Chapter 1
June
"In the six months since Knox Davenport took over as the interim CEO of the Davenport Group media division, he’s run through a string of assistants.
He has a chronic bad attitude." The Human Resources Manager wrings her hands.
"He is grumpy. And irritable. And ill-tempered. Not to mention, impatient. He’s not an easy man to please. "
I swallow. He sounds like an absolute nightmare to work for, if I’m being honest. But it’s not like I have a choice.
I've been without a job for six months. I’ve exhausted my savings and had to go into debt to take care of my family.
I’d hoped to engage an adoption search specialist to track down my birth mother; but now, I don’t have the money to do that either.
Then I heard about this position from my friend Zoey.
I applied and was sure I wouldn’t get an acknowledgement of my application. So, imagine my surprise when I got a call to interview. You can bet, I’m not going to mess up this opportunity.
"How much did you say the position pays?" I ask.
She names a monthly salary, which is more than I earned in a year in any of my previous roles. My gaze widens, and my jaw drops.
"It’s generous"—she nods—"for a reason."
"Oh?" I push my oversized spectacles up my nose.
“Most of his assistants quit within the hour, thanks to his unpleasant temperament.” She shudders. “Those who made it past that left before the end of the day. They found it too traumatizing to look at his”—she gestures to her face— “you know?”
“I don’t actually.” What is she referring to?
I researched the Davenport Group and its management team before I came here.
I even drew up a plan on how to address weaknesses I noticed in the company’s image, which I hoped to present during my interview.
However, I didn’t find anything alluding to whatever it is she’s referring to.
She notices the chagrin on my face and leans in, then beckons me closer.
I mirror her move.
"He used to be a commando in the Royal Marines, which is where he was disfigured. His features are rather grotesque,” she says in a stage whisper.
I stare at her. Some of my shock at her statement must show on my face, for she raises her hand.
“I know, it may seem impolite for me to share that, but I think it's best to prepare you for what you’re going to see.” She folds her arms across her chest. “On the positive side, there’s no fear of you falling for him. ” She shrugs.
Me? Falling for my future boss? I scowl. You can bet I’m not going there. Getting this job and keeping it, so I can earn enough to take care of my family, is of the utmost importance. I’d never screw that up.
“In fact, you won’t find it difficult to keep your attention from his face, for the rest of him is sooo built.” She blinks rapidly. “It makes you want to touch his chest to find out if the muscles under it are as sculpted as his shirt hints at…" She reddens.
I can’t stop myself from scowling. I don’t know this guy, but I feel like I should tell her not to objectify him. But before I can voice my opinion, she firms her lips. "Gosh, I shouldn’t have said that. In fact, forget I said that. I tend to lose track of my thoughts where The Beast is concerned."
"The beast?" My frown deepens.
"With a capital B. That’s the nickname we have for him." She squirms in her seat. "I shouldn’t have revealed that, either."
No, you shouldn’t have. And you’re the HR Manager, lady. It’s so inappropriate that she indulges in office gossip.
She must realize that she’s crossed a line, for she sits upright. "Forget I said that, please." She waves her hand in the air, as if that will remove the images she’s put in my head.
She picks up her tablet and scrolls across her screen. "You haven’t had an office-based job in a while?"
"Uh, yeah, the job market hasn’t been the best." I shuffle my feet. "I couldn’t get an office assistant role, so I worked as a waitress for a while.”
"Hmph." She makes the sound under her breath, but I hear it. “Waitress, huh?”
There’s no missing the judgement in her tone.
My cheeks flush. “Being a waitress helped me learn the importance of interpersonal skills.”
“Oh?” She seems taken aback by my words.
I should stop my outburst, but I must defend myself. Besides, this is where I can make an impassioned plea for the job.
I nod. “It helped build my stamina by being on my feet all day. And of course, develop a thick skin from warding off insults from rude patrons. Not to mention, unwanted attention from male customers.” I set my jaw, “In my humble opinion, it shows that I have resilience.” Something I believe will put me in good stead, from what she’s told me about this role.
That I keep to myself. But I can’t prevent myself from adding, “It also indicates that I have perseverance. I don’t give up easily. ”
Something in my words seems to have struck home, for she nods slowly. "I suppose you have a point.” She sighs, “Your resume isn’t ideal. I’d have preferred someone with more relevant experience for this role, but we’re out of alternatives.”
I should feel slighted by her implication that I’m their last option, but I don’t care. If I get this opportunity, and that extravagant salary which comes with it, that's what matters.
She looks up from her device, reaches for her phone, and dials a number. When the person at the other end answers, she says, “Will you come in please?”
In seconds, the door opens and the young girl I passed at the desk outside the HR Manager’s office walks in.
“Zelda, will you show June to her workstation?” The HR lady puts away her device and turns to her screen.
"What do you mean?" I frown.
"You want the job, don’t you?" She toggles her mouse to wake up her computer.
I nod.
“It’s yours,” she responds without looking away from her screen.
"You mean—"
"You start right away."
"Today?" I gape. I got the job? "But doesn’t he want to interview me?"
"Knox Davenport doesn’t interview his assistants; he’s too busy making money." She shakes her head. “Please bring in a photo ID and proof of residence tomorrow, so I can prepare the necessary paperwork.“ She begins to type rapid-fire, indicating she's done with me.
This woman needs a crash-course in etiquette, but my outrage pales in light of the fact I’m now gainfully employed. I was sure I’d botched the meeting, but apparently not. If I’m getting the position without having to interview with the boss, then hey, I’ll take it. Joy bubbles up in my chest.
My entire being feels like it’s glowing. I want to fist-pump the air but stop myself. Instead, I lower my chin and strive for a neutral voice. “Thank you, I won’t let you down.”
When she doesn’t reply, I hook my bag over my shoulder, rise to my feet and follow Zelda to the elevator, then up to the top floor of the building.
The doors open to a corridor and when I step on the carpet, my three-inch Jimmy Choo knockoffs sink into the plush surface. It’s like I’m floating on a cloud. And it’s so quiet, I can hear the sound of my heart beating. Or maybe, that’s because I'm nervous?
"This is the executive floor," Zelda tells me in a hushed voice. Her blonde curls frame her doll-like features. She’s dressed in a black dress that wouldn’t be out of place at a nightclub.
In comparison, my skirt’s hemline falls below my knees and my jacket, which I thought smartened my get-up, makes me feel dowdy and overdressed.
I shove those thoughts aside and pay attention to my surroundings.
There are glass-enclosed offices on either side of the corridor, with men and women focused on their computer screens or on their phones.
In the center of the room are desks with more men and women busily typing away on keyboards.
None of them look up as I pass. One of the women almost meets my eye then looks away.
Huh? Maybe she was in the middle of something?
I brush aside her reaction and follow Zelda to the double doors at the end of the corridor.
Unlike the other offices with glass walls and doors, these doors are made of wood, and the walls are made of concrete. Seems Mr. Knox Davenport relishes his privacy. There’s a definite do-not-disturb vibe radiating off of the closed doors to his office.
Zelda indicates the desk at the side. “This's yours."
A wave of happiness sweeps through me. I've hoped for this moment for so long. I've dreamed about a job in a nice office, where I’d be surrounded by industrious colleagues and a boss who’d encourage me, challenge me, and give me the chance to prove myself.
But I never thought I’d achieve that position.
I walk over and slide into the chair, then place my handbag on the desk.
"The password for the computer is on the post-it note." She gestures to where it’s stuck to the computer screen. "The kitchen is through that door.”
"Right." I key the password into the computer screen. It unlocks, and I find myself in an inbox. "The email address belongs to someone called Kelly," I point out.
She nods. "That would be his first assistant, who lasted for less than an hour. After that, we didn’t bother setting up a new email addresses because it felt like a waste of time.”
Right.
"There are a lot of unanswered emails," I say slowly. Over a thousand, to be precise.
"The last assistant quit three weeks ago. After that, we ran out of agencies to send us people, so—" The phone on the desk rings. I jump, then stare at the instrument on the desk.
"Are you going to answer that?" the woman asks. A thread of impatience runs through her tone.
I stare at the phone for a few more seconds—I don't even know what I'm supposed to say—then slowly reach for it.
I lift the receiver, clear my throat, but before I can speak a word, a dark male voice growls, "Bring me the reports for the sales meeting. Cancel my five p.m. Send a Tiffany’s bracelet and flowers to Rita. "
What the—? I grab hold of a pen and start writing on the note pad that's helpfully placed next to the phone.