Chapter 3: The Interview

Vanessa

Okay, this is happening.

I wear a navy blue suit jacket and skirt with a white blouse. Instead of wearing my high heels, Grandma Suzy-May makes me wear baby doll heels because she says it's the most appropriate thing to wear in the workplace.

Now I stand in the glitzy lobby of Benson and Brash and stare at my reflection in the gold elevator doors. I struggle not to touch my hair. It's in the perfect ponytail.

I'm wearing my three favorite pairs of stud earrings. Yes, I have my ears pierced three times. The last two times after my parents' death.

The elevator doors open.

I step inside but don't turn around immediately.

Nerves hit me—hard.

I didn't expect to get this far in the application process. I just applied last week. They called a few days ago.

Isley said being a legal secretary was the easiest way to get into the firm. But, besides the duties outlined in the application, I don't know what to expect.

"Ms. Martin," the receptionist greets me as I leave the elevator. "Please, have a set. Mr. Halladay will be with you shortly."

The large, bland office looks more like a doctor's office.

I sit on the long, blue couch and wait.

"Oh,'' the receptionist snaps her fingers and reaches for a clipboard. "Please check this information and make sure it's correct, Ms. Martin."

I accept the clipboard and read the contents as I walk back to the couch.

A door slams at the opposite end of the office.

I flop down on the couch.

"Ms. Martin," a deep, sexy voice calls my name.

When I look up, I see a man with his back to me, conversing with the receptionist.

My eyes linger on his broad shoulders.

He's not wearing a suit jacket. I love the way his shirt fits.

It's form-fitting so that his muscles are defined.

He looks like a superhero who can rip his shirts to shreds by just flexing his muscles.

Slowly, my eyes travel down to his narrow waist and taut butt.

He must work out.

"I already gave her the information to correct," the receptionist said, "if needed."

He curtly nods. "I'll get it from her. Uh, Ms. Martin?"

I watch him turn around. He's still looking at the paper in his hand.

My heart skips a beat.

He adjusts his eyeglasses and looks at me.

His hazel eyes make eye contact with my brown ones.

I hold my breath and bite my bottom lip.

He's the most handsome man I've ever seen, not to be a movie star. His pointy nose, strong jaw and seductive stare make me want to have naughty dreams about him.

"She's Ms. Martin," the receptionist says.

He continues staring at me.

I look away.

The fluttering in my stomach makes me stop thinking about the sexual desire mounting between my legs. Slowly, I exhale and clench the clipboard.

"I," immediately, I stop talking because I don't know what to say. Instead, I stand.

He seems to snap out of his trance and walks toward me. "Mrs. Martin."

Quickly, I stand and extend my hand toward him, correcting him, "It's Miss. I'm not married."

He smugly smiled, looking satisfied with the answer. "I'm Brent Hallaway. I have the honor of interviewing you."

Brent captures my hand in his and shakes it. His warm, strong hand makes me long for his touch everywhere on my body.

"Please, follow me," Brent says, releasing my hand and taking the clipboard.

We leave the office and go to the elevator.

Inside the elevator, we stand side-by-side.

I stare at the rapidly changing numbers. Oh, my, he smells so good.

The elevator doors open.

Brent places his palm on my lower back and guides me out of the elevator. He then points to the far end of the hallway. "My office is the one to the left and down the hall."

When I look back, he's gone.

So, this is a test, right? Does he want to see if I can follow directions?

I follow his directions until I am at his office.

Once there, I sit in the first of the two chairs across from his leather chair and look around. It's very masculine with dark green and maroon decor. No pictures. Plenty of sports memorabilia.

"Well, I apologize in advance because I don't conduct interviews," Brent says, strolling into his office.

I watch him sit at his desk and avoid looking in my direction.

"Tell me about yourself," he flipped through papers on the clipboard.

Can you give me something easier?

"I'm, uh, a former data entry clerk—"

Brent looks at me, his gaze smoldering. "I see you graduate early. Are you currently in college?"

"I graduated when I was sixteen," I stammer, "I planned to go to college—and still do—but my parents died when I was seventeen, and I've been taking care of my paternal grandparents..."

I look away.

"Financially, emotionally, or physically," he pauses until I make eye contact with him, "I'm referring to the care of your grandparents."

"All of the above," I quickly add, "I can do this job. My neighbor, Isley, says that lawyers typically require legal secretaries to file briefs. I've written a couple—"

Brent leans forward. "Going into law?"

"Nursing," I answer, leaning forward. "There's no guts or glory in law."

He chuckles. "You're right."

I lean back, studying him. God, he's sexy as you know what. Finally, after a long time, I comment, "I expected more of a fight on that one."

"Fight, huh?"

I shrug. "'Fight' isn't the right word. Push back."

Brent crosses his arms and smirks. "And why would you think that?"

"You're a lawyer. You're supposed to convince me that law is all about victory's guts and glory."

He watches me.

I study him. "Maybe you're not a good litigator."

Brent clears his throat. His hazel eyes sparkle. "That's a heck of a thing to say to a future employer."

My shoulders slump, and I briefly close my eyes. Then, slowly, I look at Brent and tell him, "I forgot this was an interview."

Brent chuckles. He grabs a legal pad and pen. "Honestly, so did I. Nursing, huh? Well, you've held one job for two years. So that's a plus."

There's an odd silence.

I stare at my lap.

Brent flips through the papers on the clipboard.

His phone rings.

"Hallaway."

I watch Brent cradle the receiver between his ear and shoulder while looking through my paperwork.

"No," he says, sounding bored. "Let her know the Renyolds want nothing less a million dollars and an apology for the death of their son—two million with no apology."

Brent looks down and up. Then, for a brief minute, he looks in my direction.

Although I tell myself to look away, I continue watching him, enjoying the view.

He looks at me again. This time, he let his gaze linger on my breasts, then my face. His hazel eyes are hooded and mysterious when he makes eye contact with me.

I think, no, I know I'm supposed to be insulted. According to Grandma Suzy-May, a man staring at your breasts has no intention of hiring you.

However, Brent's sexy hot, and I don't mind. I want him to stare at me.

"Let me know," Brent says and ends the call.

He places the clipboard on the desk and motions to the door.

I hurriedly stand.

Brent slowly walks to the door. "It's been a pleasure speaking with you, Ms. Martin. I'm sure the hiring manager has a few more people to interview to fill the position."

I nod and turn at the same time he reaches for the door. His hand brushes my hip and butt.

He clears his throat, staring down at me.

Suddenly, our lips are inches apart.

There's a knock on the door.

"Mr. Halladay," someone says on the other side of the door.