6. Cormac
Chapter Six
CORMAC
I sit behind the enormous glass desk in my new office, staring at the stack of resumes like they're a personal affront.
It's Tuesday morning, and I've got a full day of interviews lined up for my new assistant.
I tap a pen against my teeth, already bracing myself for the parade of polished but soulless candidates about to traipse through the door.
For me, it's not about what college scholarship they managed to land or how many hours they've spent volunteering at a homeless shelter. What matters to me is if they can keep their mouths shut.
I realize I can't let paranoia make me overlook someone who might be competent. But every time I picture one of these strangers knowing about the inner workings of my life, of my son, I feel as if someone is cutting off my air.
The first candidate arrives, and I blink.
She barely looks old enough to have graduated high school, let alone college.
I will say she is impeccably dressed in a form-fitting black dress, and her face is glowing with nervous enthusiasm.
However, the moment she sits down across from me, I barely finish asking my first question before she launches into her well-rehearsed spiel about attention to detail and multitasking that has my teeth grinding.
"Do you have children?" I finally manage to ask.
Her brow furrows.
"Uh...no, sir. I'm looking to establish my career before settling down."
I nod as I pretend to take notes.
"Good. You'll need flexibility when it comes to your work hours. Sometimes, I might need you to come in on the weekends and stay after hours."
She nods eagerly. "Yes, sir."
At this point, I'm pretty sure I could tell her she'll be required to scrub the toilet, and she won't drop the smile from her face.
"I'll be in touch," I say as a way of dismissal.
The moment the door closes behind her, I scratch a line through her name and call in the next candidate.
She's another young girl with a perfect resume, perfect smile, and perfect answers to every question I fire at her. And yet, every time she opens her mouth, I find myself picturing Scout.
Whoever I hire doesn't just have the ability to disrupt the delicate balance I've been trying to maintain in my work life, but also in Scout's life too. By the time she leaves, I'm already drafting a mental list of reasons she won't last a week.
As the hours pass, each candidate is somehow worse in person than they were on paper.
Some are overly aggressive while others are painfully meek.
But what they all have in common is that they all seem to be oblivious to the fact that this isn't just a job they can clock out of at the end of the day, and that's the part of the job description that matters most.
By late morning, I've only seen half the candidates, and my blood pressure is already sky-high.
When another knock sounds at the door, I fight the urge to tell whoever it is to leave me the hell alone.
I scratch through yet another name. "Come in."
"How's it going?"
I glance up to find Kieran leaning casually against the doorframe with his hands in the pockets of his dark slacks and a smirk on his face.
"Like I've been conducting cheerleader tryouts, not interviewing for an assistant."
Kieran laughs, but the sound is low and humorless. "I know what you're doing, Cormac."
"Oh, yeah? What's that?"
"You're finding fault in everyone because you don't want to make a decision."
"I'm finding faults because they're all useless."
"Well, if you don't pick one, I will. And I might even get Brennan to help."
I set my pen down with a little more force than necessary. "You'd better not."
"Fuck around and find out."
The warning is clear, and that grates on my nerves more than any of the pointless conversations I've had this morning.
I hate being cornered and told what to do, especially considering the fact that whoever I hire will be practically glued to my side for God knows how long.
But I also know Kieran isn't bluffing. If I don't choose an assistant, he'll get Brennan to, and I'm not about to let him play Russian roulette with my sanity.
"I'll make my decision by the end of the day."
"I'll send the next one in, shall I?"
I scowl at my brother, but from the smug smile on his face, I can tell he's enjoying every minute of my pain.
As he shuts the door behind him, I slump back in my chair and rub my temples.
I have two candidates left from the morning candidates, and if neither of them checks out, then I will have to be subjected to an afternoon of torture too.
Maybe if neither of these two fits, I'll let Kieran make the decision for me.
The next candidate is almost laughable. We're barely a minute in, and she already looks on the verge of tears.
If she can't handle a few direct questions, then she sure as hell won't last an hour under my employment.
I swear, I didn't think it was possible to have so little backbone. Even when I dismiss her, she thanks me with a watery smile and scurries from the room like a scared mouse.
If I wasn't so pissed off, I would laugh.
I scratch out her name and stare at the final one on my list.
Fiona Callahan.
"Let's see what you've got," I mutter to myself before dialing the intercom and asking for Fiona to be sent in.
I'm busy reading back through the resumes, wondering if there's anyone I could potentially reconsider, when a knock sounds at the door.
"Come in."
"Mr. Sullivan?"
I glance up from the stack of resumes to find a petite blonde woman hovering in the doorway.
She looks young, but not as na?ve as the other candidates.
I can't put my finger on it. Maybe it's her eyes. There is something in them that makes me think she hasn't spent her life wrapped in bubble wrap.
"Take a seat."
I watch Fiona cross over to the desk, trying not to notice the way her hips sway with every step. But it's hard not to, considering the tight-fitting skirt and six-inch heels she's wearing that make her legs look like they go on forever.
Fuck.
Now I'm thinking about her legs.
I clear my throat, forcing myself to read through her resume in front of me as she takes a seat.
"Tell me about your internship during college."
Fiona gracefully crosses one knee over the other and folds her hands neatly in her lap as she takes a second to answer rather than immediately jumping into some monologue about how she was destined to become a personal assistant.
"It was at a boutique investment firm. My main responsibility was client management."
"And how do you think that would apply to this role?"
"I was taught how to anticipate client needs rather than just react," she answers without hesitation.
That gets my attention, as it's exactly the sort of quality I need in an assistant.
I don't have time to hold someone's hand or be followed around while they act like a lost puppy. I want a job done before I even realize I need it done, someone who thinks two steps ahead. But I also want someone I can trust when it comes to my personal life.
I focus on Fiona for a moment, trying to picture if she could be that person. But for some reason, I get distracted by the way the sunlight streaming through the glass catches the golden strands of her hair.
"And I'm not just talking about making sure a coffee was on the partner's desk, waiting for them," she adds with a smile that lights up her whole face.
She seems eager to please, which is not necessarily a good thing.
"Were there ever situations where confidentiality was critical?"
"Yes. I understand the importance of discretion. I never discussed client information outside of work, and I always ensured sensitive documents were secure."
I narrow my eyes.
I can't quite work out if her directness is confidence or arrogance, or maybe a mix of both.
Leaning back in my chair, I fold my arms over my chest.
My instincts tell me to push harder, to test for any hint of weakness, so I decide to step it up a notch.
"What would you do in this hypothetical situation?"
Fiona instantly straightens.
"A client calls late at night, letting you know that something urgent has come up. You have to decide whether to handle it immediately or wait until morning. What do you do?"
She doesn't even blink.
"I'll handle it immediately if it can't wait. The client's concerns come first."
"What if it's three in the morning, and you're at a club?"
"The time and location wouldn't make a difference."
I scoff. "Is that right?"
"Yes," she says without blinking.
"You really want me to believe that you would answer a work call in the middle of knocking back tequila shots?"
"Of course not."
"Excuse me?"
Fiona gives a slight shrug of her slender shoulders. "I prefer whiskey."
Oh, she's good, and from the slight twitch of her full lips, she knows it too.
This woman is clearly competent and infuriatingly attractive. A dangerous combination to have in an assistant, given the way she has the blood rushing to my cock with one flash of a smile.
I shake my head slightly, trying to think of a question to ask that could catch her out in the hopes of having a reason to deny her the role before my cock makes the decision for me.
But it seems fate has stepped in and made it easy for me as Fiona's phone starts buzzing in her purse.
My temper spikes as, instead of ignoring the call, I watch her start scrambling to find her phone.
Seriously, who doesn't turn their phone off before an interview? Or better yet, who decides to answer a call mid-interview?
Fiona Callahan, apparently.
I watch in stunned silence as she holds the phone to her ear, not even bothering to apologize for interrupting me.
I was right. This girl isn't just confident, she's arrogant, and that is not a quality I appreciate.
"I'll be in touch—" I start to say but am cut off as Fiona holds a hand to her neck and lets out a strangled gasp.
Apparently, she's dramatic too.
I sit back and wait for her to finish, not bothering to hide my irritation at being so rudely interrupted.
"I'm so sorry," she blurts after ending the call, looking nothing short of mortified as she meets my eyes.
Her cheeks flood with color as I notice her eyes start to shine with tears.
I really do not have the patience to deal with this.
"Thank you for?—"
"It's my niece."
"Excuse me?"
"My niece. She's only six years old, and she's in the hospital undergoing tests for a heart condition. I was waiting to hear from the hospital with an update. Oh god.”
She puts her head in her hands. "I didn't even think not to answer. I'm such an idiot. I completely understand if this ruined my chances?—"
"You're hired," I say without a second thought.
Fiona lowers her hands and looks up at me with wide eyes. "What?"
"You're hired."
"Are you being serious right now?"
Seeing Fiona jeopardize an interview for what would be a very well-paid role just because her niece is sick is enough to gain my respect.
Family loyalty comes first, above everything else. It's the code I live by, and the fact that Fiona does too is a trait even I can't ignore.
"I'm very serious. But I wouldn't take too long to sign the contract. Hesitation increases the odds that I'll change my mind, and I'm looking for someone to start this week, so I can't waste time."
Fiona fights a smile as a faint pink blush stains her cheeks. "I accept. Thank you. I promise you won't regret this."
I grit my teeth through the smile threatening to break across my face.
Oh, I'm already regretting it.