ZOE,13 FEB 20...
I force my gaze back up, trying to regain control of my expression. Chin up, Zoe. Don't let him see you sweat.
He raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Is that all you've got, Miss Middleton? A simple 'because I am'? I expect a little more…substance." He circles me slowly, like a predator sizing up its prey. "Let's dig a little deeper, shall we?"
He pauses, his eyes narrowing. "I see from your resume that your education was all local. Lake Washington High, followed by a brief stint at Lake Washington Tech. Then a transfer to UCLA. Why the move all the way to California?"
My stomach clenches. Here we go. The interrogation. "I…needed a change," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "I wanted to experience something new, something different. Plus, UCLA has a fantastic program for Communications, which is what I was studying."
"A change," he repeats, his voice laced with skepticism. "Or were you perhaps running from something? Someone?"
I bristle. Okay, he's crossing a line here. "That's personal, Mr…?" I trail off, realizing I don't even know his name.
"Call me Mr. Devereux," he says, his eyes glinting. "And in an interview, Miss Middleton, everything is relevant. Especially the things you'd rather keep hidden." He sits on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze unwavering. "Kirkland is hardly a backwater town. Good schools. Decent opportunities. Why leave?"
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to meet his piercing gaze. "Because I wanted more than 'decent'," I say, my voice gaining strength. "I wanted to be challenged. I wanted to be surrounded by people who were just as ambitious, just as driven as I was. And I found that at UCLA."
"Ambitious," he echoes, a hint of amusement in his voice. "And what exactly are your ambitions, Miss Middleton? Beyond securing a cushy job at X Corp, of course."
"To make a difference," I say, the words coming out without hesitation. "To use my skills and creativity to create something meaningful. To leave a lasting impact."
He studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. I can't tell if he's impressed, skeptical, or simply bored. The silence stretches, thick and heavy.
"And how do you propose to do that," he finally asks, his voice cold and devoid of emotion, "working as a glorified assistant?"
I am slightly lost in the labyrinth of my own thoughts, trying to decipher the man before me. His hair is perfectly sculpted into that curly high top, a stark contrast to the controlled chaos that seems to emanate from his personality.
He seems almost impossibly organized, meticulously put together in a way that screams wealth and power. And I'm here in a beat-up bag and a maybe-it's-cute-maybe-it's-a-disaster skirt. I am drawn out of my trance when he repeats his final question. His words, each precise and deliberate, hit me like a physical blow, each robbing me of my breath. He just seems so intimidating. I wonder what he is thinking about me, in my short pencil skirt and slightly scuffed patent pumps.
"I think I just need a glass of water. That's all," I say, my voice breathy and barely above a whisper.
His eyes narrow, but he doesn't comment. Instead, he turns and walks over to a sleek, minimalist bar, retrieving a bottle of water. As he hands it to me, his fingers lightly brush over mine, a fleeting touch that sends a jolt of electricity through my body. His hand is smooth, warm, unsettlingly gentle. He doesn't seem accustomed to being in the business world. Did he grow up in a tower or something?
"Thank you." Smooth, Zoe. Real smooth. How can he get more generous?
"So, we were talking about hiring you. Tell me, how did you hear about this job?" He has a rather deep voice with a faint accent and speaks rather quickly. It does, however, turn me on.
"My sister's husband told me about it," I admit, feeling a blush creep up my neck. Great. Just great.
"What do you know about this company?" His voice is like steel now, devoid of any warmth.
I take a deep breath, reciting the information I frantically crammed into my brain. "I know that this company produced the Greatest clothing line last year, which generated enormous profit. It has the best deals when it comes to Real Estate business, cornering the market in luxury properties. It has the best software on the market, dominating the tech industry. And it recently opened up a publishing company after buying out Troy Publishers. I know that it was begun in the 1900's on the 15th of March."
"Enough," he says, cutting me off. "I see that you've done your research."
"Thank you." I bite my lower lip, a nervous habit I can't seem to break, trying to suppress a surge of pride.
"Tell me about yourself," he commands, his voice low and intense.
I look up, startled, and notice his gaze has shifted, become more complex, more…personal. It's like he suddenly wants to strip away the carefully constructed facade and see what lies beneath. Don't go there, Zoe. This is an interview, not a therapy session.
"Well, my life is rather boring. You really wouldn't want to know," I say, forcing a shy smile and briefly lifting my eyes to meet his. His gaze is so intense, so penetrating, that I can't hold it for long. His vertical scan on me is so intense, that the room becomes hotter. I wonder what he is seeing.
Then our eyes meet again, and we stay locked in a silent battle for what feels like an eternity. I feel mesmerized by his eyes and I cannot help it. His gaze roams from my head down to my toe. I put my lower lip between my teeth again, a sign of my nervousness. He sighs heavily, a sound that vibrates through the air, and I finally break eye contact, flustered and unnerved.
"Your interview is done, Miss Middleton," he says, his voice flat and dismissive. "You'll hear from us shortly."