Chapter3
1100 Words
Chapter Three
Amelia’s POV
“You can’t let what happened the last time happen today,” Noah says from behind the wheel, one arm leaning on the window and the other on the wheel. “This is going to be a little more permanent, and he can’t find out.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Noah questions with more force than usual. My head snaps in his direction.
“What are you even talking about?”
“You seem to forget that I dated you, Amelia. I know you. And what happened that night…”
“…was nothing,” I complete, stretching to grab my purse from the back seat. “I was cornered by Damian. I underestimated him, but I am not going to let it repeat itself. I have done my research.”
“Amelia…”
“It is an interview, Noah. What could go wrong?”
“What if he sits on the team? What if he doesn’t hire you because of the other night?”
I struggle with the urge to roll my eyes. “Nothing happened the other night, Noah. The senator found out I was in the building, and although I have no idea what gave it away, I am very certain it isn’t Damian Voss. He didn’t recognize me. And I doubt he pays attention to us.”
“Us?”
“Journalists.”
Noah releases a sigh, closing his eyes for a second. And when he pulls them open again, they are filled with a new resolve. And something else I can’t place my hands on.
“Be careful, Amelia,” he breathes. “And don’t forget that you are not the only one in this. If anything goes wrong, my reputation as your editor is going to be at stake.”
“I’ll be careful,” I mutter, sliding out of the car. I lean into the window when I get outside. “And you don’t have to wait for me. I’ll get a cab back home. The fewer people see us hanging around together, the less they’ll be likely to suspect anything.”
He nods, and I step to the side, watching as he drives away. The gold lettering of Voss Industries stares back at me from the top of the building, basking in the glow of the sun. Taking a deep breath, I move in through the glass doors, putting a polite smile on my face and telling myself there is no way on earth I can bump into him today.
I’ll figure out what happens next as the days go by.
“Miss Rhodes,” I say as I approach the front desk, an easy smile on my face. “I was invited for an interview.”
The receptionist looks up from the magazine she had her eyes engaged in, and the first thing that comes to my mind is how that is an unhealthy amount of lipstick. The red seems to have been smeared on repeatedly, as if trying to pass on a message.
But then again, who wouldn’t have a message to pass on working for Damian Voss? He is, after all, a…
I stop myself before the rest of the words spill out of control. It is enough that I was plagued by his scent all through the weekend.
Her eyes fall to the clock hanging behind her. “Are you certain?”
My eyes narrow as I push closer. “Yeah, I got a mail…”
“I don’t doubt it, Miss Rhodes,” she cuts in, shaking her head. “It’s just that the interview occurred yesterday. A second email was sent to all the applicants, bringing the session forward. Didn’t you get it?”
It sounds like an odd joke. Like this is the right time for me to throw my head back, my laughter ringing in my ears. But one look in her eyes and I know that she is damn serious.
“I don’t get it,” I mumble, more to myself than her. “I didn’t get anything… I….”
Fishing for my phone in my purse, I retrieve it, searching for the mail through every folder. I come up empty a few minutes later and look back up at her.
“See? Nothing.”
“That’s wrong,” she whispers, her fingers clacking the keypad of her computer. She turns the screen around a moment later, and I see my email address scrawled on it, along with the new interview date.”
“I…”
“Maybe it was mistakenly deleted.”
“What?” The skin on my forehead wrinkles in confusion. “That’s impossible. I live alone and I only saw a friend yesterday.”
Still, I click on the trash icon on my screen.
And suddenly, everything in me stops when I take in the deleted mail. My eyes widen in disbelief, and for a second, I just stand there, trying to wrap my head around it.
I can’t go back home this way. Not after everything.
“No! No! No!” I whisper, turning back to her. “There must have been a mistake somewhere. I promise, I didn’t delete anything. I was only…”
“I’m sorry, Miss Rhodes, but there is nothing I can do about it.”
“Are you sure?”
She nods. “The role has already been filled, and an employment offer has been sent to our preferred candidate.” The receptionist regards me with so much pity that the corners of my eyes sting with unshed tears.
“You can apply again towards the end of the year,” she suggests. “There should be another opening then.”
I shake my head insistently. “You don’t get it. I need this…”
Her eyes suddenly leave me, staring at a spot above my head. And even before I turn around, I feel the shift in the air. It is sharp, sending a tremor down my spine. He smells just like he did last night, of the earth, of wood, of the beach.
My body goes rigid as the receptionist walks around the desk, heading towards him.
“What’s wrong?”
“The lady missed the interview yesterday,” she responds in a sultry tone. I immediately get what the lipstick is about. “The mail got deleted.”
I don’t wait to listen to his reply.
My feet move at once, carrying me towards the exit. But I halt abruptly when his voice tears through the silence of the lobby.
“Stranger?”
- Writer
