No Names After Midnight

Chapter One - The Interview

My job interview is in an hour.

I still can't believe I might actually have a chance to work at Star Industries.

Hopefully, I get the job. I really don't want to spend the rest of my life waiting tables at Olive Garden and the petrol station. Working at Star Industries would give me the opportunity to see how a successful business operates from the inside—how everything works, how decisions are made, how a company grows.

One day, I want to start a business of my own.

I'm only twenty-one, but it's something I've wanted for as long as I can remember.

And if I get this job, I'll be working alongside Alex Underwood.

The Alex Underwood.

The youngest billionaire in New York.

He started his company when he was seventeen, and somehow, against all odds, it took off. People became fascinated by him. By twenty-four, he'd built a company worth billions and had become exactly the kind of person who seemed born to belong among New York's elite.

And today, I'm interviewing to become his assistant.

No pressure.

I chose my outfit three days ago.

Then changed my mind about it at least five times.

Now, with barely an hour left before the interview, I stand in front of my bed staring at the clothes laid neatly across it, trying to convince myself that I've finally made a decision.

I pick up the crisp white shirt and slip it on before carefully pulling a pair of thin black tights up to my waist.

Then I stare at the two skirts still lying on the bed.

Of course.

The one decision I still haven't made.

The black skirt stops slightly above my knees. Maybe a little too high for an interview, but it's stylish, flattering, and actually feels like something I would wear.

The grey one falls just below my knees. It's more professional, definitely safer, but every time I look at it, I feel as though I'm about to age ten years just by putting it on.

I bite the inside of my cheek.

The black one says young, confident, maybe even a little daring.

The grey one says responsible, professional and—

I glance at the clock.

My stomach drops.

Thirty minutes.

The drive takes around ten, and there is absolutely no way I'm arriving exactly on time. I need to be early. Being early shows I'm punctual. Responsible. Employable.

All the things an assistant to a billionaire probably needs to be.

Come on, Alice. Get a grip. You cannot spend all day deciding which skirt to wear.

I grab whichever one is closest—the black one, apparently—and pull it on before tucking in my shirt.

Decision made.

I snatch my black blazer from its hanger and hurry into the bathroom.

I lean towards the mirror above the sink and inspect myself carefully.

No stains.

No food in my teeth.

My blonde hair is pulled tightly into a high bun, with only a few stubborn strands trying to escape.

I smooth them down.

"Good enough," I whisper.

It will have to be.

I grab my bag, leave the apartment and hurry down two flights of stairs towards the parking lot.

Before getting into the car I've owned since I was seventeen, I stop and check through the documents they asked me to bring.

Passport?

Check.

Job references?

Check.

Education documents?

Check.

Cover letter?

Check.

Okay.

I can do this.

I slide into the driver's seat and start the engine.

Unfortunately, the ten-minute journey gives my brain more than enough time to turn against me.

What if I'm not good enough?

My fingers tighten around the steering wheel.

I don't have years of office experience. I'm not someone important. I'm just a girl who waits tables and dreams about owning a company someday.

There are probably dozens of people applying for this job with better qualifications, better experience and far more confidence than I have.

By the time I pull into a space marked VISITORS, my heart is beating harder than it ever has before an interview.

I turn off the engine and stare at the enormous grey building in front of me.

Star Industries.

Even from the outside, the place is intimidating.

The building looks big enough to hold a thousand employees, probably more. Its glass windows stretch high above me, reflecting the bright New York sky.

For a moment, I consider staying in the car.

Then I remember my bank balance.

Right.

Inside I go.

I step through the main entrance and immediately spot a reception desk positioned in the centre of the lobby.

Behind it sits one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.

She looks somewhere in her mid-twenties, with long black hair falling freely around her shoulders and just enough makeup to highlight her striking green eyes.

Seriously.

If she wanted to be a model, she probably could be.

Her gaze lifts to mine, and she smiles.

"Is there anything I can help you with?"

Her voice snaps me out of my shameless staring.

"Um, hi. Yes." I clear my throat. "I have an interview for the position of—"

"The assistant?"

I pause.

Then nod.

Apparently, I have nervous interviewee written across my forehead.

She stands. "Follow me."

I do so immediately.

We take an elevator upstairs and walk through a maze of bright corridors until she finally stops in front of a large closed door.

At least, I think we're on the second floor.

Honestly, I was too busy trying not to have a nervous breakdown to pay much attention.

"Take a seat here and wait until they're ready for you," she says politely, gesturing towards one of the chairs lining the corridor.

"Thank you."

She smiles before walking away, and I lower myself into the chair.

Only then do I properly notice the people around me.

Men and women dressed in smart suits sit scattered along the corridor, several of them holding folders or portfolios.

My stomach sinks.

Are all of these people here for the same job?

Wonderful.

Exactly what my confidence needed.

Before I can spiral any further, a shadow falls over me.

I look up.

A tall, handsome man is standing directly in front of me.

"Alice Grace Richmond?"

My throat suddenly feels dry.

"Yes?"

"We're ready for you."

Oh God.

If I thought I was nervous before, it was nothing compared to this.

I stand, smoothing my skirt with shaky hands.

My heartbeat pounds in my ears so loudly I'm surprised everyone in the corridor can't hear it.

I swallow hard and follow him through the door opposite where I was sitting.

The room beyond it is enormous.

A long conference table dominates the centre, surrounded by sleek chairs. At the far end, huge windows overlook the city, flooding the room with natural light.

The man who called me in takes a seat beside a woman who looks to be around forty. She has short blonde hair, sharp blue eyes and wears a fitted black dress with polished heels.

Beside her sits another man.

My eyes linger on him.

I know him.

I'm sure I do.

But from where?

The first man gives me a reassuring smile.

"Miss Richmond, you may take a seat."

He gestures towards the chair opposite them.

I smile back, desperately hoping he can't see how nervous I am.

"Thank you."

I sit and clasp my hands together beneath the table to stop them trembling.

"I'm Elijah," he begins. "This is Margaret, and this is Alex."

My gaze immediately snaps back to the man beside Margaret.

Alex.

Of course.

Alex Underwood.

I knew I recognised him.

There are hardly any photographs of him online, at least not recent ones. He seems to avoid cameras whenever possible.

In person, he somehow looks even more intimidating.

Dark hair. Sharp features. Broad shoulders beneath an expensive-looking suit.

And eyes so blue they almost don't look real.

Elijah's voice drags my attention away from him.

"Do you have the documents we requested?"

"Oh, yes. Of course."

I quickly take the folder from my bag and pass it across the table.

Before Elijah can open it, Alex speaks.

"So why do you want to work for me?"

His voice is deep, calm and confident.

I turn towards him.

"And, more importantly," he continues, "why should we give you the job?"

I straighten in my chair.

"Well, Mr Underwood, I'm interested in business, and I believe working here would give me the opportunity to expand my knowledge and learn how a successful company operates." I take a breath. "I'm also hardworking, determined and willing to learn. I know I may not have as much experience as some other candidates, but if I'm given the opportunity, I'll work hard to prove myself."

Alex studies me.

His expression reveals absolutely nothing.

Then he leans slightly forward.

"What do you really want, Richmond?"

I blink.

"I'm sorry?"

His eyes stay fixed on mine.

"What do you really want from this job?"

Something about the way he looks at me makes every prepared interview answer disappear from my head.

Maybe it's the intensity of his stare.

Maybe it's those stupidly blue eyes.

Or maybe I'm simply panicking.

"I..." My voice catches. "I need the money."

Silence.

Fantastic.

My cheeks immediately begin to burn.

Why did I say that?

Why would I say that?

There are a hundred better answers, and somehow I chose I need the money.

Alex continues staring at me with an unreadable expression.

Then, finally, he sits back.

"Okay."

Okay?

"That's everything," he says. "We'll call you if you get the position."

And just like that, he stands.

I barely have time to process what is happening before he walks me towards the door.

"Thank you for coming in, Miss Richmond."

The door closes behind me.

I stand frozen in the corridor.

What the hell just happened?

I screwed it up.

I completely screwed it up.

Why did I tell him I needed the money?

What were you thinking, Alice?

Apparently, I'll be waiting tables for the rest of eternity after all.

I start walking towards the elevators, heat rushing into my cheeks as every embarrassing second of the interview replays inside my head.

I really needed this job.

Rent. Bills. Food.

Everything seems to cost more money than I actually have.

What am I supposed to do now?

My eyes begin to sting, and I blink rapidly, refusing to cry inside Star Industries.

Absolutely not.

They can reject me, humiliate me and send me back to serving endless bowls of pasta, but I will not cry in their building.

I make it downstairs, push through the front doors and inhale the fresh air.

Only one thing can save this day now.

I'm going home.

And I'm eating enough ice cream to forget Alex Underwood ever existed.