Page 9 of Devil in the Details

Olive

I had the mother of all hangovers, but I had to put on the fakest smile imaginable and act like there wasn’t a sledgehammer in my forehead right now.

As the elevator ascended, I closed my eyes and listened to the God-awful elevator music play softly in the tight, confined metal box. Maybe it was meant to relax you, but all it accomplished was making me even more nauseous.

I had my hands resting behind me on the railing, and all mirrors surrounding me kept showing the reflection of a girl who was one hell of a hot mess. I’d tried to make myself look more alive, but I could still see the dark circles around my eyes.

I was starting to feel claustrophobic, and that wasn’t helping my head or the pain behind my eyes.

Finally, the elevator stopped, and a second later, the doors slid open.

The office in front of me was classy and professional in appearance, with white marble flooring, chrome accents, and a massive black matte desk directly across from the elevator.

I stepped off, my feet already aching from these damn heels. There was a waiting area to my right, and a glass wall with double doors to my left. I could see cubicles and offices through those glass doors, and immediately I felt intimidated by this place.

It was by far the nicest office I’d ever been in, and that included the two companies I’d been interviewed at just days ago. It was even nicer and screamed money more than Brookwood Financial Holdings.

And that made me nervous, because if it was this put together, this professional, surely the staff was uptight. Or maybe I just now had a bad taste in my mouth after all the stuff that had gone down.

My heels clicked against the marble flooring as I made my way up to the front desk.

There was a gorgeous woman sitting behind it, her shoulder-length, sleek black hair hanging loosely around her face, her bangs straight and kind of severe in appearance.

She had a phone pressed to her ear as she typed on the computer.

I overheard her conversation, her voice tight but pleasant.

“Yes, I have you down for nine on the fifth. We’ll see you then, Mr. Ford.” She put the phone back on the receiver and glanced up at me, giving me this extremely fake smile she probably had for everyone.

“Welcome to Dexter and Calvin. How may I help you?” Her voice was sickly sweet, thick like the red lipstick she wore.

“Yes, I’m Olive Morris and I’m here for an interview.”

She focused on her computer and started typing. “I’ve got you down. If you go ahead and have a seat, Mr. Shelby will be with you momentarily.”

I was dismissed just like that. I nodded once, even though she wasn’t looking at me, and walked over toward the waiting area.

I took a seat on one of the leather chairs, the material cold but warming the longer I sat there.

I didn’t reach for a magazine as I waited, not wanting to seem like I was impatient.

Despite my discomfort, my headache, the nausea, and the very thought of food turning my stomach sour, I couldn’t get Pope out of my head. I’d had an incredible time with him, despite the fact that I’d let myself drink too much.

God, I wished I could remember how it had been last night in his bed, in his arms. I closed my eyes and breathed out slowly, trying to picture it.

No doubt, he had been unbelievable in bed, but I didn’t feel sore between my thighs.

I certainly would have been, seeing as I hadn’t been with a man in longer than I cared to admit.

I opened my eyes and cleared my throat, clenching my thighs together, because despite how shitty I felt, arousal started to move through me.

I didn’t know how long I sat there, staring out the window, my hands clammy, the worry that I’d screw this interview up and wouldn’t get the job riding me hard.

I looked at the cityscape, the towering building, the traffic in the distance.

This office was high enough up I couldn’t see directly below us, and I thought about the crowds, the smell of food vendors and exhaust as I tried to keep my mind off other things, things that weren’t about screwing this interview up, or thoughts of Pope.

“Miss Morris?”

On my right, the woman who greeted me upon my arrival was now standing on the other side of the desk, a file in hand. “Mr. Shelby will see you now.”

Here we go.

I stood and followed her, walking through the double glass doors once she opened them for me and trailing behind as she led me down a long, ornate hallway.

The cubicles didn’t even look like real cubicles.

They were sleek and stylish, resembling little offices in their own right.

I supposed that’s what a cubicle was, but they just seemed so modern, as if each person in those little cubicles was just as important as the CEO.

At least that’s how it looked on the outside, the vibe I got from the whole setup. Maybe it was all for show though. Maybe it was the cherry on top of the perfect sundae that probably tasted like ass.

Because if things looked too good, didn’t that meant they probably were?

She stopped suddenly, and my mind had been so wrapped up in everything else that I almost ran into her. We now stood in front of two dark wooden doors, with a gleaming silver metal plaque at eye-level.

P. Shelby, CFO

Chief Financial Officer

I knitted my brows as a memory tried to surface. Why did that title sound so familiar?

My heart was racing, my worry so strong I started to gently bite on my bottom lip.

Everything inside me was tightening uncomfortably. I was worried I was going to screw this up, but I’d soon find out if this was the end, after my interviewer found out I’d been fired from my last position.

The woman leading me knocked twice on the door, and I heard a muffled deep voice from the other side tell us we could enter.

She pushed open one of the double doors and stepped inside.

I stayed behind her, wondering if she could hear my heart racing.

It sure as hell felt like the whole world could hear.

“Mr. Shelby, I have your two o’clock interview ready.”

“Thank you, Grace. That’ll be all.”

I knitted my brows as I heard that deep voice. My head was pounding especially hard now, my migraine growing by the second. But that voice pierced through the fog.

I knew that voice.

Grace stepped aside, and I stared at the man who stood across the room, his back to us as he stared out the massive windows. His shoulders were broad, the suit he wore not hiding the raw power underneath.

And then he turned around, and I gasped... literally gasped… as Pope stood there staring at me. Although, I think I knew it would be him by all the little breadcrumbs that had been left.

He had his hands in the front pockets of his slacks, the cityscape behind him a backdrop that made him seem even more powerful, as if he commanded the whole world.

I hadn’t realized Grace had left until I heard the door shut behind us.

For long seconds, neither of us said anything. Here I was, in front of the man I’d left standing in his kitchen, all but running out of his house because I was humiliated and couldn’t even remember if we’d slept together.

And he was going to be giving me the interview. He could very well be my next boss. If I was that lucky, that is.

I felt stiff as a board, sweat beading my brow. I didn’t know what to say or do, didn’t even want to move, because I was sure I’d trip over my own feet.

“Hi,” he finally said.

I licked my lips and tried to smile, but I felt so awkward right now.

“Want to take a seat?” He gestured toward the chair in front of his desk.

I found myself moving toward it, not even realizing my feet were taking me there until I was sitting down. I watched as Pope took the seat across from me, the width of his desk making it seem like he was so far away.

More silence passed between us, and I found myself twisting my fingers together in my lap. “You knew about this the whole time? That I was coming in for the interview?” My voice was strained. I was trying not to act as embarrassed as I felt.

He leaned back in his leather chair and rested one arm on the desk as he stared at me. “No. I didn’t know you were the one I was interviewing until I looked at the resume on my desk this morning and saw your name.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded slowly.

“Does that change anything though?”

Was he serious? I felt my eyes widen. “Uh, yeah, it does. I mean, isn’t it like some kind of complication?”

He knitted his brow. “Why would it be?”

I felt like I was in some kind of alternate dimension. He didn’t think this would complicate things?

“You’re qualified for the job. That’s why you got the interview. Nothing has changed.”

“Um... I mean, I woke up in your bed this morning. We went on a date last night.” I swallowed roughly. “We had sex.”

The corner of his mouth twisted, as if he were trying to suppress his amusement. “We had sex?”

I felt my brows knit when he phrased that as a question. He stared me in the eyes, and I felt on display right now for how intently he watched me.

“We didn’t have sex, Olive.”

I felt this weight lift off my shoulders, and I actually sagged against the chair. “We didn’t have sex?”

He shook his head slowly, that little smirk now in place.

“Oh, thank God,” I mumbled under my breath.

He lifted a dark eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s something a man wants to hear.” His smirk grew. “You don’t have to look so relieved. Might bruise my ego.” And then he winked. He fucking winked at me, and I felt everything in me pool in the center of my body like a warm puddle.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just assumed, because I was all but naked and in your bed.

” Dammit, this was getting bad. “I—I just meant, thank God, because I couldn’t remember what happened, and if I did have sex with you…

well, I’d want to remember.” Oh my Lord.

I actually said those words. My face was on fire, because I was a rambling mess.