13

The Vale Industries building was all glass and steel, the kind of place that made you feel small just walking up to the front doors. I stood on the sidewalk for a full minute with my resume clutched in my hand and my heart hammering against my ribs, and I had to remind myself that I'd handled worse things than a job interview.

I'd handled VIP guests who screamed at me over pillow thread counts. I'd handled a husband who tracked my phone and counted my paychecks. A room full of strangers asking questions couldn't be worse than that.

The lobby was cold and quiet, with marble floors that echoed every footstep and a receptionist who looked me up and down before asking my name. I told her, and she tapped something into her computer while I stood there in my old hotel uniform, the only professional clothes I owned. The cuffs were frayed and the fabric was worn thin at the elbows, but I had steamed it the night before and ironed the collar until it lay flat. It would have to be enough.

"Take the elevator to the fourteenth floor," she said. "Someone will meet you there."

The elevator ride felt longer than it should have, and I used the time to practice my breathing. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. The doors opened onto a wide hallway with more glass walls and more marble floors, and a woman in a sharp blazer was waiting for me with a tablet in her hand.

"Adeline Bennett?"

"Yes."

"Follow me. Mr. Vale's schedule is tight, so we'll need to keep this efficient." She led me down the hallway without waiting for a response, her heels clicking against the marble while she talked. "The position is personal assistant to the CEO. He's demanding, meticulous, and doesn't tolerate excuses. The last two PAs didn't last six months. Are you still interested?"

I thought about the bills on the kitchen table and the way Shane's eyes had gone flat when he'd asked about the rent. "Yes."

She glanced at me, and something in her expression shifted. Approval, maybe. Or just surprise. "Good. The interview is in here."

The conference room was bright and cold, with a long table and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city. Two people were already seated. A woman with silver-streaked hair and a tablet in front of her, and a man I assumed was the hiring manager. He was younger than I'd expected, mid-thirties maybe, with a face that gave nothing away.

"Sit down, Ms. Bennett," the woman said. "I'm Carla, head of operations. This is Mr. Hans from HR. We've reviewed your resume. You worked at the Grand Crescent for five years. VIP floor. That's impressive."

"Thank you."

"The Grand Crescent is known for demanding guests and high-pressure situations. Tell us about a time things went wrong and how you handled it."

I told them about the gala night, carefully leaving out the parts I couldn't talk about. The infiltrators. The security breach. The way I'd kept the floor moving while everything threatened to fall apart. The words came out steady, the way they always did when I was talking about work, because work was the one thing I knew how to do right.

Mr. Hale leaned forward. "This position requires discretion and loyalty. Mr. Vale's business is competitive, and he needs someone who can handle confidential matters without drama. Are you comfortable with that?"

"I've handled difficult guests, tight deadlines, and sensitive information for five years. I don't bring drama to work."

Carla made a note on her tablet, and I couldn't tell if it was good or bad. She asked a few more questions about logistics and scheduling, and I answered from memory of the chaos I'd managed at the hotel. When it was over, they asked me to wait in the hallway while they conferred.

I stood by the window and watched the city move below me while my heart raced and my palms sweated. The interview had felt solid, but I'd learned not to trust solid feelings. Nothing in my life had ever been that simple.

The door opened. Carla stepped out, and her expression was unreadable. "Ms. Bennett. We'd like to offer you the position."

I blinked. "The position."

"The PA role. You'd start Monday. The compensation package is in this folder." She handed me a thick envelope. "Mr. Vale is demanding, but he's fair. If you do your job well, you'll have no problems. Do you have any questions?"

A hundred. Who was Mr. Vale? What kind of demanding? Why had the last two PAs left? But all I said was, "What time should I arrive on Monday?"

"Seven-thirty. Don't be late."

I took the folder and shook her hand, and Mr. Hale gave me a brief nod from inside the room. I walked to the elevator in a daze, the envelope heavy in my hand, and when the doors closed and I was alone, I pressed my palm against my mouth and let out a breath I felt like I'd been holding for years.

The job was mine. The pay was almost double what the hotel had given me. Full benefits. Paid overtime. I read the offer letter twice on the train ride home, and each time the numbers didn't change. This one thing, at least, had gone right.

Shane was on the couch when I got home, his phone in his hand and the television muted. He looked up when I walked in, and his eyes went straight to the envelope in my hand.

"What's that?"

"I got the job." I set the envelope on the counter and tried to keep my voice neutral. "Personal assistant at Vale Industries. I start Monday."

He didn't smile. He stood up and walked toward me, and his hand closed around my wrist before I could step back. "Vale Industries. That's that big corporate place downtown, right? The one with all the rich pricks who think they're better than everyone."

"I don't know much about it yet. The interview went well."

"I bet it did." His thumb pressed into the soft spot under my wrist bone, and I felt the familiar flicker of pain. "What kind of boss is this Mr. Vale? Man or woman?"

"Man, I think. The woman who interviewed me was the head of operations."

"Man." He said the word like it tasted bad. "You'll be spending all day with another man. Taking his calls. Fetching his coffee. Looking nice for him in that tight uniform."

"It's not like that. It's an administrative job."

"It's always like that." He let go of my wrist and stepped back, and his eyes were flat in that way that meant the conversation wasn't over. "You better remember who you belong to when you're in that office. You come home late or you come home looking like you've been smiling at someone else, and we'll have a problem. Understand?"

"I understand."

He nodded and went back to the couch, and the television volume went up. I stood in the kitchen with my wrist throbbing and the offer letter on the counter, and the hope I'd felt on the train was already dimming.

But it wasn't gone.

I made dinner and ate standing at the counter, and when Shane fell asleep on the couch, I took the envelope into the bedroom and read the offer letter one more time. The numbers were still the same. The job was still real. I pressed the paper against my chest and closed my eyes, and for the first time in weeks, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, things were about to change.