Hannah

HAVE you ever had such earth-shattering sex that you almost feel guilty over it? Like something that great couldn't just happen, not without losing something—dignity, innocence... something you haven't realized yet?

Maybe I should feel bad for everyone around me. They're missing out on something monumental, life-altering, and they don't even know it. And how could they? They didn't experience what I did last night.

I twirl a strand of hair between my fingers, bed sheets sprawling about my body like a sea of clouds. Did last night even happen, or was he some ghost figment of my imagination? But the lingering scent of him reminds me it was real.

All of it.

I noticed he was gone when I woke up five minutes ago, leaving me feeling disappointed but glad at the same time.

I chew on my bottom lip.

Would I have been able to look at him after that?

Do I know how I feel?

Do I regret it? No.

But what if nothing will ever compare to that? Possible—probable,

even.

No, no, don't think like that. It's good we'll never see each other again.

I'm better off this way. A clean cut, never given the opportunity to know each other.

I continue contemplating the consequences of the most delicious night of my existence, when the most terrifying, horrible thought blooms in my mind, arriving late on the caboose of the you're-so-fucked train.

MY. INTERVIEW.

I fly out of bed, standing naked and startled in the glorious hotel suite. Feeling like a fish in a glass bowl, with the daylight streaming in through the windows in every direction, I scramble for my phone.

Kitchen counter? Nope. Bathroom? Nope. Racing around, I search and snatch my littered clothes from off the floor.

I'm fucked. So, so fucked.

What was I thinking? Going out and hooking up with some devilishly handsome man the night before such an important interview. Stupid.

Sofia said we'd only be out for a little while, and I was downing tequila shots like they were Capri Sun. STUPID.

Hanging out of my purse on the sofa, I find my phone.

I had all this time to remember something so important. How did I not? Not once did I think of it—not at the club table, not during the car ride to the hotel and DEFINITELY not last night while—

Okay. It's fine. Stop spiraling. I probably have time.

I check the time on my phone. Ten-thirty. My interview is in thirty minutes.

Oh my god. There's no way. I have nothing to wear, and I still need to make it all the way to Silicon Avenue.

Sweat prickles the back of my neck as I scroll through a flood of messages, all from Sofia.

Sofia: Come back to the table. We got more shots.

Sofia: Where are you?

Sofia: Jenna said she can't find you either.

Sofia: Oh my god. I didn't know Sterling came. What an ass. I'm so

sorry, I don't know who invited him. Also... I swear I just saw Sterling get taken out of the club unconscious, but it was probably someone else.

Sofia: You probably went home. I'll see you there.

Sofia: Alright... not at home. I'm officially worried.

Sofia: Ohhhh, I see you're at The Ritz (fancy, get it, girl).

How did she...? I shake my head, reminding myself I don't have time to

ask such questions and continue to read.

Sofia: I'm going out on a limb here and assuming you're too

"preoccupied" to remember your interview tomorrow.

A row of winky faces line the end of her text.

Heat rushes straight to my cheeks. I'm never going to hear the end of this.

Sofia: Morning sunshine. I tried to call you, but no luck. I brought some clothes over. The stingy front desk guy wouldn't tell me your room number and I didn't have time to pry it out of him, so they said they'd bring them up to you. Also, don't worry about leaving the cocktail dress. I have a million of them.

Sofia: Knock 'em dead, Han. Innovex needs both of us under the same roof.

My eyes nearly shoot from their sockets. She brought me clothes?

I glance around, but don't spot any. Maybe they're outside? I rush to the large front door, peeking through the peephole. Standing on my tippy toes, I can barely make out a blur of black and blue on the ground.

Cracking the door, I rummage my hand low to the floor through the small opening. Don't want to subject an unfortunate worker to a frazzled, butt-naked lady when they walk out of the elevator.

Once in the bathroom, I toss the clothes on the counter. There's no time to inspect them. Then a pouch spills open, mascara and other items scattering on the marble.

No way did she think of makeup. What an angel.

I wash up in record time, scrubbing my skin so hard it nearly falls off. Anything to keep my interviewer from getting a whiff of my poor decision- making skills.

Now clean, I shimmy into the clothes and finish getting ready. Sofia brought me a black pencil skirt that kisses my knees, a ruffled sleeveless blouse and nude heels. Hugged by the tight material, I examine my backside. The look is confident and sophisticated, yet sexy.

Damn. She might be an engineer, but she sure knows how to put an outfit together.

Inspecting the place once more, I check if I’ve left anything important. But when I'm sure I didn't, I sigh. It's as if I'm leaving some dream behind, and I'm worried that the more time goes by, the less I'll remember how it felt.

I turn to rush out, but then freeze. There's a note on the nightstand.

Hannah,

If you ever need to pretend again.

His pristine handwriting ends with a number at the bottom.

Standing with my legs straight like a pencil, I hold the note between my fingers.

Leave it.

The urgency of needing to go creeps up my back.

Just leave it.

Crinkling the paper, I shove it inside my purse.

MY HEAD CRANES BACK, staring up at the skyscraper shining beneath the sun's rays as business personnel pass me by on the street without notice.

Headquarters to Innovex Microchips, the building stands like a beacon in the heart of Silicon Avenue. The shorter, neighboring skyscrapers house other miscellaneous tech companies. From Sofia's explanation, Innovex is the top microchip company in the world, supplying the processing units for just about anything. Computers, cars, microwaves, hairdryers, gaming consoles, televisions, everything.

I recall Sofia’s explanation last week, while cracking eggs into a frying pan with wonder on her face.

"If it needs computing power, it needs a central processing unit—a microchip. And chances are, it was designed and manufactured by Innovex." She smiled, like she was so excited about bringing me into her nerdy world. "Maybe I even soldered its prototype."

"Right... Like I know what that means."

She then gave me a long-winded explanation with a precursor of “don't worry, it's not that complicated” that went miles over my head.

I still can't reiterate why or how they work, but that's not my job. My interests are on the business side of things, management specifically, which is why I need to nail this interview to be their next client relations assistant manager.

My heart pumps, thinking of the vast number of clientele Innovex has. They cast such a wide, global net.

I breathe through my nose, giving myself a pep talk. No need to overthink it, Hannah. It's just a building. Look around, there are plenty of them.

Willing my legs into motion, my first steps are like trudging out of a cement mold. Every suit I pass, I keep a level head. It's unimaginable to me that all these people work for a single company.

You can fit in. You're qualified for this position. You graduated in business management with honors. Your outfit is great. And your resume is up to par.

Reaching the revolving doors, I slip into a crowded section.

And although you didn't have time to ask for a sparkling reference letter when you dumped Sterling the first or second time, you can make up for it by acting confident and professional.

I exit and check my phone. Ten-fifty-nine. One minute to spare. If it wasn't for Sofia's quick thinking, there's no way I would've made it on time.

Say it again. Act confident and professional, I repeat in my head. The interviewer won't know what a slutty, dirty plaything you were last night for a man you just met.

Slipping my phone back in my purse, the scrunched paper scrapes my fingertips. The thought of calling him and hearing his sultry voice crosses my mind. Heat squirms up my bare legs as I think of all the ways he ordered me around.

I bite the inside of my cheek.

Maybe it's best to refrain from any and all thoughts of last night. While I'm here, it never happened. That shouldn't be too difficult to manage.

"AS I'VE SAID, we were most impressed by your previous employment." The lady in the plaid blazer holds up her clipboard.

We sit on opposite sides of a glossy mahogany desk in a room of enclosed glass. Outside, people bustle about and huddle around whiteboards or desks littered with computer monitors. Surprisingly, there's no cubicle in sight.

The interview is nearing an end, and I'd say it's gone well, having avoided some uncomfortable questions about what I specifically did at Sterling's company. I didn't lie. Call it stretching the truth. In short, faking it until you make it is a better option than explaining I was no more than a well-dressed errand girl.

All the initial promises Sterling made when I took the job as being his personal assistant went out the window the first day I started. No attending interviews. No listening in on important calls. Nothing substantial for me to grow and learn about how the business is run.

"We particularly think it advantageous to have you on our Bass Mobile team—still as an assistant manager, of course—to help continue our relationship with them."

I nearly choke on a piece of air when I hear Sterling's company name. "Continue?"

The auburn-haired woman gives me an odd look. "We've been supplying them with our G7 chip since its launch last year."

Of course, I don't know that. Of course, Sofia forgot to mention that, and my dumbass neglected to ask it. Maybe I was subconsciously refusing the possibility. My mind must've not been able to go there. That my non- public relationship with Sterling Bass might still affect my job search along Silicon Avenue.

Feigning my knowledge of something so obvious, I smile. "Yes, of course. I thought you were speaking of some new relationship with them. I've been to the Bass manufacturing center and seen the workers place the chip firsthand."

The lie twists my stomach. It seems my future in this field may be at risk, once again, by none other than Sterling Bass.

It's only an assistant manager job. And besides, Sterling would send one of his minions to meet with outside personnel. I might not even see him.

"Excellent." Her eyes brighten, and I loosen a breath. She believes me. "We have always worked closely with Bass Mobile, obviously because of the connection between—" She stops her sentence short, eyeing the door.

A cheery-looking man pops his head in. "Carol?" He smiles.

"Yes?"

"Pardon the interruption, but it seems our CEO has opened a new

personal assistant position. Hannah's name was mentioned, given her previous job and her already being here."

I straighten in my chair. They're requesting me for a different job on the spot?

"Oh?" She gives the man a quizzical look.

Yep, this is definitely out of the ordinary.

“Well, we were just wrapping up here, anyway. Hannah, if you have no more questions for me, I'll hand you off to Angelo, if you'd be interested in the position."

I'm not... But I don't want to seem ungrateful.

"Sure." I nod. "That sounds great."

She stands. "That's good to hear. It's been a pleasure, Miss Lockwood. We'll be sure to give you a call if you're chosen for the position."

"Thank you." I stand as well, shaking her hand. "It was great to meet you, too."

Leaving the room, I trail Angelo's quick footsteps. He ushers me across the working floor, employees zooming by us.

"Sorry for such a short notice, but I thought I'd give you the chance to interview now while you're here."

We approach the lines of elevators, and he hits the up arrow with his knuckles. A pair of metal doors instantly swing open, and we enter.

Angelo swipes his card attached to his lanyard, and the top floor button lights up.

Floor 75.

My mind buzzes with questions as we ascend, all of them ones I shouldn't ask, because I'm really not interested in this personal assistant job.

"Are you taking me to meet with him now?"

Or her? Sofia's information didn't reach as far as who owns the company. And I don't do extensive research beforehand, as that often makes me too nervous for the interview.

"Hopefully, yes. His time is very limited, so we'll see if he can fit us in."

My toes curl in my shoes, nervousness and excitement nipping at me. If I had known I was meeting the CEO of Silicon Avenue's largest corporation, I really wouldn't have gone out last night.

The door opens to reveal a long corridor. A porcelain-white desk faces us, with an older woman behind it.

"Hi, Angelo." Her eyes glue to the computer screen in front of her, nails clacking against a keyboard hidden from our view. "His meeting with Mr. Langley finished a few minutes ago. You may see him now."

"Perfect." Angelo leads us down the corridor, his eyes flickering towards me. "Seems we lucked out. Getting time to meet with Mr. Bass is difficult"—my ankle wobbles, causing me to nearly tumble—"especially if..."

I don't hear the rest of his explanation, not when a boulder the size of the moon splashes down in the pit of my stomach.

Mr. Bass? I walk straight-backed, feeling lucky that Angelo is in front of me, or he would have seen my obvious reaction. He did not say that, because if he did, that would mean...

Anger flows through my veins.

Sterling asked for me.

No one else in his family knows about me. He said his family owned a conglomerate, but he never mentioned owning Innovex too. It doesn't have Bass in the name. He must want payback for what happened to him at the club last night.

My adrenaline hikes up. Should I leave? Should I say something?

A closed door comes into view at the end of the hall. Each step feels like ticking a bomb down to zero, counting the remaining seconds I have left to be taken seriously on Silicon Avenue.

With burning eyes, my throat tightens. His laughing words sing a vicious melody in my ear.

You—a manager? Be serious, baby.

Oh, Hannah. You and your little dreams.

You could only do that with my family name.

Can't you take a joke?

I never said that. You're crazy.

Everyone agrees with me.

NO! My heels stop hard in front of the door. He won't take this from me

too. If he wants to try to fuck with my career, fine. I'm game.

Angelo holds the door open for me, my chest heaving in fury. I exhale slowly, needing to face Sterling with a clear head.

But the man in the navy suit typing on a laptop doesn't look like Sterling. His hair is brown, not blond. His frame is much too large. And when he lifts his head in a calm manner to meet my fiery gaze, his eyes aren't the cold blue ocean I expect. They're green, sultry and rake their way down my body.

Damien? Damien Bass.