Million Dollar Devil

2.

"Fuck," I hiss, dropping the curler onto the counter and sticking my finger under the faucet. The sting is sharp and instant. Cold water rushes over the burn while steam curls off the still-hot iron beside me.

Well that's just dandy. Ten minutes before I'm supposed to leave, and I'm branding myself like a rookie.

The nerves have been getting to me all morning. My heart hasn't slowed down since I got the email. But it isn't the same kind of racing I used to feel before a shift at Lilacs, that blend of adrenaline and dread, like bracing for impact. This feels different.

This is hopeful. The good kind. The fragile kind you don't dare breathe on too hard in case it breaks.

I take a slow breath and turn back to the mirror. My curls sit just right, soft and tamed, the product of too much heat and a careful mist of finishing spray. My black slacks hug me in all the right places but still say respectable. The cream silk blouse is crisp and smooth, tucked neatly with sleeves rolled to the forearms. Understated and professional. Me, but... upgraded.

I stand there for a second longer than I need to, practicing my smile. Too big. Too fake. Don't scrunch your eyes. There, that's the one. Confident, friendly, not desperate.

This version of me is new. I like her. She feels like someone who belongs in places with glass elevators and real marble floors.

I grab my keys before I can talk myself out of it and head into the city.

____________

AKMO Inc. is, as far as I can tell, a hedge fund. Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine. I tried to decode the jargon last night, words like "exchange-traded funds" and "asset diversification" still rattle around uselessly in my head.

Here's what I do know: their office is on the top floor of a glittering high-rise with a panoramic view of Manhattan. A view I could definitely get used to.

As I sit in the waiting room, I take it all in. Perfectly stiff black leather chairs. Pristine copies of Investment Today. A fridge stocked with Voss water, the ultimate "we're rich" flex.

Even the potted plants look like they've been curated for perfection, each leaf angled just so.

Everything is immaculate.

Everything belongs.

Except me.

The receptionist barely glances at me after checking my name. Her blazer probably costs more than my rent, and she wears it like armor.

I don't mean to incite the classic trope of the average girl in the waiting room of a fashion forward luxury office, but I truly do stick out like a sore thumb. My devil Wears Prada moment I guess.

I feel the anxiety creeping up again. The longer I sit, the louder the room gets. The hum of the air conditioner, the click of her keyboard, my own uneven breathing. I cross my legs, uncross them, and decide that fidgeting is probably worse.

"Lillian?"

The sound of my name makes me jump. I turn to see a man standing in the doorway, clipboard in hand. Kyle Jennings, Talent Acquisition. He's taller than I expected, the kind of clean-cut handsome that makes you want to fix your posture.

"That's me!" I stand quickly, clutching my purse like a life preserver.

My movements are jerky and uncoordinated. I instinctively smooth my pants for no reason. I give him a shy smile and follow behind him as he gestures towards a hallway.

"Nice to meet you," he says, stepping back to gesture down the hallway. "Thanks for making the time."

"No, thank you." I probably say it too brightly. "This office is... incredible."

He gives a half-smile, like he's heard it before. "Yeah. The view's not bad."

He gestures toward a plain white room dominated by a sleek glass desk. He sits across from me, scanning my resume once more.

"So, I see you've done some administrative temp work. We don't need to rehash the details, I have it all here, but I'd love to know what makes you feel like a strong candidate for this executive assistant role."

I take a deep breath. "Well, as you mentioned, I have experience in assistant positions. I'm extremely organized, with great time management skills. My work ethic and eagerness to learn make me confident I'd excel in this role."

Words continue to tumble out in a rush, leaving me slightly breathless.

Kyle nods, scribbling something on his clipboard. "Those are definitely key attributes. This position, however, is a bit unique. You'd be the assistant to the CEO, so the role is both high-profile and highly demanding. You'd be on call frequently, and the hours can be unpredictable. Business moves quickly, and we need someone who can adapt on short notice."

His eyes meet mine, his expression unreadable. "Is that something you're comfortable with?"

"Absolutely," I say confidently.

"Great, that's good to hear," He nods again. A few more questions follow. Scheduling hypotheticals. Situational responses. I answer carefully. Honestly. I think I sound competent. I hope I sound competent.

While I consider myself good at reading people, Kyle Jennings was apparently written in a different language. I scan his expressions but can never place a finger on what might have been going though his head.

When the questions are over, he stands and offers his hand.

"Lillian, thank you. I appreciate your time and your thoughtful answers. We're meeting with a few more candidates, but we'll be in touch by tomorrow evening."

His handshake is firm. I mirror it.

"Thank you so much," I say, steady this time. "It was great to meet you."

I don't let myself rush. I walk to the elevator like I belong here. Shoulders back. Chin high. Only when the doors close do I let out a breath.

Outside, the air is thick with heat and exhaust. I pull my phone from my purse and stare at the screen. Nothing yet. But my heart is beating in a way it hasn't in a long time.

Not because I nailed it.

Not because I didn't.

But because, for the first time, I want it. Not just the job. Proof.

Proof hat I'm capable of more. That I'm not stuck.

I walk with a small, quiet smile.

Now all I have to do is wait and try not to come undone while the clock ticks.

************
AUTHORS NOTE:
Hello! Thank you so much for choosing to give my story a read. If you like it, it would mean the world if you click on that star button!

Your comments and votes really do make my day and encourage me to continue this story! I'm so thankful that you've continued to stick with it. Writing this story is a dream of mine, and I am so excited to share it with you all!

Long live boss-assistant love story tropes!

All my love,
Alexandra