The Secret Billionaire and His Substitute Bride

Chapter 13: The Interview Part 2 POV: Ethan

I had to use the regular public lobby today because my private executive elevator was completely out of service.

Not only was it a blood-boiling way to start my morning, but I then had to sit in the back of my tinted sedan while security organized a perimeter. I was forced to throw on a baseball cap and dark sunglasses, keeping my head ducked down as my security detail hustled me through the glass doors. I checked my watch—god, Cali is probably already here.

I had been an anxious wreck ever since I reached the top floor. I found myself monitoring the lobby security cameras like some obsessive stalker, watching her every move. She had gotten a brief glimpse of my broad frame near the elevators, and I prayed to God she didn't recognize me.

That would blow everything. I wanted so badly to tell her the absolute truth, but I couldn't risk it—not while I was still actively fighting to keep my ruthless biological father, Adam Chase, and his legitimate sons from destroying my life's work. I was honestly surprised I hadn't heard from Adam since his last threatening phone call, especially after the explosive scene I caused at the Larson estate the other day. But my focus snapped right back to the monitor: Cali had walked into her interview room.

Fifteen minutes later, I watched her walk back out.

What the f**k? I sat up straight, glaring at the screen. That was way too fast. An entry-level interview should have taken at least an hour.

Then my eyes caught a guy stepping up to her in the lobby, grabbing her arm as she tried to pull away. Who the f**k is that?! Who the hell is she talking to?! I couldn't ask her directly without exposing myself, but I was damn sure going to find out. I instantly snapped a screenshot of the timestamp, fired it off to my personal assistant, Carter, and ordered him to find out who that bastard was immediately.

I gave her a few minutes to clear the premises before I dialed her phone. When she picked up, her voice was cracking—she was weeping silently. Hearing her tears made my chest tighten with a sharp, agonizing pain, my anger spiking out of control. I told her to stay close by and promised I would handle it.

And handle it I f*****g did.

I snatched up the desk phone and speed-dialed Dylan's extension.

"Yes, boss?" he answered smoothly.

I could hear someone babbling in the background of his office. Oh, people are getting fired today.

"Get the f**k in my office RIGHT NOW!" I roared, slamming the receiver down so hard the plastic cracked.

A few moments later, Dylan pushed open my heavy double doors, a look of sheer alarm plastered across his face.

"Do you want to explain what the f**k just happened?!" I yelled, slamming my balled fist onto the mahogany desk. "Why did I just get off the phone with my wife crying?!"

"I'm literally working on it right now, Aaron! I was speaking with Ed when you called," Dylan said defensively, holding his hands up. "It seems like Laura, one of the hiring managers on the panel, had some extremely unfavorable things to say about her character."

"And that f*****g i***t Ed just took her word for it?!" I growled, pushing my chair back and stalking toward him like a caged predator.

"Fix this now—and not just because she's my wife! She has raw, undeniable talent, and it's talent this company f*****g needs!"

"I know, Aaron, I saw her portfolio!" Dylan argued, pulling a printed document from his folder and holding it out. "Look at this—she even filled out the senior designer promotion assessment."

I snatched the paper from his hand, scanning the complex technical answers. God, her calculations and fabric specs were virtually flawless. "Some of our highest-paid senior designers can't even score this high," I muttered, my rage morphing into awe. "Why the hell did she get this form in the first place? This isn't the basic entry-level application!"

No wonder she had complained to me last night about how absurdly difficult the test was—they had handed her an advanced executive exam to force her to fail.

"I don't know, Aaron. I have to call Laura out on it—she was the one who handled the candidate routing," Dylan said, taking a step toward my desk and reaching for the landline. "What's her cell number?"

I rattled off Cali's number instead. Dylan typed it in and tapped the speakerphone button.

Two rings later, a soft, broken voice filtered through the speaker. "Hello?"

Hearing my beautiful wife's voice sent a pang through my heart. She sounded marginally calmer, but the residual sadness in her tone was unbearable.

"Hello, Ms. Larson. This is Dylan Bass, Vice President of Evans Industries. Are you still in the immediate area?" Dylan asked professionally.

"Hello, Mr. Bass," she replied firmly, trying to mask her emotion. "I was turned down for the position, so I'm currently on my way back home. There was really no reason for me to stay in the city."

I glared at Dylan, mouthing: Do not let her walk away.

"Look, Ms. Larson, there has been a massive internal miscommunication," Dylan insisted into the receiver. "Please come back to the building. I would like the opportunity to speak with you personally."

A brief silence hung over the line. "Why?" she asked guardedly.

"I received several immediate flags regarding your file," Dylan explained smoothly. "I personally put my executive stamp on your application, so when the panel turned you away, HR escalated it straight to my desk. Please allow me just ten minutes of your time—that's all I'm asking for."

More silence... she was hesitating.

Losing my patience, I grabbed a blank notepad from my desk, slapped a marker against the paper, and scrawled in giant, aggressive capital letters: YOU BETTER FIX THIS OR YOU'RE DEAD. I thrust the pad right into Dylan's face.

The sudden flash of genuine terror in Dylan's eyes proved he got the message loud and clear.

"Ms. Larson, I am the Vice President of this company," Dylan pressed hastily into the phone. "I'm reaching out to you directly. Surely that has to be worth something, right?"

"Alright, Mr. Bass... I can be back there in about twenty minutes. Will that work?" she finally yielded.

Dylan looked up at me and discreetly flipped me off under the desk edge. I smirked, throwing the middle finger right back at him.

"That is perfect. Thank you, Ms. Larson. I will notify front desk security right now to grant you executive access. See you shortly."

Dylan ended the call, set the receiver back on the dock, and let out a massive, dramatic sigh. He looked at me, a wide, confident grin slowly spreading across his face. "I'll handle this, Aaron."

"What's your plan?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

"I'm going to make a brutal example out of them," Dylan said, rolling up his sleeves. "At least out of Laura and Ed. Susan didn't do anything wrong."

"They had better be getting fired today, do you understand me?" I demanded coldly. "If those two are turning away top-tier talent over petty personal grudges, they are an absolute liability to my company. All three of them should be cleared out."

"Laura and Ed, absolutely—their packing boxes are already being prepped," Dylan countered firmly. "But not Susan. She was just promoted, and according to the internal panel notes, she was the only one who fought against Laura's nonsense. In fact, Susan is the one who flagged the file to my office because my executive name was attached to it."

I narrowed my eyes, weighing his logic. "Fine! But if something like this ever happens again, your personal life is going to become ten thousand times harder, Dylan. Do you hear me? I will bury you in so much executive paperwork you won't have time to see a single one of your girlfriends for the rest of the decade."

Dylan just burst out laughing, stepping around the desk to slap a heavy, affectionate hand on my shoulder. "Oh, Aaron... when are you going to update your material? Your threats stopped scaring me back in college, buddy." He grinned, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Have a little faith in me, would you? Have I ever let you down?"

Before he could walk out the door, I called out, "Dylan, wait."

He paused, turning back.

"Make sure Cali knows you're completely on her side," I said quietly, my voice softening. "Make sure she knows she can come directly to you if she ever needs anything in this building. I wish like hell I could be the one standing beside her... but it's not time yet. Her life would be in immediate danger if my father found out about her."

Dylan's playful demeanor vanished, replaced by a serious, silent nod. "I got you, bro."

As the heavy door clicked shut behind him, I sat back down in my leather armchair. Dylan was right—he had never let me down. He was far more than just my Vice President or my best friend; he was my brother. If it weren't for Dylan willing to act as the public, high-profile face of Evans Industries, I never could have built this empire from the shadows while hiding from the Chase family's dangerous reach.

I turned back to my desk, trying to force my brain to process financial reports so I could finish early and get home to Cali, but my mind kept drifting back to the footage of that guy touching her arm in the lobby.

Right on cue, three sharp knocks sounded at my door. Carter stepped inside, holding a crisp yellow folder.

"Sir?" Carter said politely. "I have the employee file you requested on the man from the lobby."

"Hand it over," I ordered.

Carter set the file on my desk, but hesitated before leaving. "One more thing, Mr. Evans. Internal logs show that this employee went to the hiring managers earlier today to complain about Ms. Larson being turned down. He actually attempted to reach Mr. Bass's office as well, but Mr. Bass was in here with you at the time."

My eyes narrowed slightly. "Thank you for bringing that to my attention, Carter. You're dismissed."

Once the door clicked shut, I flipped open the folder.

NAME: Jeffrey Cullen

AGE: 24

POSITION: Mid-Level IT Systems Specialist

EDUCATION: Pratt Institute

Pratt Institute—the exact same design college Calista had attended before being forced out.

I stared down at Jeffrey Cullen's employee photo, a dark, dangerous smirk curling my lips as I tapped my pen against the desk.

So, Jeffrey... why are you so obsessed with my wife?