

It didn’t stop there.

Her chin tilted up as soon as she noticed I was staring, her lips pursed into something that certainly wasn’t polite.

I stepped out, totally dazed.

She even dipped her head slightly as if mocking the idea of bowing before walking into the elevator panel.

Interesting.

I took a long view of her through the glass. Blonde hair, not bleached within an inch of its life, lips—full, slightly glossy, pressed together as she adjusted the strap of her bag, then she lifted a hand and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear avoiding my eyes.

Andrea looked like a doll. A real life doll with accessories and attitude included.

The elevator descended, but I stood there longer than necessary, my subconscious still processing what just happened.

A low breath escaped my throat as I adjusted my cuffs. I reminded myself why I was on this floor - I wasn't here because of Miss Thompson. I was here to see Mr. Bradley. Regardless of whatever attitude she had exhibited, I'd proceed. Afterall, I had issued my card to her.

I turned down the corridor toward Mr. Bradley’s office, my shoes making a sound as I stepped against the carpeted hall. I stopped at the door, knocked once to show courtesy, and walked in without waiting.

“Mr. Langston,” Bradley said, straightening immediately as he rose from his chair. “I didn’t realize you were still in the building.”

“I wasn’t planning to be,” I replied mildly. “The interview ran longer than expected.”

He gestured to the seat across from him. I ignored it.

Bradley cleared his throat, fingers tapping his tablet. “I wanted to ask how you felt about the candidates. Overall.”

“Efficient,” I said. “Mostly.”

“Mostly?” His brows pinched. “One stood out for the wrong reasons. Andrea Thompson. She arrived late. You know punctuality is a non-negotiable rule.”

“I’m aware,” I said calmly.

“She also…” He hesitated. “Didn’t seem particularly deferential.”

I cleared my throat.

“I’m not hiring assistants, Bradley. An employee should at least have some sense of decorum.” I said, resting a hand on the desk. Almost mocking myself for wanting to say this.

“Andrea should be enrolled as a staff along with the selected candidates.” I added

Bradley blinked. “Sir, our policy—”

“Doesn’t apply to clients funding the expansion wing,” I said lightly. “Or to people the founder asked to sit in. True?"

Bradley froze.

“You’re serious,” he said quietly.

“I rarely joke about investments.”

“So?" Bradley exhaled slowly. “You’re recommending her?"

“I am selecting her.”

His mouth opened, but he shut it at once. “I’ll ensure the final list reflects that.”

“Good.” I replied.

As I turned to leave, his PA looked up from her desk far too brightly. “Would you like some coffee, Mr. Langston?”

“No.”

I stepped out of the office into the buzzing reception area. Two junior associates stopped whispering when I passed them. Someone dropped a file, and another pretended to be intensely interested in her workstation.

All eyes were drawn to me. They made it feel like a look from me could end their careers. I never corrected the impression. I liked the power it gave me.

The garage was cool and lined with cars, engines humming in the distance. I smirked. My favorite place in the company.

I've always been a lover of cars, and one glance at my McLaren 720S waiting exactly where it should, made me feel like I owned the world. And honestly? That’s exactly how cars are supposed to make you feel.

I slid into the driver’s seat, shutting the door with a solid thud. For a moment, I leaned back into the headrest, hands gripping the wheel, engine's still off.

I missed my driver.

Driving myself was a nuisance. A necessary one, but still a nuisance.

If Max was here, I would sit back, reviewing documents of real estate and pretending I wasn’t constantly irritated by New York traffic.

I started the engine and pulled out, city lights streaking past as my favorite trap music filled the cabin.

I nod along, my mind annoyingly drifting back to Andrea - bowing without bowing, her lips pouting without intent. I almost smiled, but I was quick to restrain myself.

Most people got nervous around me and, unsurprisingly, the ladies usually melted but Andrea chose composure instead. Her expression screamed she didn’t need saving.

It should have gotten under my skin, but it didn't. Instead, it felt like a challenge. A dangerously fascinating one. Now I’m hooked, wondering just how far she’s willing to go and trust me, I’m game.

Home came into view not long after. My titanium gates opened automatically, and I brought my car to a halt.

My staff were all out, ready to respond to my arrival like I was royalty returning from war.

“Good evening, sir,” Miriam said from the foyer, immaculate as always.

“Evening.”

James took my coat before I could refuse. “Welcome back, sir. Dinner will be ready in—”

“No dinner.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pat ran the kitchen, but James took all the glory in announcing it. I didn't quite understand the two of them.

From the hallway, she stood, offering a warm smile. “Long day?”

I glanced at her once. “It was manageable, Patricia.”

They all retreated, the house turning quiet as I made my way forward. It was always this way, my evening formula - work done, spend hours in the study, eat if I want to, shower and retire for the day.

My study smelled like leather and old books. I had made sure the designer structured the wine cellar adjacent to it.

I loosened my tie as I moved toward the cellar, my eyes dancing across the collection. I needed something a little strong, so I went straight for Barolo and a glass worthy of it.

Swiveling in my chair, I picked up Real Men Don’t Eat Quiche—still unfinished. I took a gulp, shutting my eyes as the warmth burned. I had barely set the glass down when my phone rang.

Donald. Again.

The last time we spoke on call on the company rooftop, he had laughed like a hyena the entire time I aired my frustrations concerning the interview, claiming I was difficult to impress. Coming from a roguish founder who was flirting in Paris, someone I had actually helped his sorry ass.

Such an ungrateful cousin!.

I answered with a sigh. “What did you do now?”

His laughter burst through the line, bright and unapologetic. “Nice to hear you missed me too.”

“Get on with it.”

“Diane called,” he began, “She says you’ve ignored several of her calls. Why, if I may ask?”

My mind reeled back to the cluster of missed calls I had noticed two days earlier.

“She’s perfect for you, Everett.”

I closed my eyes, feeling a light headache already. “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.”

“No one's perfect." I maintained.

“She’s kind. Patient. She’s known us since college. She’s watched us grow from clueless boys into men who still pretend they’ve got it all figured out.”

I was beginning to get bored.

“I didn't beg you to remind me of my life story” I said.

“And she’s stuck around!” Donald ignored. “She gets you. She doesn’t push. She’s cool, genuinely cool.”

I took a sip. “You’re romanticizing.”

“I’m being realistic. You can’t keep deflecting with business interviews forever.”

“I’m not deflecting,” I said calmly. “I was busy, still busy.”

He hummed knowingly. “Sure. Busy being a VIP client.”

I smiled despite myself. “Exactly.”

Donald chuckled. “One day you’ll stop hiding behind that.”

“Not today.”

“Fine,” he said lightly. “But when Diane gives up, I’m telling her you’re emotionally unavailable by design.”

"Go on. If that helps you sleep, I don’t care.” I said evenly.

Donald lets out a long defeated sigh. I causally flip a page, my eyes catching a paragraph that seemed too interesting to miss.

“Five things you won’t find in a real man’s stomach: mussels, tofu, bean curd, broccoli, cr…”

Ping! The call went dead.

So Donald.

Always too sensitive about things that had nothing to do with him.

Then a sharp crash sounded from the kitchen, making my stomach drop. Followed by a startled breath, and a soft curse that was definitely not part of my staff’s vocabulary.

I froze, standing up sharply. My body already reacting before my brain had the courtesy to catch up.