Exclusive Interview

by Ava Lore

  Even more intriguing, however, were the tattoos peeking from beneath his white collar and twining around his hands, and the rows of elaborate silver and diamond earrings bristling from the shells of his ears. He was completely respectable, except for those little touches.

  This was a man with a rougher past than his insanely expensive suit would imply. A man with a bit of history. If I'd met him while I was tending bar, I would have poured free drinks down his throat all night hoping to get his story out of him. Then I would chicken out of attempting to jump his bones and probably watch in envy as he left with another girl.

  He also seemed strangely familiar to me, but I couldn't put my finger on why.

  For what seemed like an hour we stared at each other. Then he looked away.

  Oh well. I knew it was too good to last.

  I sat there trying to regain my composure and suppress the flush rampaging across my face while he coolly inspected the rest of the candidates. Then, in a bored voice, he said:

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I am Kent Hudson. It's good to see you all, and thank you for coming out. Before we start, I would like to ask if any of you have commitments later this afternoon or this evening? A show of hands will be sufficient.”

  More than half of the pool of applicants raised their hands.

  “Good, good. Please, anyone who has an appointment to make after this, come to this side of the room. Everyone else, this side, please.” And he swept his arms wide to indicate which side was which. He moved with an elegant grace that reminded me of a dancer or a pianist.

  Biting my lip, I rose to my feet and followed the lesser half of the room that had no other commitments that afternoon. Feeling like a fish out of water, I joined the rest of the losers. There were only six of us. The girl I ended up standing next to was almost a head taller than me, with long buttery blonde hair, a smart black business suit and red pumps. She was gorgeous. I felt like a cow standing next to her. Her eyes met mine briefly and she gave me a pity smile before turning away as soon as was politely acceptable, missing my returning grateful smile.

  I sighed and stared across the room at the larger group of people. This division probably meant the people with things to do would be given priority, which meant that I wasn't going to get home until well after six. Just because I'm a loser who doesn't have any friends or places to go doesn't mean my time isn't valuable, I griped to myself. I was going to lose valuable bathtub scrubbing time. And the toilets hadn't been cleaned since Friday...

  Then Mr. Hudson-the-Hot clapped his hands. “Good, good. Everyone who has a prior commitment, get the hell out of here.”

  Silence fell like an ax. I stared at the other applicants across the room, their faces drained of color, their jaws slackening. One of them piped up, a guy with dark auburn hair and an old vintage briefcase:

  “I beg your pardon, sir?” he said. “What do you mean?”

  Mr. Hudson shoved his hands in his pockets, looking bored. “Exactly what I said. If you have something else to do this afternoon, get the hell out of here. This job requires total commitment. If you can't even give me a committed afternoon to interview for this job, then you are not committed enough to win this job. Leave. Goodbye. Sayonara.” He jerked his head toward the glass doors. No one moved, and he snorted in irritation. “Well? What are you waiting for? Get out of here before I call the cops.”

  And just like that, the scales had tipped. What I had thought was a liability was actually a good thing... if working for Hudson-the-Horrible counted as a good thing, that is, and that was clearly up for debate.

  What he had said about the job bothered me, too. Why did a maid job require total commitment? I mean, I'm pretty good at committing to cleaning, but what sort of jackass boss thought anyone would be committed to it at all? Rose had said this was a software consulting business; I knew how grungy software developers could get and I had no doubt that they needed someone to clean up their goon hovels, but the way Mr. Hudson talked about it it seemed like the lucky winner of the job would have to be on call twenty-four seven.

  I knew trying to find a job was a bad idea, I thought. But I couldn't bow out now, not when my chances of finding paying work had suddenly risen significantly.

  Then Mr. Hudson turned and studied the remaining six of us, his blue-green eyes narrowing. I tried to look as small as possible, my shoulders hunching as I clutched my messenger bag in front of me. Maybe if I tried folding my body this way, I could hide inside it! I'd have to cut off my arms and legs first, though. Cut off arms and legs, or risk working for Mr. Hudson? Life was full of tough decisions.

  “Peter!” Mr. Hudson barked abruptly. Behind him one of the interns leaped to attention and scurried up to his side. His hunched posture mimicked mine, and he looked for all the world like Igor sidling up to Dr. Frankenstein. Yesss, Massterrrr?

  “Yes, sir!” Peter almost shouted. He stood as straight as a rod, practically vibrating with eagerness to please.

  Mr. Hudson didn't even look at him. “How many tickets were you able to procure?”

  Tickets? I thought. What tickets? What the hell is going on here?

  Peter consulted the tablet in front of him. “Four tickets, sir!”

  Mr. Hudson's eyes flickered. “Hmm. Four. Very well.” He marched across the floor, stalking toward us.

  The air grew thicker and I swear all six of us drew together as he approached. He was tall, and by the time he reached us he was looming over all of us except the tallest guy. Tilting his head, he regarded each one of us in turn. It might have been my imagination, but I thought his eyes lingered on me the longest.

  I felt the heat of his gaze on my skin. I couldn't tell if it brought me pleasure or discomfort, and I looked away almost immediately, staring over his shoulder.

  “Hmm,” he said again. “Very well. You!” He snapped his fingers and pointed at the tallest guy. “What's your name?”

  The tall dude sucked his breath in. “Richard, sir.”

  “Richard? Too stuffy. Leave.”

  Richard opened his mouth to protest, but Mr. Hudson gave him a glare so quelling that he shut it again. My hands on the strap of my messenger bag were white with tension. Richard gathered his things and left, his face blotchy with rage. Mr. Hudson narrowed his eyes at the rest of us. He honed in on the young man who had been standing next to Richard.

  “Your name?”

  I didn't even dare look at the hapless victim.

  “Um... Daniel, sir.”

  “Daniel. Acceptable. Daniel, tell me what qualifications you think you have to be a personal assistant?”

  My brain blanked. Personal assistant? What?

  I almost blurted out, But wait, isn't this the interview for the twice-weekly maid? Luckily I stopped myself in time.

  I was a total idiot. This was a mix up. I mixed up the addresses somehow. I should have realized it wasn't a domestic help position when I first walked in. No one wore a suit to try to get such a dismal job. I still couldn't figure out how I managed to screw up the address, though. I'd checked it twice! I knew I should have checked it three times!

  Daniel was rattling off his personal talents. “...I can keep a tight schedule, I worked for several hedge fund managers back in New York and I was instrumental in keeping their lives in order so they could keep making money rather than bother themselves with the minutiae of—”

  “Stop.” Mr. Hudson held up a hand. “Just... stop. You're boring me. You can stay, but don't bore me again.”

  Holy shit, I thought.

  I should have turned around and marched out of the office right then and there. I should have fled and not looked back. But something stopped me.

  I was already here, wasn't I? I'd already made one cut. And personal assistant sounded like it paid a lot better than a Monday and Wednesday maid.

  ...Also, while Mr. Hudson was a terrible person, he really was a singularity of hotness. His hotness was like a force of nature. It extended past the bounds of his body and i
nto the air around him. The office lobby was slightly more attractive with him standing in the middle of it. Hell, maybe I looked more attractive standing next to him.

  Haha. Joke.

  “You,” Mr. Hudson said, singling out another young man. “Your name?”

  “Randy, sir.”

  “Randy.” Mr. Hudson scratched his chin. “I like your hair. You stay. What about you? You got a name?”

  “Kurt,” said the fourth young man over the sound of Randy's relieved sigh.

  “Kurt, have you ever snorted coke?”

  I peeked at the hapless Kurt from the corner of my eye. He was a skinny thing, with pale blond hair and a complexion to match. At the moment it appeared rather waxy with a sheen of sweat. “Uh,” he said.

  Mr. Hudson reached out and placed his hand on Kurt's shoulder. “Just tell the truth, son. We're in the music biz. It's not going to shock me.” Music biz?

  Hesitantly, Kurt nodded.

  “Yes?” Mr. Hudson asked.

  “Yes,” Kurt confirmed.

  “Get out of my sight.”

  Kurt ducked his head and ran out of the office. Next to me, the gorgeous blonde inhaled sharply as Mr. Hudson whirled around and pinned her with his glare. “You, what's your name?”

  I felt so sorry for her. It took her a few tries to get the word out. “M—Megan, sir.”

  “Megan.” Mr. Hudson stepped back and looked her up and down. His eyes came to rest on her shoes. “Hmm,” he said. “Black suit, dark hose. Red shoes.” He shook his head. “Ugly. Bad fashion sense. You're out.”

  I stared at him, and the whole world seemed to slow down to a crawl.

  Ugly. You're out. It wasn't the words, but the tone. I had heard that tone more times than I could ever count over the last four years. It grated over my brain, scraping and pulling at feelings poorly buried and inexpertly faced. My stomach knotted, tightening with fear and impotent anger.

  Don't you dare talk to me that way, I thought as the room melted away. Don't you dare speak that way to me ever again.

  Ever.

  Rage and panic battled inside me for an infinite moment, my heart swelling as though it were about to burst. My vision skated dangerously as I realized I wasn't going to take that. I wasn't going to let him get away with it any more.

  My mouth opened without my consent.

  “They aren't ugly! She looks great. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

  Then the world snapped back into place as every head in the room turned and stared at me, including Mr. Kent Hudson.

  Did I say that? I wondered in a panic. Did those words come out of my mouth? Oh please, no, no, no—

  “I think I'm Kent Hudson. And who the fuck are you?” Mr. Hudson demanded. “And what would you know about fashion?” His eyes narrowed as he looked me up and down. I felt every inch of his burning gaze travel over my skin, setting me on fire and worming its way into places I'd never known existed. I noticed his eyes lingered on the full curves of my breasts before returning to my face. “Please,” he said. “Your name...?”

  “Rebecca,” I heard myself say. “My name is Rebecca Alton and I think she looks great.” Shut up! My brain screamed at my mouth. You want to get us killed? This guy looks like he might know a guy who knows a guy and the next thing you know you're vulture food in the Mojave!

  He stepped back. “Tell me why you think she looks great.”

  I glanced at Megan. Her face was as red as the shoes she now studied. “I think...” I cast about. What I really thought was that Kent Hudson was a giant shitheel and a bully—and I couldn't stand bullies. I'd also never successfully stood up to a bully, despite numerous tries, and I somehow doubted today would be the day to break that streak. Nevertheless, I had to give it a go.

  I took a deep breath. “I think it shows boldness. A willingness to take chances. She wants to stand out in a crowd, but she'll do it without transgressing, er, common fashion wisdom? I think she carries it off very well, and she looks amazing.” I don't know anything about fashion, and it showed.

  Silence rushed in to fill the space between us after I stopped speaking. I stood there, heart pounding, body temperature spiking off the charts, a blush burning through my cheeks as a thin trickle of sweat worked its way down my spine. I stared at Kent Hudson, daring him to blink first and hoping my eyes wouldn't start watering.

  At last he crossed his arms. “Very well,” he said. “I take it back, Megan. You do indeed demonstrate a willingness to take chances and a faint hint of courage in making sure you stand out in the crowd.” Then a pale, humorless smile sliced across his face. “Unfortunately, that is not what I am looking for in a personal assistant. Get out.”

  Poor Megan didn't even spare me a glance as she quickly paced out of the office, her head bowed. I steeled myself for the inevitable dismissal. If Megan got thrown out for red high heels, imagine the insults I was going to have to endure. I forced myself to keep my hands on my messenger bag so I wouldn't self-consciously tug my jacket closed to hide my tube top.

  But Hudson merely clapped his hands again and smiled. “Well then. Congratulations to the three of you left standing, Daniel, Randy, and... Rebecca.” His gaze lingered on me, and I didn't quite think it was entirely due to my inappropriate attire. Licking his lips, he seemed to pull his attention away from me and refocused on the group.

  “Please,” he said, “:come line up here, give your full names to my interns and then grab your cars, as we will all be heading to the airport. We have a flight for Vegas that leaves in an hour and a half and we must be on it.”

  Gobsmacked, I just stood there, staring at Hudson while Daniel and Randy practically skipped up to the interns and started rattling off their names and addresses and whatever else they thought the airlines might like to know. Kent Hudson stared back at me. His blue-green eyes seemed to swirl, like the sea in a hurricane, as though beneath his Take-No-Shit exterior there raged a deadly storm. My heart skipped a beat, leaving me dizzy and breathless.

  Or I could just have been severely sleep deprived. You never know.

  Then the two other candidates passed between us, breaking my line of sight and the strange spell of Hudson's eyes. One of the interns cleared his throat and, flustered, I hurried over to give them the information they needed, not even really thinking about why they might need that information. Only when the intern I was speaking to gave me a big smile and said, “Okay, your ticket will be ready for you at the airport,” did it really click with me what was going on.

  Vegas. Why were we going to Vegas? I hadn't expected to go to Vegas as part of my job hunt. It was nuts. Completely bonkers.

  Then again, who in their right mind would turn down a free trip to Vegas? A thought occurred. I turned to Hudson. “This is free, right?”

  He gave a tiny snort through his nose. “Yes. On the house. A last minute change to the vetting process, if you will.”

  I nodded. “Oh. Okay then.”

  For a moment we stood there, watching each other. Then Hudson cleared his throat. “Time is wasting,” he told me brusquely as he strode to the gaggle of interns and held out his hand. One of them rushed forward and pressed a dark leather satchel bag into his outstretched palm. He slung it over his shoulder. “Grab your car. I'll meet you at the airport.”

  It was a struggle not to start chewing on my fingernails. “I don't have a car,” I said.

  Hudson, already heading for the door, stopped in mid-stride. He turned. He blinked. A faint expression of puzzlement passed over his face. “You what?”

  Embarrassment stung. “I don't have a car.”

  The interns fell silent. Hudson, for his part, appeared to think about this for a few beats. “How do you get around?” he asked finally.

  I understood what he was getting at completely. Going without a car in LA is next to impossible. “I walk. Ride the bus,” I said. “And also I don't really have anywhere to go. I'm new to LA I don't have, you know... 'friends'.” I put the little air quotes around the word
friends, just to emphasize that I didn't have any in LA Although, to be truthful, I probably didn't have any at all. Yeah.

  “So... you don't have a car?” Hudson couldn't quite seem to comprehend this.

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  “Huh.” He studied me, his face almost a blank. Anything could have been happening inside his head. Then he appeared to reach a decision, pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and walked to the glass doors, giving me a magnificent view of his ass. It was like sculpted marble, but with the bonus of being squeezable, and my fingers twitched with the impulse before I quashed it. What the hell was wrong with me?.

  With a heave, he pushed them open, then turned and met my eyes again. “Well?” he asked. “Come on. I'll drive you to the airport. It's not like I don't have the room.”

  The thought of being in such close quarters with Kent Hudson sent my heart pounding and my stomach lurching, although whether it was from anticipation or from fear I couldn't have said. Clutching my bag I hurried after him while behind me the interns giggled and I had to fight down a blush. Only one question burned in my head:

  What the fuck am I doing?

  Chapter Two

  I still hadn't figured out the answer to my question when I managed to catch up with Hudson in the parking garage beneath the building. He'd led me down the stairs instead of into the elevator and he'd taken the steps two at a time, the hard soles of his fine shoes clattering against the concrete and echoing like gunshots in the narrow industrial stairwell.

  I nearly sprained my ankle several times jumping down after him, and I thought, ridiculously, that this was one of the reasons he hadn't chosen Megan: her red high heels would have been ill-suited to keep up with a man as driven and busy as Kent Hudson.

  At the bottom, Hudson pushed open the heavy metal door and charged into the parking garage as though he were late for his very important date with two blond nymphomaniac twins. I had to jog to keep pace with him, and by the time he stopped I was completely out of breath. It turns out that lying on your sister's couch for a week was not conducive to maintaining one's cardiovascular health. I stumbled to a stop and stood there, panting, as Hudson held up his key fob and unlocked his car.