6

"Did Eli say it was an apartment?" I muttered to myself, stunned as I stepped inside. No way. This was no apartment—it was a freaking mansion in a luxury high-rise! A massive kitchen with high-end appliances in dark tones, a gigantic living room with a flat-screen mounted on the wall, two bathrooms, and four bedrooms. All for me? I didn’t need that much space. But hey, who was I to complain? Thank you, Eli, for the royal treatment.

I unpacked my things, stocked up on groceries, made dinner, and decided to get to bed early. Tomorrow will be the big day—my interview—and I needed to be in top shape. The closer it got, the more my nerves acted up.

The next morning, I woke up before my alarm. After a quick shower, I applied a light day makeup and styled my hair into a neat bun. I chose a dark blue pantsuit that flattered my figure without screaming for attention. A pale blue blouse with a subtle neckline completed the look. Tasteful. Elegant. Professional. Eli and I had spent hours poring over fashion magazines, and thanks to her, I knew how to dress to impress.

As I approached the address of the company, I spotted a towering building with mirrored windows and the name "MoTech" displayed in sleek letters. I stepped into the enormous loft-style lobby, where a security checkpoint loomed ahead. A nervous shiver ran down my spine. I looked down and spotted a faint strip of fur flicker on the back of my hand—it vanished seconds later. My inner wolf wasn’t sleeping. Great.

Calm down, Dana. Just don’t embarrass yourself.

What was I thinking, accepting this interview without even knowing what the company did? Too late to back out now. Deep breaths. You’ve got this.

I took the elevator to the right floor and walked toward the director’s reception. The moment I stepped inside, a fresh wave of anxiety crashed over me. Six women were already seated on the couches—groomed to perfection, all legs, curves, and gloss. Seriously, were they scouted from a modeling agency? Tight dresses, heavy perfume that made my nose twitch, and not a single outfit that said “professional.”

I stood there, unsure, then finally asked, “Excuse me, is the secretary—?”

“She's stepped out. You can leave the mail on the desk,” one overly-enhanced lady interrupted with a pouty mouth.

“I’m not here with mail. I’m here for the interview.”

Six pairs of eyes turned to scan me from head to toe, but none responded. Fine. Only one of us was going to be hired anyway, and I wasn’t here to make friends.

A few minutes later, a woman in her fifties walked into the room. Fit, polished, and commanding. I caught the scent immediately—wolf. Her neatly styled blond hair, tailored dark-gray suit, and sharp brown eyes left no doubt she was a professional.

“Good morning. My name is Margarita, personal secretary to Konstantin Molotovsky, the CEO of MoTech. You’ve been invited to interview for the position of my assistant,” she announced firmly.

Wait, what?! Oh, how I wished Eli could see this. So much for her “big-boobed bimbo secretary” theory.

“I will be conducting the interview myself and making the final decision,” she continued. The girls visibly slumped.

She handed out questionnaires. “You have thirty minutes to complete the test. Then I’ll speak with you individually.”

I dove into the form. The questions weren’t too hard but required basic knowledge and logic. When time was up, we handed them in. Margarita sat at her desk reviewing the answers, occasionally raising or lowering her eyebrows in surprise or doubt.

Finally, she removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Victoria and Dana, stay. The rest of you may leave.”

The other girls pouted and strutted out. Victoria practically glowed with self-satisfaction, tossing her jet-black hair and shooting us a smug look.

“You both did well on the theoretical portion,” Margarita said. “I’d like to work with each of you for two days to determine who is the best fit.”

Okay, that was progress. Now I just had to impress her and edge out Victoria. Lost in thought, I tucked a stray lock behind my ear and my earring popped off. Great. I bent to retrieve it—it had rolled under the desk.

As I reached for it, the reception door opened. And just like a whiff of ammonia makes your head jerk away, a shockingly pleasant scent hit me. Not pungent—divine. Like ocean breeze and something sweet I couldn’t even name. My head snapped up—and hit the underside of the desk. Perfect.

I heard Victoria giggle under her breath. Witch.

I crawled out, rubbing my head, and saw him.

The world stopped.