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My phone rang and I pulled it out of my bag, seeing a number from the last company where I applied. Tires and More needed a receptionist, and even though it wasn’t interior design work, it was a paycheck. Something I was struggling to find, even after a month of job hunting.

“Hi there,” I answered with a smile. “This is Farrah.”

“Farrah,” Mike said, the guy I’d interviewed with. “Thanks for coming in, but we decided to give the position to someone else.”

My heart sank, and I stopped outside of the high-rise building, blinking quickly. “Do you mind giving me feedback on my interview so I can do better next time?”

He cleared his throat, already sounding uncomfortable. “You did great, kid. Just weren’t the right fit.”

“Mike, it would really mean a lot. I need to get a job.”

Letting out a sigh, he said, “You have a lot on your plate, Farrah, and we really need someone more focused on the job. We don’t have anyone to sub if you can’t show up.”

My voice was small as I said, “Thanks”—and ended the call.

He said it without saying it. A single mom with three kids and plenty of responsibilities wasn’t exactly the kind of person who could show up every day without interruption. And yeah, I could probably sue him for saying it, but he’d been honest.

I put my phone on do not disturb and slipped it in my purse. The only call that would come through was Levi’s number, and he knew not to reach out unless there was an emergency.

The big building loomed in front of me, its mirrored doors seeming to mock the only new clothing I’d bought for myself in quite some time. As a stay-at-home mom, I lived in leggings and T-shirts, but these interviews called for a suit. And it was hard to find one that fit me just right in the plus-size section. I ended up spending way too much on my credit card for this outfit, and I tried not to worry about the sucker spot.

At least my dark curly hair was staying put in the low bun I’d wrestled it into.

A receptionist at the building’s front desk gave me a badge and told me to go up to the thirty-fourth floor. I rode the elevator up, looking through the glass wall at the city where I grew up. Part of me was happy to be closer to my parents now that I’d moved back with my kids—Austin had always felt just a little too far away. We were just a little too close, living with them until I could get a job and a place to live.

People came on and off the elevator as I rode up, but eventually the doors opened to a fancy office space. In the back of my mind, I wondered who designed this space and why they weren’t working on this new project. There was glittering white tile, walls of windows, stunning art, and a great desk up front where my best friend stood, looking super sophisticated in a tailored black dress.

As I stepped out of the elevator, Mia looked my way, smiling wide. She was so beautiful with her bright smile framed by straight, sandy-blond hair that fell to her shoulders.

“Ms. Elkins?” she said, a coy smile on her lips.

“Yes, Ms. Baird?”

She nodded from behind her desk as I approached, my sensible heels loud against the tile. “Would you like a water or a coffee?”

I shook my head, doubting I could keep even a seltzer water down. “No, thank you.”

Giving me an encouraging smile, she said, “Mr. Griffen will be out to get you shortly. You can take a seat.”

“No need,” a masculine voice said.

I glanced in the direction the voice came from, and it took all my strength to keep standing straight. No amount of Googling could have prepared me for the man walking my way.

Gage Griffen had short hair somewhere between dark blond and light brown. His jaw was strong, like Michelangelo himself carved Gage from stone. He had to be over six feet, but his perfectly fitted black suit made him seem that much more imposing, turning the expansive reception area into a small space that barely contained this giant man.

His dark blue eyes were discerning, piercing, as they landed on me, and he extended his hand, all business. “Gage Griffen, CEO.”

He didn’t need to introduce himself, but I did. I felt like a nobody in his commanding presence.

“Farrah Elkins, hopeful interior designer,” I replied with a nervous laugh.

He didn’t smile.

My hand nearly disappeared in his as we shook. I kept my grip firm, like Dad taught me way back in high school, and made eye contact, even though those blue eyes were doing strange things to my heart rate. I should have asked Mia for an empty cup to throw up in.

“Come with me,” he said, turning in the direction he’d come from.

I sent Mia an anxious glance over my shoulder, and she gave me a subtle thumbs-up.