4. Miles Day
I adjust my water glass, then check my watch. Ten minutes until the interview I scheduled with Ellie is supposed to start. I got to the club a few minutes early so that I could be sure we had a table. While having the interview in the dining hall isn’t ideal–what with all the prying eyes–I couldn’t have it at my house. After all the issues I’ve had with past assistants, there’s no way I’m inviting a stranger over to my house. The only other place I would have considered would be Sand Dollar Diner, but it seems wrong to bring business into a place that feels more like home.
I do wish I had some of Paulie and Diane’s food right now though. I’d much rather have a burger and fries than the seafood-heavy menu here at the club. While most people in Coastal Cove love seafood, I hate it. Even the smell makes me gag. It’s one of the reasons why the diner is my favorite spot on the island, because it has no seafood on the menu. The other reason is that I grew up going there after school for french fries and key lime pie. Sand Dollar Diner was my safe haven. My parents would never be caught dead there, so I was safe from their scrutiny and their arguments.
“I’m here to meet with Miles Day,” a soft voice says, drawing me out of my reverie. I lift my gaze to find the hostess escorting a beautiful redhead over to my table. The woman who I assume is Ellie Hart, walks with her head held high. Her auburn ponytail swings behind her and her gaze is confident and sharp beneath the white visor shading her face. She doesn’t smile, not even when our eyes lock. I stand when she gets closer.
“Ellie Hart?” I ask and she nods, then holds out her hand. I envelop it with my own and shake it, almost jerking it back at the unwelcome tingle that accompanies her touch. What was that? She pulls her hand back just as fast, which is unusual for the women I interview. They tend to hang on to my hand like a life raft in rough waters.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Ellie says. She’s wearing a faint smile now, but it reads professional and borderline forced. Another less than typical response. Most of the interviews I’ve had have been overly eager with bright smiles and gushing words about my success.
“You as well.” I gesture for her to sit down and we both settle into the chairs at the same time. “So, how do you know Jada?” I ask.
“Well, I’ve met her while going to a few of her events in the past, but I found out about the job through my friend Molly. She’s known Jada for a few years now.” She speaks like she’s reading items off a resume instead of talking about a personal connection.
“So Jada recommended a friend of a friend. Should I be worried about your credibility?” My question is mostly a joke, though with my record, it’s a fair question.
“You have my resume, and this interview should assuage the remainder of your fears.” Assuage? Who talks like that? I think she’s just a year younger than me–if I’m recalling her resume correctly–but she sounds as if she’s twenty years my senior.
“I’ve interviewed plenty of people who turned out to be less than credible in the past,” I say in an attempt to ruffle her. “What’s stopping you from filming me in my pajamas and using it as blackmail?”
Surprise flickers over her features. She blinks it away, quickly composing herself. Too quickly for my liking. “Rest assured I won’t blackmail you,” she says, her tone dry.
I’m about to find another button to push, when our waiter approaches. Ellie assures him that she’s fine with just water, then orders a chicken caesar salad with a side of french fries. I order the lemon grilled chicken over saffron rice. Once the waiter walks off toward the kitchen, Ellie meets my gaze again. Her confidence is undeniable, but I can see the unease in her deep brown eyes as well. I decide to pull back. I need to keep things professional, as tempting as it is to mess with this enigma of a woman.
“Tell me about your work history.”
She begins to tell me how she interned at two different companies in college before moving to Coastal Cove to be close to her sister. Her professional demeanor softens for a moment when she mentions her sister, and I wonder why but don’t ask. I don’t need to be involved in her personal life.
“I started working at Coastal Coffee shortly after moving because it was the only place available, but I do think it taught me valuable skills that can transfer over into this job.”
“An assistant does need to know how to make a good cup of coffee,” I joke. Or rather, I try to joke. She merely stares at me, unamused. I clear my throat and continue. “So, what made you want to apply for this job? Are you a golf fan?”
She makes a little noise that sounds almost like a laugh, but not quite.
“I applied because this job pays more than my current one,” she says and I raise my eyebrows at her straightforward answer. “I’m not really a fan of golf, but I can assure you that won’t affect my work.”
It’s probably a good thing that she’s not a fan, because it means that she’s less likely to bother other golfers at events. I had an assistant one time that I had to have security drag out of a party because he wouldn’t stop harassing the other golfers there for autographs and photos. I wouldn’t have minded him asking for an autograph, but he wanted the signatures on his stomach.
“Good to know.” I pause as our server comes up and sets down our food. Ellie thanks him as he walks away. So she has good manners, but isn’t overly polite. Interesting.
“Well, it seems like you’re qualified for the job. And you come with a recommendation I value–even if it’s just because you’re a friend of a friend.” I smile. She doesn’t. This makes my last question all the more difficult, but I have to ask. As much as she seems to be unaffected by me, it could be a facade and this kind of question is what would break it. I scratch the back of my neck, hoping what I’m about to say doesn’t come out as terrible as I think it will.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” I ask her and her brown eyes widen, looking like large cups of coffee.
“I beg your pardon?” Her voice is ice cold. I scramble to explain.
“It would be good if you did,” I say then cringe when her brows scrunch together. That wasn’t much better. “This is coming out wrong. What I’m trying to say is that I’ve had…” I tilt my head to one side, then the other. “Issues with female assistants in the past. They’ve tried to, well, seduce me.”
A surprised laugh bursts out of her. She puts a hand over her mouth, but it doesn’t quell the sound. I feel the eyes of the other patrons on us, but I can’t even care because she laughed. At my expense, but still.
“You can’t be so egotistical as to assume every woman is going to fall in love with you,” she says incredulously.
I groan and tip my head back. “That’s not what I meant. If you knew what I’ve been through, you’d understand why I’m asking.”
“Yes, the poor millionaire golfer has women throwing themselves at him.” She fake pouts and I swipe a hand over my mouth to hide my involuntary smile. It’s clear she has some attitude, which I should mind, but I don’t. In fact, it’s heating my blood in a way that is concerning. I like this a lot more than the ice queen I first met.
“I don’t have a boyfriend, but you can be certain that I’ll be able to control myself. I’m a professional, and you’re not my type anyway,” she says, looking at me like she’s unimpressed with what she sees.
“Tall, handsome, athletic men aren’t your type?” I ask.
She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms with a smirk. “They are.”
I bite back a smile. I walked into that one. It’s clear she isn’t attracted to me–a fact I’d be disappointed in if it wasn’t exactly what I needed in an assistant. And she has the kind of wit I’d like to have around. Messing with her would be fun and low risk. She’s likely to fit in well with Fitz and my agent Brock too. We all tease each other constantly.
“When can you start?”