Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Maverick
The moment I stepped into my office, I knew hiring her would be a mistake.
She was sitting in the chair across from my desk, legs crossed, back straight, hands resting neatly on her lap.
There was no sign of nervousness, no fidgeting, no darting glances around the room like most candidates did when they stepped into my space.
Just quiet confidence, a poised readiness that I didn’t expect.
Her eyes met mine instantly—sharp, assessing, unreadable. Hazel.
I shut the door behind me, moving to my desk, keeping my expression unreadable.
“Solenn Wheeler,” I said her name evenly, sitting down.
She smiled. “Maverick Spencer.”
I didn’t return the smile. “You’re here for the executive assistant position.”
“Unless you have something better to offer.”
I exhaled through my nose, watching her carefully. She was testing me, right from the start. Most people didn’t. Most people walked in intimidated, careful, and already on the defensive. But not her.
I picked up her resume from my desk and scan it. Her qualifications were solid. She had experience, a degree, and strong references. But I’d learned long ago that none of that mattered if a person couldn’t handle pressure.
I set the papers down. “Why do you want this job?”
“I’m looking for something challenging,” she said easily. “Something that isn’t mind-numbing. I’ve worked under demanding bosses before, and I’m good at what I do.”
“And what makes you think you can handle me?”
She tilted her head slightly. “Should I be worried?”
“That depends.” I leaned back in my chair. “This isn’t a nine-to-five position. You’ll be expected to be available at all hours. I don’t tolerate inefficiency. I don’t repeat myself. And I don’t have the patience for people who can’t keep up.”
She nodded as if she already knew all that. “Understood.”
“You’ll be dealing with high-profile clients, confidential information, and my schedule, which is non-negotiable. Mistakes aren’t an option.”
She crossed one leg over the other. “Sounds reasonable.”
I studied her, waiting for the hesitation that usually followed. But instead of shrinking under the weight of my words, she simply lifted her chin slightly, as if daring me to push further.
Interesting.
I glanced at my watch. “Tell me about your last position.”
That was all the invitation she needed.
She sat up straighter, launching into an explanation of her previous job, her responsibilities, and her accomplishments.
She talked fast, clearly over-prepared, filling every available second with details that I didn’t necessarily ask for.
Most candidates stumbled their way through interviews, nervous or overly rehearsed. She was both.
“…so when my last boss decided to reorganize the entire department overnight, I had to scrap and rebuild his calendar in under an hour. And that’s not including the last-minute meeting he scheduled in a different city, which I managed to coordinate while simultaneously handling a PR crisis that?—”
I held up a hand. “Solenn.”
She stopped immediately.
I narrowed my eyes. “Do you always talk this much?”
She blinked. “That depends. Are you looking for a yes-man who gives one-word answers or someone who knows what they’re doing?”
I almost smirked. Almost.
She had a point. But she also wasn’t used to me yet. I didn’t need unnecessary explanations or long-winded justifications. I needed efficiency. Precision.
“I don’t need stories,” I said. “I need facts.”
“Noted.”
I tapped a finger against my desk. “Tell me, then. What’s your biggest weakness?”
Her lips twitched slightly. “I tend to over-explain things.”
I stared at her. She stared back.
She wasn’t wrong.
The room went quiet for a second, the tension shifting into something I wasn’t used to during interviews. It wasn’t just the back-and-forth, the sharpness of her answers. It was her.
She was attractive. That was obvious. But that wasn’t what threw me off.
It was the way she carried herself—the ease, the control, the way she met my gaze without flinching.
She wasn’t trying to impress me with charm or scripted professionalism.
She was just there, completely unshaken, completely unbothered by the weight of my attention.
And for some reason, I didn’t like how much I didn’t dislike it.
I straightened slightly, shifting the focus back. “You have no problem with long hours?”
“No.”
“Travel?”
“Not an issue.”
“People talking about you behind your back?”
She let out a short laugh. “If I cared about that, I wouldn’t have lasted this long in corporate.”
I watched her for another moment before flipping through the pages in front of me. Every other assistant I’d hired had looked good on paper, but they’d all cracked under pressure. Maybe she would, too. Or maybe—just maybe—she was exactly what I needed.
I closed the folder. “You’ll hear from us by the end of the day.”
She nodded, standing up, and smoothing her blazer. “Looking forward to it.”
I didn’t stand, but I watched as she turned toward the door. She walked with the same ease she had when I first entered—no rush, no nerves.
Right before she reached for the handle, she paused and glanced back. “By the way,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “I can keep my answers short. I just figured you’d rather see what I was capable of instead of giving you a boring, rehearsed script.”
Then she walked out.
I exhaled slowly, leaning back in my chair, and and drumming my fingers against the desk.
Maybe hiring her was a mistake.
Or maybe it was going to be very interesting.