2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Tage
My alarm goes off, the blaring sound going right through my head.
I groan as I search for it on the bed. It’s tangled up in the sheets somewhere, and the noise is only getting louder.
I finally find it and swipe the bar to turn the alarm off, then I get out of bed before I fall back asleep and miss this important interview.
I’ve been in Chicago only a few days, using every bit of my savings to stay here while I look for a job. Yeah, I’m kind of doing things backwards, I know. It’s fine. Everything is going to be fine.
I don’t know what it is about Chicago, but it’s called to me since I was a little kid. I always knew I would end up here; I just expected it to be sooner. Life had different plans for me, though. But I’m here now, and I’m doing whatever I can to make my life work.
I set up as many interviews as I could before getting a hotel room at a monthly rate, which was cheaper than paying for it daily, but also more expensive than rent will be. If finding a job takes more than a month, I might be a little fucked—and not in the good way like I was last night.
I’ve already lined up some apartments to look at, which I’ll do this weekend when my interviews are done.
I’m hoping everything will line up perfectly and I’ll get a job in enough time to get the money to put down on the apartment when I get approved for it.
It’s a stretch, but it’s all I’ve got. Going home isn’t an option.
There’s nothing left for me there, and I’m not going to dwell on it or worry about what I left behind.
None of that matters anymore. I’m making a future for myself.
Something I will be proud of. Something I’ll work hard for.
I take a quick shower to rinse off the night, unable to ignore the ache or the memories that come with it. But that’s the good thing about hook-ups—they’re memories, and you don’t have to worry about seeing them when you don’t want to.
I brush my teeth, apply deodorant, and run some product through my hair before blow-drying it so it sits just right.
I’m letting it grow a little more because I have a rebellious streak that won’t die, not even when my parents aren’t around to get annoyed by it.
I dress in a pair of slim-fit black slacks, a white button-up, and an emerald-green tie.
I have enough time to grab a banana and a coffee from the hotel breakfast area. It’s included, so I should get what I can. There’s money in my account, but it won’t last long if I spend it on unnecessary things. Once outside, I hail a cab and give them the address of where I need to go.
Traffic isn’t bad, but I’m not going all that far. It’s possible I could have walked, but it’s getting warmer, and the last thing I want to do is show up with sweat stains in all the wrong places.
We pull up in front of a modern glass and steel building. The windows are tinted blue, reflecting all the other buildings around us, similar to the way water does. I pay for my ride and thank the cab driver as I get out.
I pass through a large revolving door and enter a spacious, two-story lobby.
A security guard sits in a cubicle to the right, while there is a long reception desk on the left with a waterfall wall behind it.
Ahead, beyond a row of windows, is a showroom of hot tubs and lounge chairs.
Mock palm trees and sand. Even a tiki bar is in the far back.
There’s a man in a suit speaking with a group of three people, all of whom are well-dressed. This alone tells me all I need to know about this place. Everyone who comes and goes is made of money. I sigh and turn toward the reception desk.
The woman behind it is young, with a light brown bob and bright red lipstick, dressed in a brown plaid skirt suit. She greets me with a kind smile.
“Hi, I have an interview at nine. My name is Tage Briar.”
“Sure, let me just look that up.” She types on her computer, eyes flicking over the screen. “Yes, I see you right here. I just need to print you a badge so you can use the elevator.”
Ah, technology.
“Please move a step to your right so I can take your photo,” she says with her eyes on her monitor.
I stare at the little camera and wait for her to tell me it’s all set. A moment later, I have my badge with a clip to attach it to my shirt and directions to head to the top floor.
There are a few people on the elevator with me: men with ties and women in heels.
It moves quickly, stopping on a few floors for the others to get off before bringing me all the way to the top.
The doors open to another reception area, this one smaller.
There’s a man at the desk. Around my age, dressed similarly, but with dark curly hair and those large glasses that are in style again, but still remind me of Jeffrey Dahmer.
He smiles as I make my way over, noting the name plaque on his desk. David Miller.
“You must be Tage Briar. Lindsey said you were on your way up. Let me take you to the conference room.”
“Thank you.” I follow him down a few hallways to a medium-sized conference room with a table big enough for twenty people. The walls are painted off-white and adorned with blown-up photos of different pool and spa areas.
“Can I get you a beverage? Water? Coffee? Tea? Juice?” David asks kindly.
“No, thank you.”
He nods. “He’ll be right with you,” he says before leaving me alone in the room.
I assumed I’d be interviewing with the woman I spoke to yesterday, but I guess it doesn’t matter who I’m meeting with.
Him. Her. I’m good with them all. Talking to people is what I know how to do.
People are easy to read, and most don’t even realize it.
But I see it all and use my strengths to get what I need.
I’ve been told it’s manipulative, but I’m not making people do things they wouldn’t normally do; I’m just becoming what they want. So, okay, yes… manipulative, I guess.
I take a seat with my back to the door so I can look out at the city while I wait. It’s beautiful here. Loud. Busy. Everything I’ve craved since I was a kid. I’m tired of the quiet.
I’d told the guy from last night that I was from Boston, and it’s not really a lie. I’m from the Boston area, just not directly in the city. And being in Boston doesn’t hit the way being in Chicago does.
There is no clock in this room that I can see.
Not that I have anywhere else to be today.
It’s the only interview I have for the day, which is why I was so grateful when I got the call last night for it.
It was entirely last minute, but apparently they’re looking to fill the spot immediately.
Perfect. Because I’m looking to be hired immediately.
Of course, I didn’t say that. I don’t want them to think I’m desperate. Even if I might be a little desperate.
I’m not sure how long I wait until someone comes in.
I hear the footsteps, before I see anyone. They're unhurried. Confident, as if they’ve walked this path a thousand times.
I keep my attention on the buildings outside the window as someone steps into my peripheral vision.
“Good morning,” they say.
The voice hits me first.
Familiar.
My stomach drops before I even look up.
No.
Slowly, I lift my head. Memories flood my mind.
Last night.
The bar.
His bed.
His cock.
The stranger who never gave me his first name. Except he isn't a stranger anymore. Not even close. He’s seen parts of me that not many others have, despite my confidence.
He's wearing a tailored charcoal suit, similar to the one from last night. The one I watched him peel off his body, layer by layer, as he got ready to fuck me the second time. His hair is perfectly styled, and somehow he looks even more expensive in daylight. Not that he looked bad last night. I knew he was made of money the moment I walked into the bar. It’s why I went after him, even though he thinks the entire thing was his idea.
"Well," he says as he stops on the other side of the table, one corner of his mouth lifting. "This is unexpected."
My brain... stops.
No. No, no, no.
"What—"
Mr. Monroe chuckles as he pulls out the chair to sit across from me.
The shit-eating grin on his face makes me want to slap him.
The look in his eyes tells me exactly what he’s thinking about—last night.
I was banking on this job. They’re desperate. I’m desperate. I was going to play it up like no other and walk out of here with a job offer. Now I’m screwed.
“Of all the people to show up in my building this morning, the last person I ever expected was you.”
I force a smile because I will not let this bring me down today. “I’m just full of surprises.”
He looks me up and down. “Yes, you are.” Then his gaze narrows, but his posture doesn’t change. “Did you know who I was last night?”
I scoff. I don’t mean to, but I can’t help it.
“If you mean did I know who you were when you propositioned me, the answer is no. In fact, I got the call about the interview while I was sitting across the bar from you. They said the name of the company was Blue Luxury and Spa. You didn’t tell me anything about your company. ”
He runs his fingers across his chin as he considers something. It’s then I notice he has nothing in his hands. No paper. No pen. Not prepared for an interview.
"What is happening here?" I ask, not entirely sure this isn’t some kind of set-up. It feels too… perfectly wrong.
"I'm asking myself the same thing," Mr. Monroe says carefully.
I hate that I can’t help how handsome the man is. He has that classical look about him. Dark hair, shiny and styled just right. His eyes are dark brown, surrounded by thick lashes that women would kill for. His features are pronounced and defined, like a model.
“Did you know who I was at the bar last night?” I ask before I start drooling.
“How could I?”
Fair point.
He studies me for another few seconds, not awkwardly, not even flirtatiously.
Just... curiously. Like I'm a puzzle he hasn't solved and doesn’t know where to begin. Maybe he doesn’t believe that I didn’t know.
I’ll admit that it is hard to believe. But it’s true.
And another thing he doesn’t know—I’m not sleeping with men for jobs.
"You look different,” he finally says.
Really? That’s what he’s going with?
"I changed my clothes,” I deadpan.
"I noticed." The corner of his mouth twitches as if he’s recalling a fond memory. "So." He leans back, relaxing slightly. "You came here looking for a job."
"Obviously.”
"And if I remember correctly..." His gaze drifts briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes. "Last night you made it very clear you weren't looking for anything serious—or long-term."
Heat crawls up my neck.
"Last night was last night."
"So it was."
Silence settles between us, his gaze like fire. I feel my body growing hot and itchy.
"I'd like to keep it that way," I add.
He nods. "Fair."
That wasn't the response I expected, but I also didn’t expect to walk into an interview with the man who railed me so hard last night that I’m still feeling it today. To be fair, I did tell him to do that.
"But you do realize this position is for my personal assistant, don’t you?” he adds with a raised brow and a smirk.
I swallow hard, because no. No, I didn’t know that. Maybe because I was too thrilled about the interview that I didn’t listen, or maybe because they never mentioned it. I can’t be sure.
“Does it matter?” I play stupid. Act like what happened between us less than twelve hours ago doesn’t mean anything. Because it doesn’t. It was just one night. This is my future, and that’s what’s important. Who cares about some guy I slept with one time? I sure as hell don’t.
He gives a small shrug. “Does it to you?”
“No. In fact, I can barely remember it at all.”
Humor crosses his face, and I know he doesn’t believe me. But he doesn’t call me out on it either.
"It pays eighty-five thousand."
My brain stalls, because what? “You didn’t even ask me any questions.”
"Plus bonuses."
I stare. “What about the interview?”
“I think we had a wonderful interview, Mr. Briar.” He gives me a knowing smile. “You wouldn’t agree?”
“This isn’t—”
“If eighty-five is too low, I can bump it to ninety.”
“What? Why?” The words come out louder than I intend. I don’t like that he’s making me lose my composure. I spent years perfecting it.
He watches me with fascination.
"You really weren't expecting this outcome when you saw me,” he says carefully, like he’s only now just believing that I didn’t know who he was last night.
Which annoys the hell out of me.
“I’m not the kind of person who cheats to get ahead in life.
I’ve worked my ass off and lost a lot of things to be here.
I’m not fucking around,” I say, my temper getting the best of me, because I feel like I’m being toyed with and I don’t like it.
Swearing in an interview is a big no-no, everyone knows this, but this isn’t a typical interview.
“Which is exactly why you’re the perfect fit for the job. You can start tomorrow morning. Does that work for you?”
My jaw drops to the floor. “Are you serious? Did you even look at my resume?”
My cheeks are flushed, anger coursing through my veins. I could be a homeless person off the street with nothing more than a middle school education, and he’d hire me. Why have I worked my ass off if none of my hard work matters?
Mr. Monroe gets up, fixing his jacket as he straightens. “I told my head of human resources that if she didn’t bring me a competent person, I’d fire them all. And I am a man of my word, if nothing else. I trust she did her job. See you in the morning, Tage.”
He walks out of the room, leaving me speechless and feeling… some type of way I can’t explain.
What have I just gotten myself into?