Chapter 1 — In Which She Spits in His Face

It was raining.

It was fucking raining!

"Damn you…you…you…UGH!" I yelled at the sky, staring accusingly at the oh-so-great one upstairs.

"Is there a problem, young lady?" I turned to see a wrinkled old lady scowling at me.

"Yeah! You!" I shot back annoyed.

I know I shouldn't be a bitch to an old lady but right now, I was 10 whole minutes late for my job interview and it was FREAKING RAINING!! Did I mention I’d chosen a white shirt? Yeah, enjoy the show, shit-faces!

"Young people these days! How rude!" the old woman huffed and turned away.

"Why, thank you!" I exclaimed happily and gave her a mock bow, to which she just huffed again and went on her merry way, WITH A DAMN UMBRELLA OVER HER HEAD!!

I however, having ignored the weather telecast as I did every morning, stood at the bus stop, water soaking through my grey suit jacket and drenching my white shirt and grey pants. Thank God I had a jacket on, or I would be making everyone's day right now.

So, I pulled the jacket tighter to my body, held my bag close, and screamed bloody murder at a cab coming my way.

I think I scared pretty much everyone since people gave me death glares and I heard a baby start to cry as its mother so lovingly cursed at me. But the cab came to a stop in front of me and no one else came near to claim it. So, no regrets on this little win.

"Synclair Inc. and STEP ON IT!!" I yelled yet again.

If you were as late as I was to your fifth job interview in a week, then you'd be crankier than I was, trust me. So don't judge.

The driver, being a dear, did exactly as I said and sped up so fast that I hit my head on the window screen before I had a chance to buckle up, making me yelp in pain.

"You asked for it, lady," the cabbie reported back calmly, probably having dealt with bitchy brats her entire life…Wait! Her?

"You’re a woman?" I asked while rubbing my sore forehead.

"My voice not enough? Wanna see my 'girlies'?" she shot back with a smirk.

"I like you!" I laughed as I ran a hand through my wet hair to straighten it out.

I looked at her through the mirror and saw that she had a lean figure, blue eyes, and apple red hair. She had a pretty heart-shaped face and looked to be in her mid-20s. And she seemed to have a nice sense of humor.

"Late for work?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the road.

"Interview and I forgot to check the weather reports, as usual," I said in a deadpan voice.

She threw her head back laughing. "Nice. Name's Nikki. You?" she asked.

"I'm Savannah." Just then she stopped her cab in front of Synclair HQ. I got out and took out my purse. "Thanks. How much?"

"$5. Keep my card and remember to stay positive. Don't go thinking that you won't get the job, or you really won't. Your boss ever gives you a late night, call me," she said and handed me a card after I paid her.

"But how do I know if you…What the…?" I finished putting the card in my bag and she was gone.

"Oh well." I shrugged and ran inside the building and away from the awful downpour.

I think the Gods must really hate me today because even the elevator was jam packed and I had to wait another 10 minutes for it to go up 12 floors and come back down again.

Once the elevator doors to the 8th floor opened, I quickly walked to the receptionist's desk and waited till she was off the phone. She was a blonde woman with light blue eyes in a light brown pencil skirt and a cream yellow blouse underneath her brown jacket.

"How may I help you?" she asked when she was done.

"Um, hi. I'm Savannah Tresscot. I’m here for the interview…" I trailed off giving her a sheepish smile.

"A little late, aren't we?" she raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"Yeah…as you can see…I had some really difficult business to deal with!" I told her in utter seriousness.

"Yes, and it got you good, I can see." She looked at me from head to toe still looking amused at having caught my lie. "Wait here."

With that she picked up the phone again and I took the time to admire my surroundings.

The entry had a red carpet and a few potted plants—real ones. The hallway was huge with grey to white walls and several doors of dark brown wood. Don’t ask me what the material was because I have no clue. I have a difficult time identifying silk from satin. In one corner of the room there were a row of seats where two women were still waiting in front of a closed door, probably to be interviewed. But instead, they looked like they were waiting to walk down the ramp.

One was a typical blond with short pixie cut, and she was showing more than hiding anything. She wore a pink pencil skirt, which was so short it should have been illegal, and a white shirt that was see-through without the help of the rain. The shirt showed her, yes, you guessed it right, pink bra. Her jacket was casually hung across one arm and her nails could easily be mistaken for Wolverine’s claws.

The second was decent enough to wear a slightly larger grey skirt and black top underneath a grey jacket. She had long black hair, green eyes, and a face pretty enough to be on a magazine. Why were these women even here for a PA position when they could’ve easily been models?

I snapped back to attention as the receptionist, Tina, as it said on her company card, put her phone down. "You’ll have to wait. Since you’re late, you can only go after the two of them. I'll call you when it's your turn."

“Thank you,” I told her sincerely as I turned and went to stand a little further than the two model wanna-be’s. People like them usually think everyone's a rival. Even plain old me with my honey brown hair, dull brown eyes, and a community college degree on a scholarship.

I started to shiver a bit as I stood there in the air-conditioned room. I guess Tina noticed my distress because she motioned for something to a guard and the next instant, he brought me a small cup of deliciously warm coffee. Not your usual receptionist, I see. Anyone else would’ve just ignored me.

"T-T-Thank you," I stuttered at her, and she gave me a small smile before going back to typing away at her computer. She had a stack of files lined up on one side of her desk and as soon as the previous candidate came out, she rushed in with the files, and didn’t come back out until half an hour later.

After waiting for about 2 hours and five cups of coffee, the last of the interviewees finally stormed out, dramatically banging the door shut and making me cringe. If these women weren’t hired, then there was no way I would be either.

"You're next," Tina said politely, pointing me towards the door with a sad smile. I could tell she had very little hope for me passing this interview. After all, Synclair Inc. was a multi-million-dollar textile company, and I was the plainest of plain Jane’s.

I stood up from my seat and took a deep breath, holding my coffee cup in one hand for warmth and my portfolio in the other. I strode into the office confidently, which went out the minute I walked in.

If it was freezing in the hallway, this had to be freaking Alaska! I dare a polar bear to live here.

But then I took in the office and frowned.

It was a board room with one of those long tables with chairs on both sides and the view of the city through a glass wall. The head of the table was occupied by who I’m guessing was Mr. Synclair, but he was facing the glass wall and hence, had his back to me.

"Come forward and sit. No need to delay this any further with your mindless gaping," came a deep male voice.

My frown turned into a scowl, but I kept my mouth shut. It was hard but I managed to do it. I needed a job, and he had an opening, and not to mention, I desperately needed the money to survive past this month. So, I walked forward to sit in the chair right next to his as he didn't mention any specifics.

"What made you choose this chair?" came the voice again. Something about it kept nagging me at the back of my head. Why did it sound familiar?

I thought about the answer and then replied, "Well, as your personal assistant, I should always be near you in case you need anything, to take notes, or give you some information whenever you need me,” I said and then politely added, "Sir."

"And what makes you think you'll get the job?"

"Positivity. If I come here thinking, I'll fail then there would be no point in this interview because I would never think myself capable." Thank you, Nikki!

"I see." And then he began typing on a laptop, which was probably on his lap. “It says here that you graduated from a community college. I’ve had people from Harvard interview for this position. What makes you special?”

Harvard? Interview for the position of his PA? Wow! The magazines did say he was one of Seattle’s hottest bachelors, but I hadn’t quiet noticed how big of a hotshot he really was until now. I was busy looking for a job that would help me reach my goal. It’s too bad I hadn’t had time to flip through the magazines.

“But shouldn’t people with a degree from Harvard be applying to be your secretary or your company employee instead?” I shot back. “They are way too overqualified to be your personal assistant.”

“Excuse me?”

Oh shoot! Me and my big mouth got me in trouble again. I took a small sip of my coffee since I had started shivering again and because I knew I’d never get this job now. However, I hadn't expected him to turn towards me so suddenly and neither had I expected it to be him.

As a result, the coffee I had in my mouth shot out and onto his expensive suit and face. And then we spoke at the same time:

"WHAT THE HELL!"

"NATTY POOH!"