The Interview
1114 Words
“Well, Miss Lana Hart, you’ve made quite an impression.”
Damien’s POV
I was getting bored.
Sitting behind a polished mahogany desk, flipping through nearly identical résumés, pretending to care about cookie-cutter answers. It was never my thing. But I’d promised the board I’d be more “hands-on” with recruitment this quarter. Especially for the personal assistant role.
One hundred applicants. One hundred handshakes. One hundred pointless interviews.
I had already made up my mind, of course. This final round? Just formality. Most of the candidates were internal recommendations—favor-for-a-favor types.
I leaned back in my chair and sighed.
“Number seventy-four,” my secretary called out, her voice neutral, almost robotic at this point.
I glanced at my wristwatch. Ten minutes before my next appointment.
“Liam,” I whispered to my cousin-s***h-deputy, who sat beside me with his brow raised in amused skepticism. “Handle the rest of the interviews for today.”
Liam blinked. “What?”
He got the hint when I stood up, straightened my jacket, and walked out without another word. He didn’t argue. He knew me well enough to know I didn’t do anything without reason.
I wasn’t just walking out of an interview.
I had a meeting with someone who could help me find her.
The girl in the black dress.
The one who had vanished like smoke by the time I woke up. No name. No goodbye. Just a memory burned into my mind like wildfire.
It had to be her.
The chemistry was too real, too sharp to be ignored. She wasn’t just another night. I didn’t do nights like that. And I sure as hell didn’t lose sleep over them.
But here I was, skipping interviews, checking anonymous tips, chasing shadows.
The press would eat it up, I knew that. The tortured CEO who found love in a bar. The viral fairytale.
And if my grandfather bought the story? Even better.
If she turned out to be everything I remembered and more?
Lana’s POV
The man sitting behind the desk, in a well-tailored dark navy suit that hugged his frame like a second skin, was definitely not the man I had shared the night with.
I let out a sigh of relief.
No.
Even though I was drunk that night, I couldn’t forget that face. There was no way I wouldn’t remember that face.
They had strikingly similar features same jawline, same intensity but this wasn't Damien Sinclair. It wasn’t him.
His eyes scanned me slowly, from head to toe, unsettling in the way they took everything in.
“Miss?” he said smoothly.
“Lana Hart,” I replied, trying to keep my voice from wavering.
“Miss Hart,” he repeated, like he was savoring the sound. “Please, do have a seat.”
I sat down carefully, trying to look composed. He leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming lightly on the desk.
“So,” he began, “why do you want to work at Sinclair & Co.?”
Because I’m broke.
Because my life is in shambles.
Because your company’s salary is enough for me to start over. I could even rent a place in the city and pay five months in advance and still have change left for groceries. I’d have enough to save for Maddie’s college.
But all I did was smile, tight-lipped. “I believe my skill set aligns with the administrative assistant role. I’m organized, efficient, and work well under pressure.”
He raised a brow. “Are you?”
I nodded, voice steady. “Absolutely.”
“Your resume is... interesting,” he said, flipping through the crisp sheet I’d rushed to print last night.
His eyes scanned it, then returned to me. “You’ve mostly done part-time jobs,” he noted. “Cafes.
Temp agencies. Receptionist gigs.”
“I take what I can get,” I said calmly. “I’m resourceful.”
He watched me closely. “And loyal?”
I blinked. “Is that a requirement?”
“It is,” he said simply. “Especially as a personal assistant.”
“Well,” I said, keeping my tone even, “I’m a fast learner. I don’t bring my personal life into work, and I don’t make excuses.”
He gave a quick nod, tapping his pen against the desk. “I like your confidence, Miss Hart.”
“Thank you.”I replied .
“Well, Miss Lana Hart, you’ve made quite an impression.”
He stood, extending a hand. “Your interview has come to an end. We’ll get back to you.”
I rose slowly, trying to calm the pounding in my chest as I shook his hand. It was firm, warm, and definitely not familiar.
I couldn't forget his touch so fast, it's barely a week since I met him.
I still didn’t know who this man was.
I knew it wasn’t Damien Sinclair, the man from the bar.
But something in his eyes told me… the way he looked at me like he already knew who I was.
Damien’s POV
“About the girl in the black dress you asked me to find...” Jake stood by the office door, arms crossed, face unreadable which usually meant bad news.
I looked up from my laptop. “What did you find?”
He sighed, stepping closer. “I had trouble tracking her down. That night... it seems it was her first time at the bar. No records, no receipts tied to her name.”
My jaw tensed. “So she just vanished?”
“Not exactly.” He pulled out a folder and placed it on my desk. “Her name is Lana Hart. Twenty-two. Recently moved to L City.”
I opened the file. A blurry ID photo. A hospital record. A withdrawn college application.
“She lives with her younger sister,” Jake continued, “Maddie Hart. I think she’s about eighteen. But beyond that... she’s practically a ghost. No job on record. No lease in her name. No digital footprint since she got to L City. But she did take a train to L City a day after your flight.”
I closed the folder slowly.
Lana Hart.
It felt like something soft and unspoken settled in my chest.
She had given me no name. No number. Just a memory, a night…
"You're sure she’s in the city?" I asked quietly, not because I doubted Jake, but because I wanted to confirm this impossible coincidence.
Jake nodded. “Yeah. That’s all I know.”
I leaned back in my chair and exhaled, staring at the ceiling for a long second.
- Writer
