Lord of Rain (The Dragon Demigods Book 5) Page 4

  “Miss Shaw. Excuse me…Miss…?” The lady behind the reception desk is trying to get my attention. She’s standing, leaning over the counter, waving a hand.

  I give my head a shake. I need to focus. “Yes,” I say. “Sorry…I guess I’m nervous.”

  “Understandable.” She nods once. “You can go up now. Take the elevator.” She gestures to the gleaming chrome and glass doors. “You need to head to the fifth floor. Turn right. Go all the way down to the end of the hallway. You can take a seat and wait until you are called.” She smiles. I swear she looks like she pities me. I guess interviews are never fun, so her demeanor makes sense. “Good luck!” she adds as I turn towards the elevator.

  “Thanks,” I say over my shoulder. I work on pulling myself together as the elevator goes up and up. “You can do this,” I whisper to myself. I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous. I follow the directions and head down the hallway. My mouth falls open when I enter a huge office. It’s beautifully decorated. Very modern and yet…masculine. Clean lines with dark wood and warm tones. There is a large desk and a chair, both of which are empty. There is a waiting area. No one else is here. I go and sit in one of the chairs in the waiting area. There are no magazines. No plants or flowers. The space is distinctly sterile. Even the white leather chair I’m sitting on is hard with a very straight back. It’s still one of the most beautiful rooms I have ever been in. Although beautiful isn’t the right word to describe it.

  The door opens suddenly, and a man walks out. He doesn’t even notice me. His back is ramrod straight. His gaze is focused on the exit. If I’m not mistaken, his eyes are shimmering. It looks like he wants to cry. That can’t be right. He practically runs out. I hear his retreating footfalls down the passage. I’m sure I hear a sob.

  No!

  What?

  Is he crying? Surely not! I look at the open door. My eyes are wide, and my mouth is gaping. Did that guy just run away crying? Was the interview that bad?

  “Come inside,” a gruff voice says from inside the room.

  I stand. I swallow down the lump that has formed in my throat. I consider running away, just like the man did. I smooth my hands down my skirt, they are feeling damp again.

  “Today, Miss Shaw,” the gruff voice rasps. He sounds bored and irritated and angry…all rolled into one.

  I swallow again, making a gulping noise that sounds loud inside the empty room. I can do this. I’m a Shaw, and we don’t run. We face up to our fears. We conquer them. My dad started our bakery in our kitchen at home when I was just a baby. He worked day and night for three years before Buns was truly born. It took guts and determination. I can do this! It’s one stupid interview.

  I pull back my shoulders and walk into the room. I’m somehow convinced I’ll find an ax-wielding madman when I walk through the door. What I find is infinitely worse.

  He’s gorgeous. Utterly devastating. “Mr. Bolt?” My voice is soft. I sound shocked. I imagine that I sound like a schoolgirl.

  I see his Adam’s apple work. His eyes widen. I watch as he pushes his chair back and stands. I’m sure he also looks surprised, but I’m not sure why. I can’t think straight.

  He’s tall. Six and a half feet of raw muscle and power wrapped in a suit that must have a fancy name on the label. I can just tell by looking at it…by looking at him. It looks like it’s been tailored to fit his wide shoulders, narrow hips, and thick biceps. His eyes bore into mine. I’ve never seen eyes like that before. They’re gray, like gleaming metal. Not blue-gray but pure gray, like storm clouds. The ones that bring rain.

  “What the fuck!” he growls, his eyes narrowing. At least, I think that’s what he said. I can hear my heart beating inside my head. I notice his eyes are framed with long, dark lashes. He runs a hand through his hair, which is black and perfectly styled.

  All I can do is gape like an idiot. I can’t think of one coherent thing to say to him. I feel myself tremble. My heart is racing. I’ve had boyfriends. I’ve dated. I’ve never looked at someone and instantly lost my mind. It’s never happened. I once saw a celebrity while on vacation in New York. I can’t remember his name. There was a mob of women surrounding him. They were screaming and crying. I couldn’t understand the behavior then, but I do now.

  I watch as he picks up a file. He flips through it, shuffling papers. He looks flustered. I watch his chest expand, stay like that a few moments, and then contract as he exhales. He makes a noise through his lips as he does. I notice how lush they are. Men aren’t supposed to have lips like that. I’ve seen women come into the bakery with plumped up lips from fillers. Fake and perfect. His are better. I watch as he gets himself together. I can’t bring myself to do the same.

  His eyes are still narrowed on mine. He’s frowning hard. Is he angry? “Miss Shaw?” He cocks his head, lifting a brow.

  “Um…” I can’t remember how to talk. This has never happened to me before.

  “Are you Ashley Shaw?” he speaks slowly and carefully, like I’m a child or an imbecile. I’m screwing this up. I can’t help it.

  “Um…I…I…” My mouth won’t work. My mind is racing, but I can’t speak.

  “It’s a yes or a no.”

  “Yes!” I practically shout as he gives me the word I was looking for.

  He nods once. “Take a seat.” His eyes drift down my body. Is he checking me out? No! Come on! No way!

  “Miss Shaw?” His gray orbs flick back to mine.

  No, he was looking at my attire, I decide. Not looking at me in that way. I’m disappointed. I’m such an idiot. What’s wrong with me? I realize what he just said about taking a seat and stride into his office. I trip on the carpet edge and almost fall onto my face. I stagger a couple of steps and drop my purse.

  Butterfingers.

  Shit! Candice is right.

  I feel my cheeks heat. “Oops!” I start to giggle but stifle the sound, which comes out high-pitched and yet strangled. I clear my throat.

  He just stands there, watching me. I walk over to his desk, managing to hold it together. I notice that his desk is made of glass. There are a few files and a laptop computer on the sleek surface. His office is huge. The view behind him is breathtaking, but I can’t take my eyes off the man in front of me.

  I stand there, trembling like a lamb at slaughter.

  “Sit,” he commands.

  I nod once and then collapse into the chair behind me. My limbs feel like they give in. I’m a wreck. I need to pull myself together.

  “You’re here for an interview as my personal assistant?” He nods.

  I nod back. I clear my throat. “Um…yes.”

  “You don’t currently work as a personal assistant.” It’s a statement, not a question.

  “Um…no…I…I’m a pastry chef. Technically a pastry chef, but I can be more. I mean…I…” I purse my lips together. I sound stupid. Like I’ve lost my mind. Which I did, as soon as I laid eyes on this man.

  His mouth twitches. “You could be more? More how?”

  “Yes…um…I can be anything I set my mind to.” I feel my cheeks heat. That’s something a fifth grader would say.

  He raises his brows. “I see.” He nods. “Anything you put your mind to. Anything, though?” He raises his brows. His eyes look like they’re twinkling.

  “I have experience in other things…I mean…not just pastries. That’s all.”

  He lifts up a page. It’s my resume. “I see that,” he says, running a finger down a section of the page where I listed my skills. Essentially where I lied through my teeth. “Don’t you like being a chef?”

  “I like it just fine,” I blurt. “I love my work.” I cringe. I hadn’t planned on saying that. It doesn’t make any sense that I would be here if I currently enjoy my job.

  “Why are you here, then? Are you bad at your job?”

  “No!” I bark out the word. “I’m a fantastic pastry chef. I’m a whizz with cakes…from red velvet to chiffon. Chocolate ganache to buttercream. I am a firm believe
r that you eat first with your eyes and then with your mouth. I’ve baked countless creations…”

  I stop talking when his eyes drop to my lips for a moment. He gets this strange look. I think he might be angry. He clears his throat. “Pity you aren’t interviewing for a position as my chef.”

  Oh crap! I let myself get carried away. I had planned to downplay my role as a baker. “I…um…have taken on less of a role as a pastry chef in recent months and more of an admin, managerial role within the bakery. I, um…am looking to expand my horizons. I’ve decided that I’d like to pursue a different path. I can bake…at home.” I shrug.

  He puts his elbows on the table and threads his fingers together. He has this intense look that makes my stomach clench with…butterflies. I have butterflies. This is not good at all.

  “You love being a chef in your family-owned bakery, but you would prefer to look after me? Be at my beck and call? Is that right?”

  Yes!

  Yes!

  Oh, yes!

  For a second, I am worried I may have chanted that out loud. Thank god I didn’t. I push out a breath. I nod. “I would be good with that,” I whisper, but my voice still sounds loud in the quiet room.

  “You’ve only ever worked for Shaw’s Buns and Breads.” He glances down at my resume, then looks me squarely in the eyes for a few long moments. I’m getting ready to squirm when he finally speaks. “I’m not your daddy, Miss Shaw…you do realize that?” he goes on to say.

  ‘But you could be!’ my mind says. I hear my internal voice, it’s a soft purr.

  His eyes narrow. His mouth twitches. Oh, good god! I just said that out loud. I said it. The words left my lips. “I don’t mean…I…I mean my father is my current employer, and you could be my next employer. You could be, if you played your cards right and were lucky to snag a multi-faceted individual like me. I’d be on time. I can type at least a hundred words a minute…” What the hell am I saying? Is a hundred words even a possibility, or would it be considered slow? I have no idea! I wish my mouth would stop running off. I preferred it when I couldn’t talk, but now it won’t stop. It just won’t. “I’m well-organized. I’m great with people…even difficult ones. I make fantastic coffee. I’d bring baked goods in daily…an added perk for hiring a pastry chef.” I shrug. “You’d essentially have a PA and a chef all in one employee. It doesn’t get much better.”

  “Are you trying to bribe me?”

  “Excuse me?” I frown.

  “Baked goods. Are you offering cake as a bribe?”

  “You don’t strike me as the type of person who would be swayed by sugary treats,” is my quick retort.

  “Well, you would be wrong.” He folds his arms and smiles for half a second. So quick, I’m sure it was imagined once his face becomes stoic again. “You’re hired.”

  I frown. “I am?”

  What?

  What just happened?

  “Yes.” He nods. “I’ll have HR email you the official offer. I need you to start tomorrow.”

  I nod. I can’t start tomorrow. No way and no how! I’ve gone back to being mute. I force a smile.

  He stands. I follow suit. He holds out his hand. “Welcome aboard, Miss Shaw.”

  I take his hand. I’m shocked at how warm it is. He gives one firm shake before letting me go. “Be here at seven sharp!”

  “Seven?”

  “My day starts early.”

  “Buns opens at four-thirty to start the first bake. Seven is almost lunchtime.” It’s something my mom often says when she speaks about regular hours. Although seven is earlier than most people start work.

  “It looks like we’re going to get along just fine.” His voice is a low rumble. Can a voice be beautiful? I think it can. Everything about this man is beautiful. “I’ll see you in the morning, Miss Shaw.” He looks at the door behind me. “You can go now,” he adds when I just stand there gaping at him.

  Oh, my god!

  What the hell?

  I need to get a serious grip. I turn and practically run out. I probably look similar to the guy from earlier. Maybe dumbstruck instead of teary. There is a perfectly coifed forty-something lady sitting in the same chair I was in not so long ago.

  “The position has been filled,” I hear Mr. Bolt rasp, followed by his door slamming shut. I’m walking down the hallway. I have only one thought. No, I have two thoughts. What just happened, and what the heck am I going to do?

  6

  Ashley

  Candice takes the glass of orange juice out of my hand and throws the liquid down the drain with a flourish. Then she puts the glass in the sink next to her own.

  “What are you doing?” I frown.

  “We need to celebrate!” She claps her hands and dances her way to the refrigerator.

  I watch as she pulls out a bottle of sparkling wine. She holds it up and grins at me. “You got the job. Why didn’t you tell me as soon as you walked through the door?”

  “Because I’m not sure I’m going to accept it.” I shake my head.

  She looks at me like I just lost my mind. “What do you mean you’re not going to accept it?” I watch as she pulls the gold foil off the top of the bottle.

  “I just explained to you how gorgeous Mr. Bolt is. In hindsight, I almost can’t believe I had that reaction to him. I must have looked like a complete idiot.” I’m still reeling. Something like that has never happened to me before. “I’m not sure how I got the job.”

  “Exactly.” She is smiling broadly. There’s a loud popping noise as she pushes the cork out of the bottle. A little bit of the bubbling liquid dribbles over the rim.

  “You’re not making any sense, Candice. He’s the majority shareholder and CEO of a major corporation, and he’s gorgeous…as in dreamy…as in I couldn’t talk for at least a minute after seeing him. I made a fool of myself.”

  Candice puts the bottle down. “I am making sense. You acted like a complete idiot. You nearly fell onto your face.” She chuckles.

  “It’s not funny, and yes, I almost fell flat on my face.”

  “And he still gave you the position.” She shrugs. “You didn’t oversell yourself. What is it that his company does?” she asks, stretching so that she can pull two flute glasses out of one of the cupboards above the counter.

  “He seems to own a vast array of different businesses. He buys them as they’re going under and then turns them back into profitable organizations, before sometimes selling them at massive profits.”

  “Interesting.” Candice tilts a glass and pours until it’s two-thirds full. Then she holds the glass out to me. “Maybe he can help you with Buns and Breads.”

  “Large corporations…not small family businesses like ours. Besides, I can’t accept the offer,” I say, taking the glass despite my words.

  “He can’t be that good-looking,” she says as she pours a glass for herself. “Surely you can ignore your attraction to him? Next time you see him, you’ll realize that it’ll be fine.”

  “Didn’t you hear me earlier? I couldn’t speak for a full minute. When I did talk, it was only because he helped me with the right words. He’s freaking gorgeous! He’s…” I shrug. “If he had offered to do me on his desk, I would have absolutely agreed.”

  Candice’s attention is on her phone, her fingers are pressing the keys.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask.

  “Holy shit!” she pushes out.

  “What is it?” I take a step towards her, concerned.

  She turns the phone so that I can see the screen. “So, this is S.W. Bolt?”

  It’s a picture of Mr. Bolt scowling at the camera. His hair is slightly mussed. He’s wearing a white shirt and a pair of blue jeans. Both the shirt and the pants are understated, but I can see they’re designer. He has a thick, gold watch on his wrist. I think I see a hint of a tattoo sticking out of his shirt. It must run across his chest. Argh! A guy like him would have a tattoo. Everything about him screams money and power… Oh, and sex.

 
“Um…” I bite my lip. “Yes.” My voice is a shaky sigh. “That would be him.” Just looking at his picture is making me feel lightheaded.

  “First name Steven. No one knows what the W stands for…I think it stands for ‘Wicked’.” She giggles.

  I push out a laugh. “This picture doesn’t do him justice.”

  She scrolls through a few more. He’s mostly in expensive three-piece suits. There is a gorgeous, model-like woman on his arm in a couple of the pictures of him at various events. I note that it’s never the same woman. Candice pushes out a breath. “Holy mackerel…I might just understand your apprehension about taking this position.” Candice snort-laughs. “Did you really tell him that he could be your daddy if he played his cards right?” She is grinning broadly.

  My cheeks instantly heat. “It wasn’t like that.”

  “It kind of was.” She laughs some more. “That’s why he hired you. Maybe he wants a PA with benefits.”

  “No!” I practically shout the word. “A guy like him does not need to hire someone in order to get benefits. He certainly wouldn’t be interested in someone as plain as me. Did you see the women he hangs out with?”

  “You, my friend, are gorgeous. I think he hired you because you weren’t afraid to speak up. He needs someone with tenacity on his team.”

  “I’m not that person. I’m grossly under-qualified and lied on my resume. I can’t type a hundred words a minute. I’m debilitatingly shy. I don’t know what I was thinking even applying. You were right,” I groan, covering my face with my hand.