Chapter Three
1129 Words
JESSICA
Jess managed to get to Adams & Co. Enterprises—after the bumper drama of her life. Miraculously, she still had five minutes to spare. She skidded into the lobby, documents clutched tightly against her chest, hair slightly frizzed, and heart pounding like it was trying to escape.
“Five minutes,” she whispered to herself, checking the time on her phone. “Five whole minutes. That’s basically early. I’m practically a professional.”
The building was sleek and intimidating, all glass walls and polished marble floors. The kind of place that screamed, we only hire people who own three Rolex and a small yacht. Jess felt like a misplaced sock in a luxury store.
Still, she squared her shoulders and marched up to the receptionist’s desk.
The receptionist was a young woman in a crisp navy blazer, tapping away on her computer until she noticed Jess. She gave a polite, professional smile. “Good morning. You must be here for the interview.”
“Yes,” Jess said, trying to sound calm but probably failing. “Jessica McWilliams. For the, uh, secretary position.”
“Right.” The receptionist checked a list, then picked up the phone. After a brief, hushed exchange, she hung up and smiled again. “Mr. Adams will see you now. This way, please.”
Jess blinked. Mr. Adams. The CEO himself is interviewing me? Isn’t that, like, a little overkill for a secretary job?
Still, she followed the woman through a long hallway that smelled faintly of expensive cologne and freshly polished wood. Her heels clicked against the shiny floor as she tried to steady her breathing.
Okay, Jess, you’ve got this. Just be professional. No sarcasm. No sass. Definitely no shoe-throwing.
The receptionist stopped in front of a pair of large double doors and pushed them open. “Mr. Adams will see you now.”
Jess stepped inside.
And froze.
“You,” both of them said together, voices colliding in the air like a bad punchline.
Jess’s stomach dropped to her knees. “Good heavens, the universe is out to frustrate me today.” She smacked her forehead with her palm. “What could this bumper-destroying, dunce bag of a man be doing here? Oh, sweet Mary, Mother of God, please tell me it isn’t what I think it is.”
Andrew Adams—Mr. Bumper Assassin himself—sat behind the grand oak desk, looking like he owned not just the company but the entire city. His suit was sharp, his tie perfect, his face as unreadable as it had been on the road. Except now, Jess swore his eyes carried a faint glimmer of amusement.
She pointed at him. “What are you doing here?!”
He leaned back in his chair, calm as ever. “This is my office.”
Jess’s jaw dropped. “No. No, no, no. Don’t tell me—”
“I’m Andrew Adams,” he said smoothly. “CEO of Adams & Co. Enterprises.” He glanced at the folder in her trembling hands. “And you must be Jessica McWilliams, who wants the job of being my secretary.”
Jess gaped at him, her brain screeching. Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. This is a nightmare wrapped in a disaster.
Her mouth opened before her brain could stop it. “I’d rather wrestle a hungry bear than work for you.”
His brow arched, just slightly. “Excuse me?”
She slapped a hand over her mouth. “I said—I said, uh, it’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
Smooth, Jess. Real smooth.
Andrew didn’t flinch. “Sit down.”
Jess dropped into the chair across from him, legs stiff, documents clutched so tightly she worried they’d rip in half. She forced a smile, the kind of smile that looked more like she’d bitten into a lemon.
The interview began.
Andrew skimmed through her resume with deliberate slowness, his face giving away nothing. Jess tried to sit still, but her mind was a circus.
Oh, look at him. Flipping through my resume like he’s reading the Bible. He probably judges fonts. And hair. And bumpers.
“So,” Andrew said finally, setting the papers down. “You’ve worked as an assistant before?”
“Yes,” Jess replied, her tone bright but her inner voice muttering, Barely survived it, thanks for asking.
He leaned back, folding his hands. “Why do you want this job?”
Jess forced a polite smile. “Because I’m hardworking, organized, and passionate about supporting leadership roles.”
Her brain, meanwhile: Because rent is expensive, and my mom’s going to make me sleep outside if I don’t pay soon.
Andrew’s eyes lingered on her face, as if he could hear every unspoken word. Jess shifted in her chair, suddenly hyper-aware of how intense his gaze was.
Stop staring at me with your stupid perfect eyes, Mr. Bumper Killer. No amount of smolder is going to erase what you did to my poor car.
He asked a few more questions, all in that low, even tone of his. Jess answered each one politely, while inside she was screaming.
How dare he act all professional when he ran off this morning like Batman without a conscience? Oh, look at him, adjusting his tie like he’s God’s gift to office furniture. I hope he trips over his expensive shoelaces.
At one point, Andrew leaned forward slightly, studying her. “You’re… very straightforward, aren’t you?”
Jess’s mouth twitched. “I like to call it honesty.”
He probably calls it insubordination, she thought darkly.
The minutes dragged like hours. By the time the interview wound down, Jess felt drained, annoyed, and ready to set his entire office plant collection on fire.
Andrew closed the folder. “That will be all. We’ll be in touch.”
Jess nodded quickly, already halfway out of her chair. “Great. Wonderful. Please don’t.”
He tilted his head. “Don’t?”
She laughed nervously. “I said—uh, I said I’m grateful for the opportunity.”
Without waiting for him to respond, Jess grabbed her folder, shot out of the chair, and marched toward the door with all the determination of a soldier fleeing battle.
Inside her head, she was screaming. No way. Absolutely not. There is no universe where I am working for Mr. Bumper Assassin, CEO or not. I’d rather live under a bridge with free Wi-Fi than spend every day looking at that stone face.
As she pushed the heavy doors open and stepped into the hallway, Jess muttered under her breath, “Please, God, don’t let me get this job.”
But somehow, deep down, she had the sinking feeling the universe wasn’t done messing with her yet.
- Writer
