Page 17 of By His Rule

“Thank you so much for coming in at such late notice,” Martin says politely as he gestures for me to step into the room first.

“No problem. Thank you for inviting me in.”

“Well, I didn’t have much choice after seeing your resume.”

Heat rushes up my neck as I smile awkwardly at him.

I’ve no idea what was on my resume. I can only imagine what my best friend thought would be a good idea to fill it with.

“Please, take a seat,” he says while Rebecca makes sure I have a glass of water. “We’re going to start by talking through the role, if that’s okay?”

“Of course.”

“Fantastic,” he says, shuffling some papers around as Rebecca grabs a tablet and sits to the side of him, ready to take notes.

The second he begins talking, his passion for his role and the company shines through. And it’s infectious.

I find myself happily being pulled along for the ride.

Being here, inside this building, with the fancy darkened glass walls, flashy décor and polished furniture, feels right in a way I could before have only imagined.

I’ve been to Warner Group to meet Tate time and time again, and while those offices are nice, this is on a whole other level.

I love it. Which means it’s only going to sting that much more when I discover that this is probably going to be my only visit.

At least I got the chance to find out what it’s like. That’s something, I guess.

All too soon, Martin focuses his attention on me and begins asking all the usual questions about my previous role and what I believe my strengths and weaknesses to be.

Everything is going well. I think I might have even impressed him with a couple of my answers.

But, as expected, it all comes crashing down around my feet with one sudden knock on the door.

With the windows darkened, it’s impossible to see who’s on the other side when the strong and confident knock rips through the air, cutting me off mid-sentence.

Both Rebecca and Martin’s eyes shoot to the door, openly irritated about the interruption.

But I don’t look.

I don’t need to.

I already know who it is.

My fingers curl around the edges of the chair I’m sitting in as my already increased heart rate races to dangerous levels.

Please be wrong. Please be wrong, I silently chant.

But as per usual, I’m not that lucky.

The second the door opens, a ripple of anticipation goes through the room that’s quickly followed by his expensive scent.

Martin doesn’t waver at the sight of his boss standing in the doorway, interrupting the interview he’s conducting.

“Kian, how can we help you?” he asks, holding his eyes as the man in question moves farther into the room and lets the door close behind him.

“My apologies for intruding,” he says, his deep, rich voice flowing around me like velvet.

Do not react. Do not react.

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