My cheeks flamed, but I forced a smile. "You could say that."
He stood, slow and deliberate, then walked around the desk until he was standing in front of me. Not too close—just enough to make me feel like I'd somehow stepped into a different game. One I hadn't agreed to play.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair across from his.
I sat.
He didn't.
Instead, he leaned against the edge of the desk, arms folded, looking at me with those same eyes I'd fallen into twelve hours ago—before I knew his name. Before I knew he owned the room I was currently sinking into.
"I assume you've read the job description?"
"Yes," I said. "Thoroughly."
"And you still applied?" His brow lifted, mock disbelief written all over him.
"I didn't know you'd be the one reading my application," I shot back before I could stop myself.
A beat of silence.
Then: the corner of his mouth twitched again. "Neither did I."
That terrified me more.
He finally stood upright, pushing off the desk like the game had just begun.
"I'll be honest with you, Miss Jade." He walked slowly back around to his side of the desk, each step unhurried, measured. "We usually don't entertain applicants who arrive… impaired."
I winced. "I wasn't—"
He held up a hand, silencing me. "Hungover. Late. Flustered. And yet…"
He slid open a folder on his desk. My résumé.
"You're overqualified. Graduated top of your class. Impressive references. Clearly intelligent." His eyes lifted to mine, sharp as a blade. "So the question is… why were you at that bar last night?"
My heart pounded like it wanted to escape my chest. He was baiting me. Poking just enough to see if I'd crack.
"I don't think that's relevant," I said, trying to sound like someone who wasn't unraveling.
"But it is," he said softly. "Because whether you meant to or not, you made quite the impression."
I swallowed hard. "And what kind of impression was that?"
He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, voice dropping.
"One I haven't stopped thinking about."
My breath caught.
Silence thickened around us, electric, dangerous.
He flipped the folder shut. "The position requires discretion, composure, and the ability to think clearly under pressure."
I nodded. "I can do that."
He smiled, slow and unreadable. "Good. Because working under me…"
He paused, deliberately.
"Isn't for the faint of heart."
I tilted my chin, meeting his gaze head-on. If he wanted a show, I could give him one.
"With all due respect, Mr. Pierce," I said, my voice steadying with each word, "you don't get to judge my composure based on one night. Especially when you were at the same bar, saying the same things."
His brow ticked upward, amused. "You're implying I lack discretion?"
"I'm implying that if this position requires it, then maybe we both failed the entrance exam."
That made him pause.
I saw it—the briefest flicker of surprise. It was gone almost instantly, but it had been there. A shift in the power balance. And I liked it.
He leaned back, clasping his hands together on the desk. "So you're saying we start fresh?"
"I'm saying," I replied, "that if you want to test my professionalism, give me the job. If you want to test something else—well…" I let the sentence hang in the air, daring him. "You'll have to find another applicant."
The silence between us snapped taut like a wire.
Then, slowly, he smiled. Not the smug, teasing kind from earlier. This one was colder. Calmer.
"Congratulations, Miss Jade. You're hired."
My stomach flipped. Not from nerves—this time, it was war.
I didn't move right away.
The words hung between us like smoke—You're hired—but something in his tone told me this wasn't a win. It was a warning.
My fingers curled around the edge of the chair. "Was that a reward," I asked quietly, "or a challenge?"
He stood slowly, buttoning his suit jacket with surgical precision. "That depends," he said, walking toward the door. "Are you planning to prove me right… or wrong?"
I rose to my feet, heat pulsing under my skin, the room somehow feeling too small and too wide at once.
"Do you usually hire people you flirt with in bars?"
He turned the doorknob, paused, then looked at me over his shoulder.
"Only when they talk back."
And just like that, he opened the door—and the interview was over.
I stepped into the hallway, heels clicking on marble, spine straight, breath tight.
Behind me, the door clicked shut. In front of me, the receptionist offered a cheery, "We'll be in touch!"
I smiled stiffly.
Oh, we'd be in touch all right.
I just hadn't decided yet whether I was going to survive him…
or outplay him.