Chapter 2 - Clem
Trying to squash my nerves by reading a chapter of the science fiction book I started the other day, I was shocked when I heard my name called so quickly.
I had already made a bad first impression, getting caught sneaking in fifteen minutes late.
It was especially annoying since I left so early, but my car refused to start, and by the time I finally finessed it into sputtering to life, there was no chance I’d get there by nine.
Handsome Mr. Fokin, the man doing the interviews, was intimidating to say the least. Taller than me by a foot, he made his dissatisfaction clear when he tapped his expensive watch as I tried to sneak in.
He looked like a hardass I didn’t need right now, but what I did need was this job, so I got it together in a hurry, held my head high, and went in like I already had the position.
I probably read that advice somewhere a long time ago and hoped it didn’t make me look cocky.
After two months in LA, I still hadn’t managed to get a permanent job despite constantly going to these humiliation rituals, trying to land one.
Not just for better-paying office jobs, but also for clothing shops, restaurants, fast-food places, and even a daycare center, despite never babysitting a day in my life. I obviously didn’t get that one.
I didn’t know a soul in town who could give me a leg up with a personal recommendation, and I had barely been scraping by doing deliveries at all hours of the day and night.
I didn’t exactly feel safe being out on the streets in the wee hours, bringing burgers or groceries or whatever else Los Angeles night owls wanted at the drop of a hat, but this city was expensive.
The unsavory delivery gig wasn’t going to last much longer if my car kept acting up, not that I could blame the poor old thing after its laborious journey to get me here all the way from Vermont.
If I didn’t get a full-time position soon, like right now, and my car completely gave up the ghost, I had no idea how I’d keep paying the astronomical weekly rent on my dingy room in Hollywood.
Oh, and I learned right away that only parts of Hollywood are fun and glamorous. The part I could barely afford to live in wasn’t. Not even close.
Even trying to keep up a brave front every time I spoke with her, my Aunt Gigi was starting to see through my act that everything was great here. The much older sister of my long-dead father, she was my only living relative left, and she had her own struggles to contend with.
No matter what I did, she always had my back, believing I could do no wrong, and I wanted it to stay that way. It wasn’t only pride. She certainly couldn’t afford to send me any money, and I refused even the twenty bucks she wanted to transfer to me last week so I could buy some groceries.
Things weren’t quite that pathetic yet.
Not as pathetic as my resumé, which I tried to hand over without letting Mr. Fokin see my trembling hands. That could be chalked up to hunger as much as nerves. I had meant to grab something from a convenience store on my way, but then I didn’t have any time thanks to my car acting up.
I watched him look it over, my stomach sinking. No amount of bravado was getting me this job with my lack of experience.
It wasn’t that I’d never worked. I got my first job in high school and worked my way through college, not about to let Aunt Gigi dig into her retirement fund when I only earned a partial scholarship. But there was only one reference on that resumé, Aunt Gigi herself.
She was the only one I could count on to keep my current location a secret.
Having a degree in marketing might not have been exactly relevant to this personal assistant position at an import company, but it would have looked a whole lot better than leaving during my final semester because…
No, I wasn’t going to dwell on the past. Not going to give it a moment’s thought. And the employment agency said no degree was required. They kept telling me that, and I kept getting rejected.
I smoothed my sweaty palms on my skirt, jolting again when Mr. Fokin cleared his throat.
Looking up, I was once again taken by how good-looking he was.
Older, but not quite yet a silver fox with his sandy hair that looked like he’d neatly combed it and then it decided to defy him anyway.
Only his own hair would dare defy someone that tall and broad, with a hint of a scowl that made his jaw all the more chiseled.
He slowly blinked his green eyes at me and set my resumé aside as if it weren’t worth mentioning.
Which it wasn’t.
A burst of fury had me sitting up straighter and lifting my chin. The nearly blank page wasn’t my fault, but I wasn’t one to make excuses or play the victim, either. To hell with that.
“Shall we begin?” he asked, voice deep and rich and with a hint of an accent I couldn’t place, but wanted to hear more of.
“Certainly,” I said as if I had six degrees and had been working in the import business all my life.
“What made you apply for this job?” he asked.
Easy enough. A paycheck to keep a roof over my head. “Organization is a skill I excel in—”
“Let me guess,” he interrupted my well-rehearsed spiel. “It’s your passion.”
I bit my lip and plowed on, ignoring the heat rising to my cheeks. “It’s an important facet to this position," I said, keeping my chin up. Hardass was an understatement. He also had a bullshit detector that cut straight through my practiced answer.
“Tell me why you’d like to work at an import business.”
“I’m interested in the process,” I said.
“What process is that?” he asked, tapping his fingers on his desk.
“I’m sorry,” I said, half standing up, unable to ignore my flaming face anymore. “I think I might be in the wrong office. I’m applying for the personal assistant job.”
“Yes, and you’ll be assisting the president of the company, so it would be nice if you knew about the process you’re so interested in. Now, please sit back down. Unless you no longer want the job?”
I sat. “I want it,” I said. “I just didn’t know if it was the right one with these questions.”
“Is being a personal assistant your ultimate goal, Miss Gardner?” he asked, with an almost accusatory tone.
“Right now,” I said, riding the line between honesty and not wanting to ruin my chances.
Was that a spark lighting up his green eyes, which had turned darker than a dense forest at my first fumble? “What do you see in your future, then?” he asked. “If you should have one at Gavrik Imports.”
“It wasn’t bull—It wasn’t a lie when I said I was interested in the process,” I said.
“From the beginning idea of a product, to the creation and distribution, and especially finding the perfect customer. Especially that.” Now that I had started speaking, I was on a roll, and his subtle shift toward me encouraged me to keep going.
“I’d love to work my way up to market research one day.
Though I’d be thrilled to be an assistant in the company for as long as it takes. ”
“Thrilled, eh?” he said.
Note to self. This guy was immune to sucking up.
His assessing stare had me turned inside out.
He was too handsome, too big, and intimidating, and I was sure I had screwed up somehow, despite answering all his questions and spilling my guts.
All I could do was maintain my dignity until he told me to get lost.
He seemed determined to find fault with all my answers, and suddenly, I didn’t want to play along anymore if this was his idea of fun. With his fancy watch and designer suit that cost more than my junky old car was worth, he might have had time to waste, but I didn’t.
With a shrug, I started to rise again, but his sudden smile knocked me back in my seat. I’d never actually seen anyone with a dazzling smile before, and it almost made me forget what a jerk he was.
“You have the job, Miss Gardner.”
I blinked, certain I was only hearing what I wanted so badly to hear. That the struggle was almost over.
“I do? I mean, thank you, Mr. Fokin. I can’t wait to get started.”
“Good, and call me Rurik, it takes less time. How about today?”
He phrased it as a question, but it really wasn’t. It was kind of presumptuous to assume I had nothing going on, but who the hell cared? This was amazing. I didn’t have to wait four whole days until Monday, but could start earning real money now. “Of course. I can certainly clear my schedule.”
Translation: delete the delivery app. No more amped up crazies pacing in front of their doors, hollering at me that I took too long to get them their soda.
I leaned across his desk to pump his outstretched hand. “I can’t wait to meet my new boss,” I said.
“You already have,” he told me, his big hand wrapped around mine, warm and firm.
I looked back toward the outer office, not remembering meeting anyone from the company on my way up. He laughed, a deep, rich sound.
“It’s me,” he said. “I’m the owner of the company.”
Not an interviewer, not even some manager. I was looking at my new boss, just about the hottest man I’d ever seen, who’d already put me through the wringer. And he wasn’t joking around, actually snapping his fingers at me now.
“Coffee, Miss Gardner. Black. There’s a machine in the break room down the hall and to your left. And God help you trying to figure it out.”
I gaped at him, but he had already turned away, clicking on his keyboard. “Oh, and call the other candidates to inform them the position’s been filled.”
Not just a hardass. I was working for a tyrant. But at least it was finally a steady paycheck. I might just make it out here after all.