Six Years Later, He's My Boss

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

The elevator doors began to close. Ambelyn seized the opportunity, to get out of this messy conversation, ducking past Thomas and slipping inside before he could stop her.

She hit the button for the fifteenth floor—executive level—and watched his face contort with fury as the doors slid shut between them.

Her hands were shaking. She pressed them against her sides, taking deep breaths to steady herself, before he would end up having a panic attack, she had not planned to meet him so soon, especially when their divorce wasn't finalized.

This was fine. She was fine. Thomas couldn't touch her here. This was neutral ground, a space where his family name held no particular power nor could he do anything.

The elevator ride seemed to take forever, as she closed her eyes, trying her best to comport herself, she was going to see Niklaus after all and did not want to ruin her chances at all.

When the doors finally opened onto the executive floor, Ambelyn stepped out into a reception area that made the lobby look modest by comparison. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered panoramic city views.

There were also a lot of abstract art hung on walls covered in expensive wallpaper. The furniture looked like it belonged in a modern art museum.

The receptionist looked up as Ambelyn approached. She was a young woman with simple yet glowing makeup and a smile that was professional and kind.

"Good morning. How may I help you?"

"I'm Ambelyn Moreau. I have an interview scheduled for ten o'clock."

The receptionist's fingers flew over her keyboard, pushing buttons before reading her screen.

"Ah yes, Ms. Moreau. You're here for the executive assistant position. Please have a seat—someone will collect you shortly."

Ambelyn settled into one of the comfortable-looking designer chairs and tried not to fidget. Other candidates were already waiting—three women and two men, all dressed professionally, all looking confident in ways that made her stomach clench with anxiety.

She was pulling out her phone to review her notes one more time when a door opened and a stern-looking woman in her fifties emerged.

"Interview candidates for the executive assistant position? Please follow me."

They filed into a conference room where Klaus sat at the head of a long table, flanked by five other people who Ambelyn assumed were department heads or senior management that were vital in recruiting people for the job. Her breath caught at the sight of him—he looked every inch the powerful CEO in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than her net worth at this point. His expression was neutral, but something subtle changed in his eyes when they landed on her.

"Please be seated," the stern woman said. "Mr. Thorne and the committee will be conducting your interviews today."

Ambelyn took a seat between two other candidates, her portfolio clutched in her lap like a shield. The interviews began with the candidate at the far end of the table—a confident young man with an MBA who spoke fluently about his experience managing executive calendars and coordinating international travel.

He was asked about his proficiency with various software programs, his approach to handling confidential information, and his ability to work under pressure. He answered each question smoothly, clearly well-prepared.

The next candidate was equally impressive—a woman with ten years of executive assistant experience who described complex projects she'd managed and gave specific examples of how she'd improved office efficiency in her previous roles.

One by one, the candidates were questioned thoroughly. Ambelyn waited for her turn, her prepared answers ready as she rehearsed what she was going to say.

But as the interview continued, a strange thing happened. Each candidate was called upon except her. Questions were directed to the person on her left, then the person on her right. But Klaus's eyes never quite met hers, and no one asked her anything, or even acknowledged that she was in the room, with them.

She remained calm despite the growing panic in her chest. Maybe they were saving her for last. Maybe this was some kind of test. She kept her expression neutral, her posture professional, even as confusion and anxiety warred inside her.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably only ninety minutes, Klaus stood.

"Thank you all for coming today," he said, his voice carrying easily through the room as everyone turned to look at him. "You'll each receive an email within twenty-four hours informing you whether you've been selected for a second interview. Please collect your things and see yourselves out."

The other candidates began gathering their belongings, some looking confident, others uncertain if they had done well. Ambelyn stood slowly, her mind racing. She hadn't been asked a single question. Did that mean she was automatically rejected? Had this entire thing been a waste of time?

She followed the others toward the door, clutching her portfolio with white-knuckled intensity. She was almost to the threshold when Klaus's voice stopped her.

"Ms. Moreau. A moment, please."

The other candidates filed out, some shooting her curious looks.

The door closed with a soft click, leaving Ambelyn alone with Klaus and the lingering tension that seemed to fill every space they occupied together.

He stood at the head of the table, his expression unreadable. Then he picked up a thick file from the table and walked toward her, stopping just outside her personal space.

"You have thirty minutes," he said, handing her the file.

Ambelyn took it automatically, confusion evident on her face. "Thirty minutes for what?"

"There's a meeting in Conference Room B. Six potential investors who are considering significant capital investment in our new AI division. Your job is to convince them that Thorne Industries is worth their money." His eyes finally met hers fully, and she saw challenge there—and something else. Something that looked almost like faith.

"The presentation materials are in that file. You have thirty minutes to review them and prepare. Then you're on."

"But I—" Ambelyn's mind reeled. "I haven't been hired. I haven't been interviewed. I don't know your company's—"

"Consider this your interview," Klaus interrupted. "A practical assessment of your skills under pressure. Can you do it?"

Every instinct screamed at her to refuse, to say this was unfair, that she couldn't possibly prepare an investment pitch in thirty minutes. But then she thought of Iniko back at the hospital, waiting for her to come back, of his medication that cost two thousand dollars a month, of the future she was trying to build from nothing.

She opened the file, her eyes scanning the contents quickly. Product specifications. Market analysis. Financial projections. It was comprehensive but dense—the kind of material that usually took days to master.

"Yes," she heard herself say. "I can do it."