Page 17 of Assistant to the Billionaire CEO

Oh.Nothim.

So. Awkward.

You totally got this, girl. Just breathe.

“This is she,” I replied in a friendly (not high-pitched) voice, hiding my disappointment—and relief—that the caller wasn’t him. “How can I help you?”

“I’m Glenda Meeks. I’m calling from Windsor Architects’ administrative support. Our executive HR team has reviewed your application for the assistant position and would like to invite you to a formal interview the day after tomorrow at eleven o’clock.”

Before I could stop myself, I squealed into the phone’s speaker, “I-I-I…Thank you! Thank you!” It was the pent-up stress that burst free into sheer excitement. Yeah, that was a bit high-pitched.And, we’re back to awkward.

“MissCopeland,” Glenda said, raising her voice above my own. “A modicum of professionalism, please.”

Wow! What a cow.Surely she was a real Cerberus, a hellhound who monitored all contact with the boss—and reduced it to a minimum.

“Whoops.Sorry,” I squeaked, my voice properly “shushed” back down to normal volume. “I’m just so excited. I studied architecture, and it has always been a dream of mine to—”

“Very well. See you the day after tomorrow then.”

“Wait, one more question,” I said before she could end the call.

First, there was silence, and it made me think that she’d hung up after all. “Yes. What is it?” Glenda sighed impatiently from the other end of the line.

“Will the CEO be interviewing me? Or will I be meeting with someone else?”

“Ha-ha…tsk-tsk.” There was another mocking laugh. “It’shighlyunlikely that Mr. Windsor will meet with you himself. He’s a very busy man with important matters to attend to.”

“I see. It’s just that—”

“Goodbye, Miss Copeland.” Glenda clearly couldn’t wait to end our call, and hung up. A Cerberus, as I had thought.

Hopefully, “being as unfriendly as humanly possible” wasn’t part of the company culture that Ace cultivated. I rotated to face my laptop again and allowed my eyes to drift over the picture of him one last time.

I didn’t know why, likely because of the rudeness of the caller, it triggered a certain memory—one I had been trying to repress.

It was the week after I’d turned eighteen. My brother had invited Ace, Miles, and Oliver over to our house, and they were lounging around the pool, drinking the beer from my dad’s secret bar fridge stash. I’d had a crush on Ace from the first day I’d met him, and decided I’d try to catch his eye. To do so, I’d purchased a brand-new white bikini from a cute online boutique the previous week. It reminded me of something that Marilyn Monroe or Audrey Hepburn might wear. With all the suaveness and fashion sense of a wide-eyed teenager, I accessorized with a pair of super-glam thick-rimmed white sunglasses and a white sun hat. I thought I looked like a goddess—I know I must have looked like a hat on two (short) legs—but back then, I was aiming for “glamorous.”

It was an unusually sweltering summer day, so my chosen outfit was ideal. It allowed the gentle breeze that danced through the air to caress my pale skin in passing. In my fantasies, I was a sun-kissed goddess with Aphrodite’s body and a seductress’s charm. (In reality, I spent way, way too much time with my nose stuck in my books to bronze my skin to a color that was more than half a shade darker than its pages.) I remember applying more makeup that afternoon than any eighteen-year-old had any business wearing (or anybody of any age really), de-frizzing and curling my hair for almost thirty minutes, and then emerging from my room to make my way outside.

I stepped out into the sunlight, ready for my “big reveal.”

Ace’s eyes met mine as I stepped onto the wooden deck that led up to the pool. I started strutting toward the group of boys, making an effort to keep my left hand on my hip and to sassily sway my hips from side to side. Just as I approached the water’s edge and prepared myself to throw Ace a sassy wink with a blown kiss (one that I had practiced in front of the mirror all morning—cheeky sideways glance, slight smile but not too much, blow a kiss, then hold it like Marilyn Monroe, then a quick wink with the right eye, smile sassily, then turn away,and, mic drop). All I remembered was being in the middle of the “blowing a kiss” sequence when I heard my brother yelling, “Incoming!” and then flinging awholebucket of ice-cold pool water at me. It splashed across my torso, soaking me to the bone. I was mortified. The shock of the freezing-cold water had me paralyzed from the neck down for a millisecond or two, mouth wide open. To my horror, once I managed to look down, I realized that my “bargain basket” online purchase wasnotwater friendly after all. It had turned almost completely see-through, and you could see absolutelyeverythingunderneath. Faster than the speed of light, I whipped a white pool towel from a nearby chair and wrapped it around my essentially naked body before any of the boys could notice.

Luckily, nobody saw anything.

“You bully!” I remembered berating my brother. Never in all my life had I been so angry. I definitely hadn’t anticipated that Damon would humiliate me in front of the boy of my dreams. It was so embarrassing. When I turned to storm back into the house, I saw Ace, Damon, Oliver, and Miles laughing their asses off. Ace.I will never forget his face. It was at that crushing moment that I realized he didn’t feel the same for me. He didn’t love me, not even a little. He was just like the others. A dick.

Later that night in bed, I came to the conclusion I’d never be the kind of girl that Ace Windsor could love—I simply wasn’t his type. Not that it mattered anyway. From now on, he wasn’t my type, either! I wasn’t into jerk faces who made fun of fun-sized women. I would not love him anymore—neveragain.

From that day forward, he avoided me like a cat avoided a bath. It was like he had suddenly developed a severe allergy to my very existence, like I had suddenly become his Achilles’ heel, a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe, a walking embodiment of his worst nightmare, and he couldn’t escape fast enough.

After that, I made it a point to avoid him as well as I could. My move to study at Princeton helped. Not once did I stalk his socials or ask Damon about his whereabouts (for real, for real). I knew my brother kept in close contact over the years, especially when Ace moved states with his pretty girlfriend, but I refused any knowledge of him.

Today, I could only hope that Ace had forgotten all about the bikini incident. I’d be utterly mortified if my potential boss remembered how I had tried and failed to impress him in the most embarrassing way possible.

Ring. Riiiing.

My phone pulled me away from the humiliating memory I was replaying in my mind. I lifted it up. The screen read: “Brotherheart emoji.”

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