The Billionaire's Seduction Page 11

  “Excellent. I expect a full report by five o’clock.”

  The blonde takes out a pen and paper and begins to write. She kisses the sheet of paper and tosses it on my desk. How the hell she has any lipstick left to leave that deep pink impression is beyond me. She gives me a little wave and is out the door. I pick up the paper—Michelle. I was close.

  “Report by five.” I parrot. “Got it. Wait, what report are we talking about?”

  Dad sighs a long exhale to let me know he’s deeply put off. “Figure it out, son.”

  Click.

  I don’t know whether to bang the receiver against my forehead or choke myself with the cord. I repeat my new reminder—one and a half billion, one and a half billion—over and over again, trying not to remember the dark day a week ago.

  Beep!

  My intercom on my phone beeps, interrupting the depressing thought Dad’s call had settled around my shoulders. My secretary announces, “One minute until your first interview, Mr. Gerome.”

  I thank her and walk to the mirror to adjust my suit and double check for any unwanted evidence Michelle might have left. So far, the models have been a fringe benefit of taking on the helm of Trendsetter Magazine.

  Walking to my office door, I button my suit. Now, to hire the perfect employees—hard-working ‘yes’ men and women who will work their asses off for a pittance and help make my life a lot easier.

  Chapter 3

  Anna

  Wrapping my hand around a hot mug of coffee, I nervously wait for the interview team to file into the conference room. The coffee is too bitter for my taste, I’m more of a ‘like a little coffee in your cream and sugar’ type of girl, but I hang onto it for needed warmth.

  A minute passes and then the door opens. I stand quickly and turn to face the one, no two, no—breathe in, breath out—six people who file in. The last of whom is Kelly, my shoe savior. She smiles and gives me a wink.

  After a round of introductions, I look around, confused. I’d been expecting Adam Gerome to be part of the interview team. As I take my seat, the door opens again and it’s him. It’s the face I’d recognize anywhere. I’d seen it plastered on tabloids enough.

  Standing again, I extend a hand and it’s immediately accepted in his warm grasp. Holy hell, I’d thought he was gorgeous in a picture. He apparently isn’t very photogenic because the photographs of him don’t do him justice.

  He’s tall, a lot taller than me even in my stilettos of death, and I hadn’t expected him to be so… looming. He’s broad, his wide shoulders even more imposing in his dark suit. My eyes follow the pink and navy plaid Burberry tie up his chest and to his neck, past the Adam’s apple protruding just above it. I look higher, full lips spread wide into a grin. Higher still and into the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen.

  “Ms. Nash, it’s nice to meet you.” He’s grinning again, apparently used to this reaction from women.

  I mentally shake myself. “Mr. Gerome, it’s great meeting you too.” Whew, at least the words didn’t come out as a sigh or like a teenager screaming after the latest pop star.

  “Adam, please. Mr. Gerome is my father…and his father.” He grins and gestures toward my chair. I sit and swing my eyes away from him. It would be better for me to never look in his direction again, because I’m already imagining what’s under his expensive suit and shirt—and dammit, his pants. He really should have been a model, and I really should have tamped down my active imagination in the waiting room.

  Laura, the human resource director, launches into the interview with some instructions, a quick summary of the job I applied to, and a rundown of the interview question sequence. She goes on to ask the standard set of “tell us a little about yourself” questions.

  I share a bit about my work experience, which takes all of four seconds considering I have no experience besides being on the staff of my college newspaper at Columbia.

  “Columbia,” Adam interrupts. “My almost alma-mater.”

  “Great school,” I agree and keep going, never even looking in his direction and silently pat myself on the back for my willpower. “I graduated last week and am eager to bring a fresh, young perspective to your magazine.”

  Laura, who appears to be in her forties, purses her lips at that. Kelly, my new best friend, lifts a thumb in the air and mouths, ‘You’re doing great.”

  Edward, the editorial director and the man who might be my boss, joins the conversation. “Your last name is Nash. Any relation to Nathaniel Nash?”

  I blush, feeling the heat rise into my face. I wanted to get a job based on my credentials, not my parents. Since I can’t lie, I give a quick nod and add, “Yes, he’s my father.”

  “Yes,” Edward nearly glowed. “I do remember Nathaniel and Adriana having a child. It’s been years since I’ve seen your father. How’s he and your mother doing?”

  Trying not to sigh, I try to keep it simple. “They’re both terrific. Staying too busy, as usual.” Hoping to escape the shadow of my father and bring the attention back to me, I realize at the last moment I could leverage the nearly star-struck look in the editorial director’s eyes. I add, “Although it’s not officially employment, I have worked side by side with my father for many years. Learned at the feet of a master, so to speak.”

  The nods around the table make me realize it was a good move. As much as I want to get a job on my own, a little help to get my foot in the door with some name-dropping never hurt anyone—and in this case, it’s Edward who drops the name, so I’m simply riding the wave.

  Looking confused, Adam says, “Who’s Nathaniel Nash?” and I think poor Edward will have a stroke. He gapes at the younger man, his mouth working up and down, his eyes incredulous.

  Finally, he composes himself and says, “This young lady’s father is a leading wartime reporter. He’s written several books regarding his experiences and also writes for the New Yorker and New York Times. He also won a Pulitzer Prize several years ago for his reports from Pakistan and Afghanistan.” Edward looks aghast that he would need to explain any of this to anyone.

  Adam looks at me and I lift a shoulder, nodding. Everything Edward said is true. My father is a journalistic legend, called upon by universities around the globe to teach their students, if only for an hour. He receives huge speaking fees and had just received a six figure advance to pen another book.

  Adam says, “Wow, it must suck living under that kind of shadow. I’m surprised you’re not as pale as a ghost and vitamin D deficient.”

  Ahhh, the asshole rumors about Adam Gerome were all true, I’m guessing.

  All heads swivel to me, as if Adam had served me a verbal tennis ball.

  I stare at him and grit my teeth, lifting my chin. “Actually, it’s been quite the honor growing up with a man like my father. I’ve learned a great deal from him, which you’ll find out if you’re smart enough to hire me.”

  Match point. Heads swivel back to my opponent.

  He taps my resume sitting in front of him and leans back in his chair. “Aside from your father’s fireside tutelage, please regale me with the other reasons I would be smart enough to hire you.”

  Taking a deep breath, I soften my tone. “My mother dragged me off the basketball court and into every fashion show that opened in New York City from the time I was old enough to sit still.”

  Note to self—give Mom a big hug when I next see her.

  Adam sputters out with, “So now I’m supposed to be impressed that you ‘learned at the feet’ of your mother too?” He air quotes the words too.

  God, that man’s becoming annoying.

  Keeping cool, I say, “No. I hope you’ll be impressed that I know you’re wearing a Burberry tie from the ‘Regent’ collection and your suit is Canali, off-the-wrack but nicely altered.”

  He lifts his tie and look at the label on its back. Ha, take that, you bastard, I think, but give my prettiest smile when he directs his gaze back to me.

  “I hope you’ll also be impressed
that I’ve personally met and spoken to most of the designers you’ll cater to. I’m sure my personal connections could be nothing but a benefit to Trendsetter.”

  Silence fills the room and I struggle not to fidget under the intensity of his stare. After what feels like hours pass, the human resource director clears her throat and leans forward, a smile playing on her lips. “Thank you, Anna. I think you’ve answered all our questions. We’ll be completing the interview process today with other candidates, and once we check references, we’ll have a decision by the weekend, if not earlier.”

  She stands and I take my cue, forcing myself not to bolt from the room. I shake each hand in turn and thank them for the opportunity. When it’s Adam’s turn, he finally stands and my hands is enveloped by his. When I thank him for the opportunity, he only nods.

  “I’ll show you out.” It’s Kelly again, coming to my rescue. I follow her meekly out the door, knowing I’ve most likely blown my chance at this job.

  That cocky bastard Adam Gerome didn’t help my chances one bit.

  Chapter 4

  Adam

  As the conference room door closes on the last candidate, I lean back in my chair and curse at the ceiling. Who the hell thought it would be a good idea to schedule nine interviews in one day? Oh yes…it was me.

  Shit. What the hell was I thinking?

  I open a bottle of water, wishing desperately it was vodka. I need a drink in the worst possible way. Not only to relax after this tenuously boring day, but to take the edge off the Anna Nash sting I continue to feel. I detest beautiful women who turn out to be real bitches. If I’m smart enough to hire her? I scoff at that line. The work experience section of her resume has something like six words on it and she’s trying to pretend she’s the golden goose of the fashion publishing industry.

  I especially hated how everyone in the room tried to hide their laughter. I hate being laughed at. It reminds me of my oldest brother. George was born a dick, always making fun of his siblings, especially me. When I had to wear glasses as a boy to correct a lazy eye, George had been merciless in his teasing. If I complained or ran to our parents, the taunts would become even worse. Then braces had joined the other foreign objects on my face. My brother never stopped laughing. He was all the more clever and menacing to booth.

  “Maybe I should just kill you and put you out of your misery,” he had said to me one night, holding a pillow over my face. “I’m sure it’s horrible being so ugly. Let’s do you and the world a favor and snuff you out.”

  “Okay, now to select a candidate,” Laura, the human resource director, says, breaking me from the past. I shudder and take another sip of water, refusing to allow thoughts of my childhood to invade my present any longer. If only it were that easy.

  Shaking my head to clear it, I say, “Yes. To save endless hours of torture, let’s all just toss our single favorite candidates resume into the center of the table.”

  Laura’s mouth pinches, then opens and I can tell she’s going to disagree. I hold up my hand and she shuts it, frowning. “I suppose it’s a good place to start,” she says with much hesitation.

  Flipping through the resumes in my hand, I pass by Anna Nash with a snarl. I select Nelson Westmoreland, my favorite of the bunch. Twenty-two years of experience in the magazine industry, the most experienced in the group, and who I’m sure will be everyone’s favorite.

  I look up and see that everyone has their favorite in their hand. I look at Laura and say, “Not a good place to start, but a good place to finish. The candidate with the most votes wins.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. I’m sure there are formal HR types of things you feel are necessary to life. I don’t. I say we go on instinct and gut. There’s seven of us, there shouldn’t be a need for tie-breakers.”

  I look around the room and see everyone glancing at each other, not completely bought into my system, but no one is arguing either. “Everyone have their selection?” Nods all around. “Nice. On the count of three, toss it to the middle. One. Two. Three.”

  Being the boss might not be so bad after all, getting people to bend to my will. I feel a moment of triumph as the papers float to the middle, then I grab them up and turn them until they are in a neat pile.

  “One vote for Nelson.” I go to the next page and grind my teeth. “One vote for Anna.” I turn the page. “One vote for Samantha.” Damn, my system might fail after all. What are the chances that each of us have a different favorite? Turning the page, I grit my teeth again. “Another vote for Anna.” Next page, more teeth gritting. “Another for Anna.” What the hell? “Another for Anna.” I turn to the last page. No way in hell. I stand up, slam the papers on the table and say what I’m thinking, “No way in hell is that woman working here. Are you all crazy? Maybe I need to fire the lot of you and hire directors who aren’t insane.”

  Edward, the editorial director, simply smiles and says, “I assure you, I’m quite sane and very impressed with that young lady and all she could do for this magazine.”

  Laura pipes in. “Me too. Granted, she’s the least experienced of the bunch, but the most socially savvy. She also seems to have a very good head on her shoulders.”

  Kelly, Edward’s assistant, joins the argument. “I think she’d be perfect to have a role with our social media marketing too.” Kelly picked up her phone, touched a few buttons and held it up for all to see. “While we were on break, I looked Anna up and, as you see, she’s very active on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and Instagram. She also has Vine and participates in Reddit. Her comments are youthful and fresh, but not vulgar as you’d expect from most college girls.” Kelly passes her phone around and I grudgingly have to agree. The girl seems to be astute, funny in a mature sort of way and posts nearly ten times a day. As I look at her phone, a new Instagram picture appears. It’s a photo of what must be Anna’s shoes, her feet propped up on a leather ottoman.

  The caption: Biggest day of your life? Pay attention to your shoes. #interviewfail #thankgodfornicepeople #KellyfromTrendsetter #MyNewBestie.

  I throw my head back and laugh. I hadn’t even looked down at her shoes to see that they were mismatched, although the ones in the picture look pretty damn close to the same. Serves the woman right for thinking she needs more than one pair of shoes in the same color. I shudder, remembering my sisters’ closets and the sea of black shoes I’d find in there.

  Then, I remember why I hadn’t noticed her shoes, I hadn’t been able to look at anything besides those emerald green eyes. I’ve never seen eyes that bright and striking, and trust me, I’ve looked into many of them. Of course, I did notice her full lips too. Naturally full, not filled with that collagen shit. The woman was beautiful, tall and thin, elegant but also strong looking. Her arms were exposed in that dress she was wearing and they were well defined, almost to the point of muscular, but not quite. Didn’t she say her mother dragged her from the basketball court to go to fashion shows? I wonder if she still plays.

  Shit. What the hell am I thinking? No! No. No. No. No way are we hiring this woman, I don’t care if she’s Michael Jordon in high heels.

  “No,” I say aloud. “She’s too young, too inexperienced.”

  “I agree,” says Edward and I smile at him in relief. Finally, someone says something that makes sense. “I think she is exactly too young and inexperienced for us not to hire her. She’ll give us a fresh perspective, new energy and she clearly loves social media. Plus, her writing samples are excellent. In a few years, they will be as good as her father’s.”

  Laura blurts out, “Have you seen the social media posts from us over the past few years?” Edward hangs his head, but nods in agreement. Social media falls under his department. I notice Kelly grows bright pink. “We’re in the dark ages when it comes to the hottest platforms for reaching young people all across the world.” Laura pulls out her own phone and taps a few buttons. She thrusts the phone at me.

  Laura had chosen Trendsetter’s Twitter page. The latest tweet w
as four days ago and reads: Wow, pink is hot this season. There’s a picture of some sort of strappy sandal I don’t recognize.

  I cringe. Laura notices and says, “See, it’s horrible.” She glances over at Edward and Kelly and says, “I’m sorry you two, but it is.” Kelly sits in stone-faced silence, but Edward continues to nod.

  “It’s true,” he says. “Our department does its best, but as you know, we have been short-staffed for a long time. Social media has been on the back burner while Kelly and the rest of the crew push out print and online magazines every month.”

  Finally, Kelly raises her head and agrees. “I think it’s an excellent idea to hire Anna for social media. She’s got enough skill to help with editorials as well. If she knows the designers as she says she does, then she could get personal interviews with them, or even one-liners. Photos. Short videos. It would take a lot of pressure off of me.”

  As much as I loathe the idea of bringing that sexy little smart ass into the fold, I can’t disagree with the wisdom of what they are saying. Dad hired a company to do a SWOT analysis of the magazine a little over two weeks ago. The only strength the magazine had was its worldwide recognition. The weaknesses, opportunities and threats all surrounded its lack of technological advancement, its entrenchment in old world habits, and its failure to ride the social media bandwagon. Even if I did flunk out of business college, I have enough savvy to know the report is right. It had judged Trendsetter against the other magazines in the world and we’d come in dead last in every major category.

  Blowing out a long breath, I prepare to wave my white flag in the air. Getting the hell away from this magazine in a year is more important to me than my ego. Plus, I’ll probably never see the girl, she’ll be in her little cubical tweeting away day in and day out.