Come Work For Me Page 2

  After weaving my way through the people on the sidewalk, I jogged down the stairs at the train station down the street from my apartment and hopped on the first one headed downtown. It had to make a lot of stops before I got to mine, which unfortunately meant I had a bit of quiet time to overthink the interview I was about to have.

  My fingers twined together and I wrung my hands, chewing my lower lip. I can do this. I have to do this. Oh God, I’m going to throw up.

  The dry piece of toast I’d practically inhaled on my way down the stairs at my apartment turned in my stomach. Joseph Matthews, the founder and CEO of the company I was about to interview for, was a legend.

  I wasn’t even just fangirling or exaggerating. He really was a legend in the Chicago finance industry. Coming out of nowhere, he’d taken the city by storm at the ripe old age of twenty-three. In his subsequent rise to success, which was described by even the most cynical reporters as meteoric, he’d achieved what had previously been thought to be unachievable in the decade since he’d burst onto the scene.

  Seriously, the guy was only thirty-three—which was only eight years older than me—and we had studied him in one of my college courses. Freaking. Legend.

  The chance to interview for a position at his company was monumental for me. To be interviewing for the position of CFO? I wouldn’t have even dared to dream about this opportunity.

  When I received the call, I had been nothing short of flabbergasted. I still was. This kind of thing just didn’t happen to people like me.

  As it was, I still had no idea how I had gotten the interview. I’d applied for several positions at the company in the past, but hadn’t received so much as a “Dear Johnny” letter in response. And now I was on my way to interview for one of the biggest positions they had. It was surreal.

  And yet, despite the fact that I had no idea how I had gotten the interview, I would do anything to get the job. It hadn’t been on my radar, hadn’t been a possibility until twenty-four hours ago, but now I wanted it more than I could remember wanting anything in my entire professional life.

  In fact, the only thing I’d ever wanted more in my personal life was my son. Other than that, this job was it for me, personally and professionally.

  By the time I was off the train and standing in front of the imposing building that housed Matthews’s headquarters, however, I wanted to throw up even worse than before. You will not let vomit ruin your dream.

  The lecture I gave myself didn’t reach my stomach, or it simply ignored it. It kept turning and rolling, the toast clearly very unhappy in its new home. Correction: you will not let one piece of dry toast ruin your dream.

  Squaring my shoulders, I looked up at the high-rise and swallowed down the moisture filling my mouth. I can do this. I have to do this.

  This kind of opportunity could change my life, Lincoln’s life. I took a deep breath, narrowing my eyes at the glass-fronted building in a silent challenge. I’m going to make this place my bitch.

  My newfound determination lasted all of the eight steps it took me to push into the lobby through its big revolving doors. Spotless marble gleamed beneath my shabby flats, stretching from one side of the cavernous space to the other.

  Right in the center of it was a big reception desk with two women standing behind it. One looked up when I entered, zeroing in on me almost as if she knew I was an intruder. Of course, it was probably pretty obvious since I was standing there gaping in the entrance hall of her place of work.

  Also, everyone else around me was moving with purpose. They walked at a clipped pace and barked into phones, scanning fancy-looking silver things at the security panels that cut the outside world off from the bank of elevators on the other side.

  Making this place your bitch, remember? I sucked in another breath and lifted my chin as I tried to keep my wits about me, approaching the receptionist who had spotted me. A forced smile spread on my lips and I was about to announce my appointment when she beat me to it.

  “You’re here for the interviews with Mr. Matthews.” She barely glanced down at the desk in front of her before snapping up one of the silver things and handing it over to me. “This is a guest pass. Its access expires as soon as the interviews are over. You return it to Mr. Stone when you’re done.”

  She spoke in crisp, clipped tones and gave a firm nod in the direction of the security panels before gracefully lifting a phone out of its receiver before I’d even heard it ringing and turned her attention to whoever was on the other side.

  I’d been dismissed, and I hadn’t even said a word. Guess I’ll have to figure out who Mr. Stone is when it’s time to return my pass.

  When I got to the panels and eyed the elevators on the other side, I also realized that she hadn’t even told me which floor I was supposed to be going to. I lifted the round silver tag and swiped it in front of a glass panel with a little green light shining inside it, deciding I would find someone friendlier to ask for directions.

  As it turned out, that wasn’t necessary. The information I needed popped up on a little screen next to the panel. My eyebrows lifted of their own accord. I wasn’t a techie or anything, but this place was fancy as fuck.

  I also quickly learned that whoever had designed their security system was apparently paranoid and distrusting. The elevator only came when I swiped my tag again, and a floor number lit up by itself. Evidently, that was the only floor my guest pass allowed me access to.

  Tipping my head from side to side as the mirrored box took me to my predetermined destination, I couldn’t decide if it was weird or impressive that they’d preprogrammed my pass. Before I could make my final decision, the doors slid open soundlessly and my temporarily distracting thoughts were all but forgotten.

  I swallowed past a dry spot the size of the Atlantic in my throat and forced my feet to move before the elevator took me back down with it. For all I knew, the guess pass could even be one use only. As I shuffled out, my eyes darted around for a bathroom where I could change my shoes.

  Before I could find one, a tailored, three-piece suit stepped out in front of me and blocked my view. “Ms. Hawkings, welcome to Matthews Financial. Follow me, please. You can sign in, and then I will show you to the waiting area.”

  The voice belonging to the suit was deep, but surprisingly smooth and friendly. My eyes traveled up past a broad chest to a handsome, lightly stubbled face. Full lips were curved into a welcoming smile, black eyes shining in a way that made me feel like he was genuinely happy to see me.

  Skin the color of coffee with just a dash of creamer practically glowed in the sunlight streaming in through all the windows. He had pitch black dreadlocks which were tied back from his face. He extended a big hand to gesture at the big desk he must have vacated when the elevator doors opened.

  In fact, everything about this company was just big. The building, the spaces, the desks and apparently, the men who worked in it.

  “I’m Ollie, by the way. Oliver Stone. I’m Mr. Matthews’s assistant,” he said, speaking to me over his shoulder as he led me to the desk he had motioned to before. “I just need you to sign in for security purposes, then we’ll go meet the others.”

  A lightbulb went off my head. “Wait. Stone. I need to return my pass to you when we’re done.”

  He chuckled, his shoulders shaking as he reached his desk and handed over a clipboard with some forms that already had my name printed on them attached to it. “Yeah, that’s me. They didn’t specify downstairs?”

  I shook my head, but my attention was fixed on the papers I had been given for my signature. Satisfied that it was standard stuff, I signed my name at the bottom and handed the board back to Ollie. “They just said to hand my pass back to Mr. Stone and made sure I knew it was only valid for the time I was supposed to be here.”

  This time, he didn’t only chuckle. He laughed, but didn’t explain why. I frowned and made a mental note to ask him if I got the job. These people looked like they took their security seriously. I doubted he
would give me an answer if I wound up not getting employed here.

  “Right this way,” he said, a grin still on his face as he took off down a carpeted corridor. I barely had time to get my bearings before he was opening a door and showing me in. “This is the candidates’ waiting area. You will each be called at your allocated time. I’ll show you into the office and afterward, I’ll walk you down and collect your pass.”

  The part of his sentence had him chuckling again, prompting me to turn and face him. Screw it, I’m asking what’s so funny.

  Before I could get my question out, though, the door closed in my face and Ollie was gone, his chuckles cutting off as soon as the door clicked shut. Damn. I’m totally asking on my way out.

  A throat clearing from the table made me turn to face the people who were apparently my competition for the job. Three men sat around a nice table, all staring at me with narrowed eyes and deep frowns. I planted my hand on my hip, popped it and sashayed over to my seat. I refused to be intimidated by these assholes.

  No one introduced themselves, and I didn’t either. We weren’t here to make friends. If they couldn’t bother to be polite, I wouldn’t either.

  One by one, I watched them be called in. By the time the last one smirked and got to his feet, my nerves were shooting around my stomach like cannonballs. I was doing the breathing exercises they gave me when I was pregnant in an attempt to calm them down, but so far, I wasn’t having any luck. This also afforded me the time I needed to change my shoes since I wasn’t given time to go to the bathroom upon arriving.

  When it was finally my turn, Ollie appeared in the big set of double doors at the far side of the room that the others had all been shown through and smiled. “You’re up, Ms. Hawkings. Good luck.”

  Okay, you can do this. I took one last deep breath in through my nose, exhaled and followed him into whatever lay beyond those doors. I meant to thank him for the luck, perhaps take a chance at finding out what the joke was earlier, but then I turned into the office and all my breath left me in a rush.

  Joseph Matthews was sitting right there in front of me, maybe twenty feet away behind a big desk. Goddamnit, why does everything in here have to be so big?

  It didn’t matter, though. Because all I could really focus on or pay attention to was Joseph Matthews himself, sitting at his desk underneath an Air Force flag. The back of my mind tried to question if I was sure it really was Air Force, but I ignored it.

  Because holy. Flipping. Hell.

  Joseph Matthews in real life was hot. Like with a capital H and a couple of O’s instead of just the one. I wouldn’t actually mind getting a couple of O’s from that.

  I grabbed on to that particular thought and shoved it away so fast it made my head spin. I wasn’t here for that, I reminded myself. I’m here for a job.

  But still. The man was freaking gorgeous. I’d seen him in pictures for magazine interviews and profiles I had read on him in the past, and I’d always thought he was good looking, but I hadn’t been prepared for what he looked like in real life.

  Holy hell. Totally different thing in person. Just like his building, office, desks and assistant, he was big. Somehow, though, he seemed like he was the biggest of all. Even if I knew logically that he wasn’t actually bigger than the building, he just exuded that kind of “larger than life” thing.

  And not in bad way. In a really, really good way. He was sitting down, but I could see that he had to be at least six foot something tall. Though he, too, was covered by a fancy suit, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that the man had muscles rivaling those of a football player.

  Intelligent, sharp and, again, big hazel eyes stared back at me, seemingly assessing me as I did the same to him. His jaw was sharp and set, a lock of jet-black hair falling ever so slightly over a forehead creased in a scowl.

  Joseph flicked a big hand at the chair opposite his desk, snapping me out of my wildly inappropriate staring. I sucked in a quiet, yet deep breath of air and then took the seat he had indicated. I can do this. I have to freaking do this.

  Chapter 3

  Joseph

  I dropped my gaze away from the deepest blue eyes I’d ever seen and took a moment to go back to the file in front of me. Under different circumstances, I’d have liked to have seen what those eyes looked like clouded over in pleasure as I made her come all over my cock.

  She was a fucking sexy girl, I had to give her that. Pretty too. In a girl next door kind of way, which was why my thoughts had immediately wandered to corrupting her.

  It would have been interesting to see what that dirty blond hair looked like wrapped around my fist or to have felt that curvy fucking body writhing beneath mine. Girl had more curves than a mountain pass, and I liked ‘em that way.

  Unfortunately, said dirty blond hair was pulled back into a neat bun and it had to stay that way. The form-fitting yet professional outfit hiding all those curves from full view would have to stay on too.

  The three interviews I had conducted before this one had all been complete and utter shit. I hadn’t been even a little bit impressed by any of them.

  All they cared about was who I was, not what the job might entail. I was sincerely hoping that Ms. Lilac Hawkings wasn’t like that. I couldn’t take another fan. I’d never enjoyed having fans and I certainly hadn’t enjoyed meeting them when I was supposed to be filling a vitally important role in my company.

  So, I let her stew, checking out her file again even though it wasn’t necessary, simply to test what her reaction would be. The other three had started babbling almost right away about what an honor it was to meet me and other bullshit I had cut out of my head as soon as they had said the words.

  Lilac, however, had yet to say a single word. I lifted my gaze from her file to find her sitting in the chair I’d indicated for her to take, calmly waiting and seemingly entirely at ease.

  Well, at least that’s a start. I lowered my hands to my lap and cracked my knuckles quietly before leaning back in my chair. “Ms. Hawkings, was it? Shall we get started?”

  “I’m ready when you are,” she replied in an easy tone, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It was a polite smile, though, not one of those wide, adoring and hopeful ones I’d gotten from the three idiots who had marched in here before her.

  “I’ve looked through your file,” I started before reaching for the top cover and closing it, pushing the folder away. “You seem like a promising candidate or else you wouldn’t have been called in today. I know everything that’s in there: your qualifications, your employment history. What can you tell me that’s not in there? Anything else I should know about you?”

  For a hugely disappointing fraction of a second, I thought the adoring grin spreading on her lips was about me; that she was about to blow my last interview in the same way the others had before her; that I was going to have to start this process all over again and cast a much wider net this time around.

  But then she scooted forward an inch and rested her elbows on the armrests beside her, looking for all the world like she belonged in that chair and had been taking it for years. “Do you want to know something personal or something work-related?”

  I cocked my head and baited the hook, trying to see if she would go for it. “Personal and how it might affect you if you get the job.”

  The adoring grin widened, but the reason behind it shocked the shit out of me. It was safe to say it had never been about me. “I have a three-year-old son named Lincoln. He’s my whole world and I want the job so I can provide better for him. I put myself through school so I have some debt that I’d like to get paid off so I can really start saving for the things he’ll need. Education, a car, that kind of thing.”

  “Those are some noble goals.” I liked them. I liked that she had a son who she described as her whole world, that she’d put herself through school. It showed a certain kind of determination, a will to do things others might think impossible. “What about his father? Can’t he contribute
to those goals?”

  I needed to know what I was getting into if I hired her. As much as I liked those things about her, I needed to know if she was only going to stay until she paid off some measly student loan she could probably cover out of her first few paychecks. If she was going to cut and run after that, I still liked and respected her goals, but she wasn’t the person I was looking for.

  What I needed was someone I could groom from the ground up to become my CFO, and hopefully to stay in that position for a good, long time. I didn’t want to have to go through all this again in a few months’ time.

  A darkness flickered through Lilac’s eyes before she gave her head a quick shake. “No, it’s just me. I’m responsible for all of it.”

  Call me an asshole, but I had to fight a grin when I heard her answer. Determination and proper motivation were a combination of qualities I could work with.

  It wasn’t that I was glad she was a single mother, working and responsible for maintaining her kid all by herself. Hell, if I ever had to meet the coward who would pass all of the responsibility for his own child off to the woman who had carried it, I’d rip his balls clean off if I got half a chance.

  No, I had to fight the grin because the information let me know she was in this for the long haul. She wouldn’t quit over the first hiccup, wouldn’t run off once she’d made a few dollars to go to greener pastures with better hours. In short, it made me believe that she needed Matthews Financial as much as we needed her. And that? That was fucking priceless to me.