Chapter 11 – The Interview

Chapter 11 – The Interview

Juliet Pierce

I was still in shock. Noah Blake: the difficult CEO who “growls and doesn’t hire women,” the owner of a club I never imagined stepping foot in (let alone working at), and the same man who, in the space of one night, made me feel like a woman again after years of feeling like nothing.

“Miss?” His deep voice snapped me out of it. I hadn’t heard a single word he’d just said.

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Noah—I mean, Blake… God, I mean Mr. Blake.”

Kill me now. I sound like a complete idiot.

He watched me with those impossible green eyes, a glint dancing in them. One brow slowly arched. Was he annoyed… or amused?

“You still planning on doing this interview, Miss…?”

“You still want to interview me?” The question flew out before I could stop it.

“Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”

“Uh… I don’t know. You tell me?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Miss, I really do need an assistant. This game of twenty questions isn’t getting me one.”

There it was—the difficult CEO Jenny had warned me about.

“If you’re still willing to give me the chance, I’m very interested in moving forward.”

He stepped aside, a silent order to come in. As I passed him, my arm accidentally brushed his chest. Electricity shot down my spine.

He closed the door with a soft click and walked to the leather chair behind the massive desk. I stayed rooted to the spot. I wasn’t about to move until he told me to.

“Are you planning on standing the entire time?”

“Uh…” Brilliant, Juliet. “Yes—I mean, no. I was just waiting for you to tell me to sit.”

That wicked glint in his eyes flared. His face stayed perfectly neutral, but the sparkle gave him away. Penelope’s voice echoed in my head: “They love to give orders… and they love it even more when we obey.”

Too late to take it back now.

“Sit.”

The single word rolled out like velvet-wrapped steel.

I practically ran to the chair in front of him, mentally kicking myself for sounding like a total moron.

“Nervous?” he asked, voice calm, but the amusement was still dancing in his eyes.

“If I say yes, will you still go through with the interview?”

He leaned back, never breaking eye contact.

“Depends on why you’re nervous. The interview… or me?”

“Both,” I blurted before my brain caught up.

“Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”

Stop looking at me like that. I swallowed the answer.

“We could just start the interview. That would help.”

He smiled—small, controlled, but real. And devastating.

“I thought we already had.”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Noah—I mean Mr. Blake…”

My palms were sweating. I hated pressure. I hated feeling cornered. And what happened between us the last time we were alone was making everything ten times worse. I squeezed my bag so hard my knuckles went white. His gaze dropped to my trembling hands.

“Alright,” he said, voice softening just a fraction. “Let’s actually begin.”

Here we go, God…

He raised an eyebrow. Shit—I’d said that out loud.

“Sorry, it slipped out.”

“No problem. Reed hasn’t brought me your file yet. I still don’t know your background or skills.”

“I graduated from Harvard with a degree in Economics, focus on Corporate Finance. I started the Executive MBA in International Business Management, but for personal reasons I wasn’t able to finish.”

“Harvard,” he repeated, clearly impressed. “I graduated from there too.”

“The best for the best,” I said with a tiny playful smile.

For one miraculous second, he smiled back.

“And the last company you worked for?”

“In the field? None. But right after graduation I was invited to join Harrow Capital’s leadership program. One of my professors recommended me—he thought I was a rising star in finance at the time.”

A bitter laugh escaped before I could stop it.

“What happened?” he asked, suddenly serious.

I could lie. Or omit. But I’m terrible at lying.

“I got married. My husband wanted the spot. I gave it up so he could take it.”

“So you’re married?”

“Divorced. Several months now.”

Something shifted in his eyes, but I couldn’t read it.

“And do you currently work?”

I hesitated for half a second.

“Only freelance. I haven’t had much luck in recent interviews.”

“Hard to believe with a résumé like that.”

“Not every employer sees it that way.”

He went quiet, studying me like he was trying to figure out why someone with my background had been unemployed for so long. He didn’t need to look far: most companies want workaholics, not single mothers.

“What’s your biggest flaw, Miss…?” He waited for the name he still hadn’t asked.

I opened my mouth to tell him I had two small, completely dependent children…

Knock knock knock.

The door opened and Jenny walked in.

“Excuse me, Mr. Blake. Mr. Reed asked me to bring Juliet’s file.”

At the sound of my name, his eyes snapped to mine.

In the heat of the moment he hadn’t even asked who I was.

And in that exact second, every last doubt vanished.

Noah recognized me.