Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
PIPER
L ogan’s assistant, Clive, meets me at the entrance of their glass-fronted building in SoMa, South of Market. A techy-looking guy zips past us on an electric scooter. I almost jump, then realize that’d make me look even more out of place than I feel.
I need to make the best of this. First, I failed English literature. Then, I decided business wasn’t for me. I tried and failed to have a relationship, which was cruddy and not even worth thinking about.
This is my chance. I’ve already buried what happened at my going away party. That was three freaking years ago. It might as well have been three hundred. It’s meaningless. Do I believe all this? I’m not sure, but it’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
Clive is a hipster with a sleeve tattoo and a sincere smile. “Hi, Piper, yes?”
“Hello. You must be Clive.”
“Come on in. Mr. Wolfe is finishing a conference call, and then it’ll be time for your interview.”
He leads me into the lobby. A modern art sculpture of one of their SnapBrew coffeemakers sits in the center.
“How much do you know about Do It All?” Clive asks as we walk toward the elevators.
I know Logan started it soon after that night, after our kiss, our touching, his firm body pressed against mine. And that is exactly the thinking I need to stop before it even begins.
“I know that it’s a unique company,” I say. “It allows wealthy patrons to donate to underprivileged families with stocks, rather than cash, which the families can either cash out or choose to invest in one of Do It All’s products. In return, the patrons get to advertise their affiliation with Do It All, which helps with their PR. And I know that Do It All can also make more traditional wealth investments. But it’s the products which have really made it successful.”
“I’m impressed,” Clive says, smiling, as we walk into the elevator. “You’ve done your research.”
“I wanted to be prepared,” I tell him.
“How much do you know about our products?”
“Well, there’s Sustainify, an app to help users find eco-friendly products. Then there’s SnapBrew, the coffeemaker that uses biodegradable pods. Urban Essence helps city dwellers maximize their space. And the video game…” I laugh, hoping he can’t hear how nervous I am. “But I forget the name.”
“Relax.” Clive grins. “You’re more prepared than most interviewees.”
That’s where he’s wrong. Sure, I know how the company works. I know Logan has built it into a wildly successful, multifaceted goliath in the tech and business world. But I don’t know how I’m going to look the CEO in the eye and not melt like a loser.
It was just a kiss, just some touching. It was three years ago .
I need to remember that.
Clive waves me into the lobby. There’s a framed photo of Logan on the wall on the cover of Time magazine, with the caption, ‘ Taking the world by financial storm and changing lives… Can Logan Wolfe really Do It All?’
I sit in one of their plush, comfortable chairs, adjusting my pencil skirt, my heart beating hard as sweat trickles down my body. I know I could’ve used my connection to Elliot to get a job here—he works as head of client acquisitions. But I insisted on interviewing.
I want to earn this. I don’t want any special favors. After years of failing, I want to succeed on my own. Sure, with a little leg up—a connection, but I’m still counting it.
“Would you like anything to drink?” Clive asks.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
He nods and walks over to his desk. I press my hands down on my legs, trying to quiet the nerves, but it’s difficult with Logan staring at me from the picture overhead. Those piercing, icy eyes took me back to the stunned moment when he leaned in, pressed his lips against mine, and grabbed me.
He’s probably had dozens of hookups since that happened. He’d laugh if I told him I still think about it sometimes.
All too soon, Clive calls over to me. “Piper, he’s ready for you.”
Standing, I bury all the nerves, the self-doubt, the fear. I won’t let them rule me. I can’t. This matters. I want a job here. I want to earn my own money and make my way in the world.
Logan’s office is enormous and has views of the skyline. He stands behind an imposing desk wearing a white dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up, showing his spectacular forearms. His hair glistens in the sunlight coming through the windows.
“Piper,” he says, a small smile on his lips, talking as if I’m just another potential employee.
That’s good. I don’t want special treatment. I don’t want to see desire in his eyes.
“Mr. Wolfe,” I say, approaching his desk.
He smirks, but only briefly, then quickly wipes it away. “Please, Logan is fine. Take a seat.”
The closer I get to his desk, the more aware I am of my body. It’s unspoken, unacknowledged—am I imagining it? But I’m almost sure he’s struggling not to look at the sway of my hips or legs. I don’t even know how I know this. It’s as if I can sense a tension simmering in the air.
When I sit down and adjust my skirt, his gaze flits to my legs momentarily. A tingle dances up my thighs. I fold my legs, my underwear rubbing against my sex with annoying persistence. Jeez. I need to chill .
He sits, crossing his arms, the fabric of his shirt hugging his thick muscles.
“How much do you know about the position you’re applying for?” he asks.
“I know I’m going to be a copywriter – sorry, not ‘going to be.’ I know that I’m applying for…” I trail off when I realize he’s smirking at me again. “What?”
Suddenly, he looks annoyed. “Nothing. Go on.”
“I thought…” I shut up quickly. “Sorry – yes, anyway. What was I saying?”
“You’re applying for…”
“Yeah, the position of copywriter for a new product. But the ad didn’t say what the product was, only that it was some kind of app.”
“Can you think why we might not have given all the details?”
He leans back in his chair, uncrossing his arms. I’m sure his gaze flits to my legs again. Perhaps another woman would be offended, but it triggers waves of lust that won’t seem to leave me alone. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to listen to them.
“It’s in the company name,” I tell him. “Do. It. All.” I emphasize each word, my mind playing a reel of when I first said it to him three years ago, the exact phrase that became the name of his company. “I presume that a copywriter on the team of this new product will have to – sorry, get to wear multiple hats. They’ll have a say in development, advertisement, and anything else to ensure the product’s success.”
I stop, breathless. My chest rises and falls rapidly. He glances at my chest, then overcorrects and looks above my head. Or maybe this is all in my messed-up mind. It doesn’t matter. Only the job does.
“Very good,” he says. “Do you have any experience as a copywriter? Or a writer of any kind?”
“I wrote for my college newspaper,” I tell him. “And I had three short stories published before I switched majors… I know I’m a college dropout, but?—”
“Hey,” he says. “You don’t need to worry about that. Many of my employees never went to college. Here, I only care about results.”
I smile, meeting his eyes, but he looks almost annoyed with himself for being nice to me. He goes cold again.
“I’m determined,” I tell him. “This job means a lot to me. I want to make it work. Not to get too personal…”
“We value the personal touch at Do It All,” he says. “I’m always interested in learning what drives my employees.”
He leans forward, sitting up, making me feel small, but not in a bad way. It reminds me of how easily he lifted me off my feet and put me on the buffet table. I’ve purposefully not thought about this for years to bury the guilt. It has still strained every interaction with Elliot.
But now I’m face to face with the man who sometimes visits me in my dreams, and he’s making my blood simmer.
“You know what happened when I was a kid?” I ask. “I’d usually think it’s inappropriate to bring it up in a job interview, but if you’re sure you want to know?”
He nods, staring at me with an intensity I remember. It’s a look that says he’d leap across the desk and pull me into his arms.
No, no, no .
It’s a look that says, I am a CEO interested in hearing a potential employee’s motivation .’ That’s all.
“I want to hear it, Piper,” he insists. “Pretend we’ve never met, and I don’t know your story. What is driving you to want to succeed in this position?”
“When I was a girl, my mother was raising me alone. She sadly passed away, and for a while, it looked like I was going to go into foster care. But then my brother stepped in. He was a young man. He was raised in the system. I didn’t even know I had a brother until he saved me. We had different dads. Yet he didn’t want the same to happen to me. Each day, I saw his determination, how he struggled, how he overcame his struggles. Ever since then, he’s been my biggest inspiration.”
I take a breath and continue. “I won’t lie. I’ve failed at keeping that same determination twice now. First, with English literature. Then, with business. But I’m determined to make this work. I think Do It All is a fantastic company, changing lives and making the world a better place while being profitable. It’s a miracle, honestly, and if I’m given the opportunity to work for you, I swear I’ll approach my job with the same determination my brother had when raising me.”
I stop, breathless.
Logan isn’t smirking now. He’s smiling, his blues seeming bright with appreciation, with pride.
“So, yeah…” I shrug. “That’s my story.”
“You don’t need to do that, Piper,” he says, his voice husky.
I shift in my seat. Something about his change in tone makes me think he’s going to take this someplace else, someplace taboo. I can’t let that happen. He wouldn’t take the opportunity here in his office, would he?
“Do what?” I ask.
“Devalue it. Downplay it. That was incredibly moving and convincing.”
“It’s the truth. I’m tired of trying and quitting and trying and quitting. I’m ready to commit.”
He nods. “You’ve just passed the first phase of the interview.”
I smile in delight. “Have I? I didn’t even know there were phases.”
“It’s an internal process. The first phase is informal, more about getting a handle on the interviewee’s character and whether they have the right attitude. Now, we’ll move on to phase two. Are you ready?”
I lean forward with determination. “Hell to the yes.”
He laughs, then, just like his smiles, smirks, and lingering looks, he quickly stops it all. It’s like he feels guilty for showing me any emotion.
I don’t have to guess why.