Chapter 2
ADAM
Three months after the funeral, my assistant begins screening candidates for a new position that I’ve essentially invented out of thin air: Temporary multilingual translator, international travel required.
Buried in my thousands of emails is a single one from the woman I’d met in the contemplation garden while I was hiding from the world and miserably smoking a cigarette.
Everything had been in a shade of gray that day, but she had been a small spot of unexpected color.
While she’d rejected my initial offer and she’d slid from my mind during the grief-soaked slog of the following week, when the veil of loss lifted from my mind, I remembered her.
I remembered, and I was still fascinated.
When I’d seen her in the cathedral garden, I’d recognized how beautiful she was, but in a distant sort of way, all of my emotions had been muted.
Now, though, looking back, I’m dying to see her again, just to know if her beauty, and the muffled connection I’d felt for her, was as staggering as I remember.
Elowen is the polar opposite of what I would have imagined I’d be drawn to, and even more interesting to me because of it.
Short and perfectly curvy with a cloud of chocolate brown curls, a smattering of freckles, and eyes the color of early summer grass, Elowen and the single memory I have of her threaten to grow from interest to obsession, and I just can’t let that happen. It’s too soon.
My late wife Celeste wasn’t a love match, but a match that benefited both of us and our families.
In time, though, I did come to love and respect her, even if it wasn’t the fiery sort of love everyone anticipates to feel when they’re young.
Not the wringing-my-heart-tightly type. The fact that I loved her at all means thinking about Elowen as much as I am isn’t appropriate, but I can’t stop myself.
So the only thing I can do is bring her into my sphere of influence, but as an employee and not a personal acquaintance.
The fact that I genuinely do need a French translator helps, too.
Now I stand in front of the windows of my Seattle office, watching the rain streak down the windows twenty floors above the city. It’s been a long day, meetings blurring together, the same song and dance I slog through day after day. During the lull in work, my mind drifts back to Elowen once more.
Has she applied for the job? If so, how have the preliminary interviews gone?
Like clockwork, there’s a knock at my door, and my assistant Oliver enters without waiting for me to answer. He’s carrying a tablet, glasses perched on his nose. “Human Resources have sent over the applicants who have passed the preliminaries.”
I motion for him to give me the tablet and scroll through. There were twenty-three initially, but it’s been parsed down to just five now. That hardly matters, since I’m only interested in one of the five final names–Elowen Hart.
Her professional headshot is next to her name, dark hair pulled back, green eyes bright. All the other options fade into the background, and Oliver quickly notices.
“She’s the one you had me send the posting to directly, yes?”
“Yes.” I take a final look at her picture and hand the tablet back. “Hire her.”
“Just like that, huh? She’s overqualified for temp work, you know.
” He taps the screen and turns it around to show me her resume.
She has a Master’s in linguistics, and she’s fluent in French, Italian, German, Spanish, and of course English, with some proficiency in Dutch.
Her list of previous freelance jobs is long.
“Even better.”
Oliver has worked for me for nearly twelve years.
He knows when not to push further, though the faint crease between his brows tells me he remains unsure about what has gotten into me.
But finally he nods, “Very well. We’ll have her in for orientation Thursday, and I suppose she can sit in on some virtual meetings with overseas clients until your trip to France. ”
“See that it’s done,” I tell him. I know he senses that something is up, but it’s no one’s business but my own.
This is my damn company, and I’ll hire who I please.