Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
He was so interested in what I had to say, every bit of it, and he’d wanted to know when I had mentioned my fear of being two different people. Why had I pushed away his openness at first? What was so wrong with being honest about what was going on in his life?
“It wasn’t a date,” I reminded myself. And it wasn’t. It was lunch with a friend. I had no obligation to worry about what was going on in his life, and whether I enjoyed my time here or huddled up in rooms at the conference, I was still doing it for me. I could still play hooky until the special guest session at eight and schedule an interview.
“Shit!” I had my phone. I’d given the assistant Ryan’s number like an idiot. I pulled out my phone. I had that missed number still, right? I could call, and maybe Andrew himself would answer. But what if they call before I get to the hotel? What if they’d called throughout the day while I was in sessions?
Once I arrived at the convention center, I decided to call Ryan. The offices wouldn’t close until six, so I had a couple of hours. My phone rang before I could dial, and I nearly dropped it. When my consciousness registered that I wasn’t about to die, I pressed answer.
“Christie Hannam.”
“Hannam, huh?”
“Ryan?”
“Yeah, sorry to bug you, but—”
“You’re not bugging me.” My skin chilled. Why did I have to say that?
He chuckled. “Okay, well, I received a call from a Mayhew. Andrew Mayhew? Or his assistant. Either way, I told them I was your secretary, and they asked if they could meet you now.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. “What did you say?”
“I said you’re on your way.”
“What!” I glanced at my Uber, driving away. “When did they call?”
“Just got off the phone with them.”
“Thank God. And what are you doing?”
“I’m working.”
“On a Sunday?”
He laughed. “Don’t get judgy, Miss Interview. Want their number?”
“Yes, please. Thank you. Thank you, Ryan.” My Bluetooth beeped with an incoming call.
“You’ll get it. I gave them yours, so they’ll call soon, I’m sure. Good luck, Christie.”
He hung up, and warmth spread throughout my body with his words. Good luck, Christie. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did, and at that moment, I realized that I liked him. I liked this pain in the ass, horrible-at-managing-time man who had a son and an ex-wife, and who stole my phone.
What kind of love story was that?
My hands trembled as I grabbed my phone, and a vaguely familiar number lit up the screen. I answered before punching in Mayhew Industries into my map as a voice greeted me on the phone. A dozen or more results came up with locations all over the US, but I clicked the one in Dallas and let the GPS guide me on.
“Yes, this is Christie,” I said in response to the voice on the other end of the line. It was dark and silky, and without trying, I knew who it was.
“Your secretary said you could come in now but take your time. I’ll be here a while. Don’t worry about office hours.”
Thank God. I had an hour, but in this traffic, who knew when I’d get there? According to the map, it would take thirty minutes. “Thank you, Andrew. I appreciate it.”
“Oh, you recognize me, do you?”
I blushed. “I recognize your voice, anyway.”
“Is it that easy to recognize?”
Was I dense before, or were there a lot of men hitting on me lately? “Easy enough. I’ll see you soon.”
“Look forward to it.”
I called up another Uber and panicked the entire way there. I felt so underprepared I wanted to cry. I didn’t have a resume, though I could pull one from my cloud drive, but I didn’t have a portfolio on hand or anything. While I busied myself cursing my anxiety, I also planned my way through the interview as if I were asking the questions.
We pulled into a large parking lot almost forty-five minutes later. Not that it was a big deal, but I hoped at least HR would be there too. That was protocol, right? I walked into the building and to the front desk only to see the very same man who had interrupted my dinner with his charm.
“Andrew,” I said breathlessly.
Andrew’s grin almost made me shudder. “You’re early and out of breath. Everything okay?”
“Yes, definitely. I’m sorry. I thought traffic would delay me more than it did.”
He rose from behind the desk and waved a hand at me. “Don’t worry about it.” His dark hair glistened in the light, stiffly in place but masterfully so. Either he had a stylist, or he knew how to apply mousse without clumping a single hair.
“Follow me.”
I trailed behind him and felt grossly underdressed and stupid. I’d never shown up to an interview so underprepared, but at least I was wearing black slacks and a blouse rather than the pink shirt and jeans I wore to breakfast. Andrew tugged at his blazer sleeves as we walked, and I tried once again to calm my nerves.