After Hours.... Christy McKellenЧитать онлайн книгу.
room would have a beautiful display of fresh seasonal flowers and light would pour in through the large picture windows, reflecting off the tasteful but comfortable furnishings.
Back in real life, her topsy-turvy one-bed flat in Islington was a million miles away from this grand goddess of a mansion.
Not that it was going to be her flat for much longer if she didn’t make good on this opportunity today.
The triple espresso she’d had for breakfast lurched around in her stomach as she thought about how close she was to being evicted from the place she’d called home for the past six years by her greedy landlord. If she didn’t find another job soon she was going to have to slink back to Cornwall, to the village that time forgot, and beg to share her parents’ box room with the dogs until she got back on her feet.
She loved her parents dearly, but the thought of them all bumping elbows again in their tiny isolated house made her shudder. Especially after they’d been so excited when she’d called six months ago to tell them about landing her dream job as Executive Assistant to the CEO of one of the largest conglomerates in the country. Thanks to her mother’s prodigious grapevine, word had quickly spread through both the family and her parents’ local community and she’d been inundated with texts and emails of congratulations.
The thought of having to call them again now and explain why she’d been forced to hand in her notice after only three months made her queasy with shame. She couldn’t do it. Not after the sacrifices they’d made in order to pay for her expensive private education, so she’d have the opportunities they’d never had. No, she owed them more than that.
But, with any luck, she’d never be forced to have that humiliating conversation because this chance today could be the ideal opportunity to get her feet back under the table. If she could secure this job, she was sure that everything else would fall into place.
Shifting the folder that contained her CV and the glowing references she’d accumulated over the years under her arm, she pressed the shiny brass bell next to the door and waited to be greeted by the owner of the house.
And waited.
Tapping her foot, she smoothed down her hair again, then straightened the skirt of her best suit, wanting to look her most professional and together self when the door finally swung open.
Except that it didn’t.
Perhaps the occupier hadn’t heard her ring.
Fighting the urge to chew on the nails she’d only just grown out, she rang again, for longer this time and was just about to give up and come back later when the door swung open to reveal a tall, shockingly handsome man with a long-limbed, powerful physique and the kind of self-possessed air that made her heart beat a little faster. His chocolate-brown hair looked as though it could do with a cut, but it fell across his forehead into his striking gold-shot hazel eyes in the most becoming manner. If she had to sum him up in one word it would be dashing—an old-fashioned-sounding term, but somehow it suited him down to the ground.
His disgruntled gaze dropped from her face to the folder under her arm.
‘Yes?’ he barked, his tone so fierce she took a pace backwards and nearly fell off the top step.
‘Max Firebrace?’ To her chagrin, her voice came out a little wobbly in the face of his unexpected hostility.
His frown deepened. ‘I don’t donate to charities at the door.’
Taking a deep breath, she plastered an assertive smile onto her face and said in her most patient voice, ‘I’m not working for a charity. I’m here for the job.’
His antagonism seemed to crackle like a brooding lightning storm between them. ‘What are you talking about? I’m not hiring for a job.’
Prickly heat rushed across her skin as she blinked at him in panicky confusion. ‘Really? But my cousin Poppy said you needed a personal assistant because you’re snowed under with work.’
He crossed his arms and shook his head as an expression of beleaguered understanding flashed across his face.
‘I only told Poppy I’d look into hiring someone to get her off my back,’ he said irritably.
She frowned at him in confusion, fighting the sinking feeling in her gut. ‘So you don’t need a PA?’
Closing his eyes, he rubbed a hand across his face and let out a short, sharp sigh. ‘I’m very busy, yes, but I don’t have time to even interview for a PA right now, let alone train them up, so if you’ll excuse me—’
He made as if to shut the door, but before he could get it halfway closed she dashed forwards, throwing up both hands in a desperate attempt to stall him and dropping her folder onto the floor with a loud clatter. ‘Wait! Please!’
A look of agitated surprise crossed his face at the cacophony, but at least he paused, then opened the door a precious few inches again.
Taking that as a sign from the gods of perseverance, Cara scooped up her folder from the floor, threw back her shoulders and launched into the sales pitch she’d been practising since Poppy’s email had landed in her inbox last night, letting her know about this golden opportunity.
‘I’m very good at what I do and I’m a quick learner—I have six years of experience as a PA so you won’t need to show me much at all.’ Her voice had taken on an embarrassing squeaky quality, but she soldiered on regardless.
‘I’m excellent at working on my own initiative and I’m precise and thorough. You’ll see when you hire me,’ she said, forcing a confidence she didn’t feel any more into her voice.
He continued to scowl at her, his hand still gripping the door as if he was seriously contemplating shutting it in her face, but she was not about to leave this doorstep without a fight. She’d had enough of feeling like a failure.
‘Give me a chance to show you what I can do, free of charge, today, then if you like what you see I can start properly tomorrow.’ Her forced smile was beginning to make her cheeks ache now.
His eyes narrowed as he appeared to consider her proposal.
After a few tense seconds of silence, where she thought her heart might beat its way out of her chest, he nodded towards the folder she was still clutching in her hand.
‘Is that your CV?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ She handed it to him and watched with bated breath as he flipped through it.
‘Okay,’ he said finally, sighing hard and shoving the folder back towards her. ‘Show me what you can do today, then if I’m satisfied I’ll offer you a paid one-month trial period. After that I’ll decide whether it’s going to work out as a full-time position or not.’
‘Done.’ She stuck out a hand, which he looked at with a bemused expression, before enveloping it in his own large, warm one.
Relief, chased by an unnerving hot tingle, rushed through her as he squeezed her fingers, causing every nerve-ending on her body to spring to life.
‘You’d better come in,’ he said, dropping the handshake and turning his broad back on her to disappear into the house.
Judging by his abrupt manner, it seemed she had her work cut out if she was going to impress him. Still, she was up for the challenge—even if the man did make her stomach flip in the most disconcerting way.
Shaking off her nerves, she hurried inside after him, closing the heavy door behind her and swivelling back just in time to see him march into a doorway at the end of the hall.
And what a hall. It had more square footage than her entire flat put together. The high, pale cream walls were lined with abstract works of art on real canvases, not clip-framed prints like she had at her place, and the colourful mosaic-tiled floor ran for what must have been a good fifty metres before it joined the bottom of a wide oak staircase which led up to a similarly grand stairwell, where soft light flooded in through a huge stained-glass window.