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Aiden

Idon’t like filling important positions with people that I don’t know. The interviewing process has never been an enjoyable experience for me, but I also don’t like leaving the task to someone else because they always end up hiring people that are wrong for the job I need done.

As it is, I’ve hired as many of my close friends as possible to fill up top roles in my company. I own and run my own tech company—a growing business on the rise called Tech Wreck. We specialize in creating and selling exceptional laptops, tablets, smart speakers, and so much more, but I can go on for hours about our products. I started Tech Wreck during my senior year of high school, and by the time I was twenty, I was able to live off my Tech Wreck salary. I went through one year of college, and then I dropped out because the money I was making was good and getting better by the week.

Today, ten years later, I’m a thirty-year-old billionaire. According to most credible sources that measure this sort of thing, I’m among the top five hundred wealthiest people in America. I believe their assessments because by the time I hit twenty-eight, I’d made so much money that I lost track of precisely how much I had.

However, when the first Monday of March comes around, I know that the only goal I have to achieve is to put a stop to the trouble I’ve found myself in. I’ve been trying to put out a nasty fire over the weekend to no avail, and I need a skilled firefighter at my command if I want to have any chance of surviving.

Three days before that Monday, on a Friday that had started off like any other, I was publicly accused of sexual harassment. Before I even got a chance to defend myself, I assumed that my career was over. Let’s be frank. These days, even being associated with the phrase “sexual harassment” is dangerous and risky. Most careers won’t survive.

It doesn’t help when the trouble stems from a crazy ex-lover. It also makes things exponentially worse when that crazy person was also once under your employ, and was always close to you during her work hours.

Her name is Sarah Blackburn, and she was my last PR manager. I was a fool and slept with the woman twice, under the influence, and from the moment I put my dick in her, I regretted it. She’s a ditzy stick figure who likes sleeping her way through jobs. She’s pretty, but not my usual type: tall blondes, no matter how hot they are, can never hold my attention for long if they aren’t that smart.

Sarah is crafty and manipulative, but she isn’t intelligent enough to strategize and ruin me. She wants to watch me burn, along with my company, but she is erratic and behaving impulsively, which are toxic elements when dealing with revenge. The reasons that she wants to see me go under all stem from sex, or more precisely: lack thereof.

After Sarah and I hooked up twice, she wanted it to continue. I told her that we needed to relax and take it slow, but that only made her want me more. My last bit of desire for her evaporated when I learned that she has a bit of a reputation for trapping guys and ruining their lives, specifically wealthy men, sometimes married and with children. Once I realized what her game is, I refused to play it. Evidently, few men refuse her. She claimed to me thatnonehave refused her.

She always hit on me, despite me repeatedly spurning her advances. Her final straw was just the last Thursday. She tried to corner me in my office at work, and she tried to get me to have sex with her yet again, using every means and method at her disposal. I almost felt bad denying her because she was trying so hard, but I always go with my instincts, and they said to stay away from Sarah Blackburn.

My instincts were proven right that very next day. Since she was apparently not used to being rejected by a man, Sarah quickly became unglued once she knew that things were over between us sexually. And so, she went online and to the press and leaked false information about our sexual relationship.

Sarah claims that I was forcing her to have sex with me so that she could keep her job as my PR head at Tech Wreck, essentially saying that I raped her. She further claims that I have a pattern of bedding various female members of my staff and that she wouldn’t be surprised if most of them came out with similar stories like hers.

Despite how untrue both of her claims are, the gossip became rumors, and it all spread fast like wildfire in the wind. Sarah is an attractive woman in her late twenties that had access to a billionaire, so the tabloids and online garbage sites ate her story up without swallowing. The media reported on the sexual harassment allegations, and before Monday even got here, people were calling for my resignation. Her accusations garnered such negative press in such a short amount of time that I didn’t even have time to choose her replacement as head of the PR department, much to my anger and frustration.

We had to fire Sarah since she refused to quit after making her false accusations. So, our next task was to interview candidates for PR manager. We’ve only just begun the process, and already, I feel exhausted.

I am at Tech Wreck in my office and looking through the résumés of the PR candidates that are all waiting outside. There are only three people interviewing for the position. I don’t expect any of my evaluations to last longer than three minutes, so I have them all come in at the same time that morning.

In my office with me is my closest friend, greatest confidant, and right-hand man at the company: Adam Curtis. Adam’s been with me since Tech Wreck began all those years ago. We met while working at Office Depot and became inseparable once I graduated high school and put more of my time and energy into Tech Wreck. At first, he was just helping me vicariously, but eventually, he wanted to become a part of the team. We brainstormed and worked together while we were both at NYU; he was a junior and I was a freshman, so we didn’t have many classes together, but since we were both business majors, we did share some classes the one year I spent in college.

Adam dropped out of NYU when I did, he officially joined the company, and he helped me expand the Tech Wreck brand, reaching much farther than just New York. So, although hiring the head of PR is not something Adam should have had to spend any time thinking about, he is gracious enough to help me through the interviews. He knows I trust and respect his opinion, and I have to lean on his judgment throughout the process. I’m second-guessing myself more as time goes on and the allegations continue to float around in the public conversation.

We’ve remained inseparable, he and I. We are both New York City boys, born and raised, both tired of living here, and yet, too comfortable to want to live anywhere else. Even though we sell products all across the country and worldwide, we choose to keep our headquarters and offices where we feel the most comfortable. I know that if I have a choice between the heart of Manhattan and places like L.A. or Florida, I will choose living and working in NYC every time.

The only problem is that all the applicants for the PR job are from New York like us. I love New York, but I hate New Yorkers. On one hand, New York has a plethora of qualified people that can work in tech company management, but on the other hand, they are probably uptight assholes that I will get annoyed working with fast.

I also want Adam there with me because I intend to vent about all of the shit going on with the media, but I decide to go against my usual response and simply remain calm. I have to put my negative vibes aside like a good boss and treat all of my candidates as fairly as possible. I’m determined to hire someone amazing that can save my ass.

The first candidate to be interviewed is a guy named Greg Simmons. He’s a nice guy about my age, went to NYU, got his master’s in marketing and communications, and he represented a company similar to mine for nearly five years. Greg, although highly qualified, is a bit of a shaky speaker that appears unable to effectively communicate his points. Since what we’re selling has to be believable, I feel wary about hiring someone that might wind up disappointing me when the times come to push.

The second candidate is also an NYU graduate. His name is Kenneth Hamilton, he has an education similar to Greg’s, and he has been the top guy at his agency for several solid months. He is a better communicator than Greg, but he doesn’t phrase things the way I want him to for the purposes of this job.

Then, in comes the muse responsible for changing my world. I am literally frozen by her stunning beauty, unable to control myself from staring and likely making a fool of myself. She’s curvy and gorgeous, with a sweet face, honey-colored eyes, long brown hair, and a terrific figure. She’s the exact type of woman I go for.

I’ve never really been into stick figures that don’t eat anything. I’ve always viewed it as shallow and unsexy to keep yourself as thin as possible. Now granted, I take care of my body and I’ve stayed fit for many years, but I think there’s a difference between being healthy and what girls like Sarah do to stay bone thin. I’ve always thought girls like her are attempting to fill a void and likely have issues I can’t help solve.

I like a curvy girl that is confident and comfortable in her body and has real, natural beauty, unenhanced by anything fake. My last candidate is that and more.

“Hello,” I growl while standing and extending my hand. “I’m Aiden Marx.”

“Hi, Mr. Marx, I’m Kate Harly,” she says confidently while taking my hand and shakes it. Even her hands are smooth and perfect.

“My number two here, Adam, and I have a few basic questions for you,” I inform her. “We have some other qualified candidates, as you saw outside, so I would like to get a sense for how you handle yourself in major situations, and if we think you’d be the best fit, we will let you know right away.”