In front of Sam sat the most dangerously handsome man she had ever seen—and he reminded her of a rare black diamond: the hardest, most unyielding, most breathtaking gem of all.
His features were sculpted to perfection—razor-sharp jawline, strong nose, lips that looked as if they'd been drawn with a ruler. He looked like the kind of man an artist would spend a lifetime trying to capture. But it was his eyes that caught her off guard—stormy grey, clear as glass, yet so deep she could drown in them.
And for one horrifying moment, she did.
"Are you done staring?"
The voice—low, smooth, and edged with impatience—snapped her back to reality.
Oh. My. God.
Mortification flooded her as she realized she'd been outright gaping at him. Possibly even drooling. Fantastic. Just fantastic.
"I—uh—sorry about that," she squeaked, sitting straighter in her chair. Her palms were slick against her portfolio.
The man's expression didn't change. "Are you… drooling?"
Her mouth fell open. "What? No! Oh my God, I—shit."
His brows lifted. "Excuse me?"
Sam slapped a hand over her mouth, her face flaming. Great. Swearing in an interview. Professionalism level: zero.
The silence that followed stretched so tight she could hear the hum of the air conditioner.
"Sorry about the… uh, staring. The drooling. And the language," she mumbled, staring at a random spot on the wall.
"That's fine," he said casually, leaning back in his leather chair. "I tend to have that kind of effect on people."
Her eyes snapped to him, disbelief replacing embarrassment. Did this guy just say that with a straight face?
What kind of narcissistic jerk was he?
Okay, so he was gorgeous. Stupidly, unfairly gorgeous. But now that he'd opened his mouth, she could practically see the arrogance dripping off him. Her mind went into analysis mode—something she did instinctively. Handsome, yes. But also smug, conceited, and probably allergic to humility.
She forced a polite smile. "I was under the impression Ms. Mitchell would be conducting the interview, since she's head of design."
His grey eyes flicked up from his tablet. "In this room, I ask the questions. You answer them. Ms. Carter," he added, glancing at her résumé. His voice was deep and calm, but there was steel underneath.
Sam swallowed hard. His name tag on the desk read:
Asher Mitchell.
Oh, crap.
Her heart gave a violent thump. The Asher Mitchell. CEO and co-owner of Dare to Dazzle. Billionaire. Business legend. And the man whose reputation for ruthlessness could make grown executives sweat.
"Tell me about yourself," he said, tone unreadable.
Sam's brain short-circuited. She'd practiced this question a hundred times in front of her bathroom mirror—but right now, every word she'd memorized flew straight out of her head.
"Are you deaf, Ms. Carter?" His voice sliced through her daze.
She winced. "Shit—sorry, I—"
His head tilted slightly. "That's the second time you've used inappropriate language in my presence. I'd recommend you stop."
She wanted to crawl under the table. Perfect. Just perfect.
"My name's Samantha Carter," she began, grasping at her rehearsed lines. "Jewelry design is my passion. I have a number of certifications and—"
"Stop," he said, cutting her off mid-sentence. "I've heard that line a thousand times. Make this interview worth remembering. Surprise me."
He rested his elbows on the table, watching her like a hawk.
Sam blinked. Worth remembering? What was that supposed to mean?
After a beat, she slid her carefully assembled portfolio across the desk. "Maybe my work will do the talking."
Asher glanced at the folder. Then—without even opening it—he tossed it into the trash bin beside his chair.
The sound of the portfolio hitting the metal bin echoed like a slap.
Sam froze, disbelief morphing into rage.
He didn't. He did not just—
Her blood boiled. Six years of work. Her designs. Her sketches. Everything she'd poured her soul into.
And this arrogant son of a—
"Give me a piece of paper," she said tightly. "And a pencil."
His brow rose. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." Her voice trembled slightly, not with fear but fury. "Give me paper and a pencil. I'll design something right here, right now. And you'll see exactly what you just threw away."
His lips curved—barely. "Overconfidence is a turn-off, Ms. Carter."
She shot back without missing a beat. "So is arrogance, sir."
"You say 'sir' like it's an insult," he observed dryly.
"Suit yourself, sir," she said, dripping sarcasm. In her head, sir sounded a lot like slug.
For a moment, something like amusement flickered in his eyes. Without a word, he slid a notepad and a mechanical pencil toward her.
Sam got to work.
As she began sketching, the world fell away. Lines and curves flowed from her fingertips, her anger sharpening her focus. Every few moments, she felt his gaze on her—heavy, curious, assessing—but she didn't look up.
If he wanted to be impressed, she'd give him a damn reason.
Asher watched her intently as she sketched, every now and then meeting her sharp, defiant gaze. There was something about her that piqued his interest—something different from the usual parade of women.
Generally women would drool, and follow it up by flirting, batting their eyes and other uninteresting nonsense. But this woman had drooled, gaped, cursed and had followed that up with defiance, anger and challenge. Interesting... very interesting.
His eyes focused on the woman, intently, She radiated a timeless beauty, her honey-toned skin glowing softly. Dark, almond-shaped eyes held a quiet mystery, framed by long lashes and arched brows that conveyed grace and strength. Her hair, a cascade of jet-black waves, gleamed as it caught the light, while her serene smile hinted at wisdom beyond her years.
When she finished, she handed him the sketch with a triumphant smile. Bringing him out of his perusal.
His eyes drifted down to the design, and he forgot to breathe.
It was a masterpiece.
The sketch captured the elegance of a diamond ring beautifully. The ring's band was delicately drawn, showcasing smooth, graceful curves that subtly tapered towards a central diamond. The stone itself was meticulously detailed, with facets sparkling under an imagined light source, giving it a lifelike shimmer.
Surrounding the main diamond, smaller stones were sketched with precision, enhancing the central gem's brilliance without overwhelming it. Sam's keen eye for symmetry and proportion made the ring design feel both luxurious and timeless. It was clear that Sam had a remarkable talent for translating the beauty of fine jewellery onto paper with amazing finesse and realism.
But before he could comment, she leaned forward and said, "This interview according to me is over sir. I am not interested in the job anymore." With that, she strode over to the trash can, retrieved her portfolio, and marched towards the door.
Asher was momentarily stunned. No one had ever spoken to him like that. No one had ever walked away from him. Yet here she was, leaving with her head held high.
As she reached the door, she stopped, hesitating. Then, with fury still in her eyes, she turned back, and said,
"No one disrespects my work, not even you," she declared and turned to leave again.
"Wait," he commanded, his voice slicing through the air. She froze, her back to him.
"You are hired, Ms. Cater," he said with a tone that brooked no argument. "Someone from HR will be in touch with you."
She turned slowly, her eyes blazing. "I came here to work with people who respect the art of jewellery design, not with an arrogant loser. You may have power, Mr. Asher, but you've forgotten why you're doing what you're doing. Your heart is as hard as a diamond, and I work for humans, not for stones. You can hire someone else."
He smirked, unfazed. "Name your price, woman."
Sam's composure returned as she faced him one last time. "I am priceless," she replied coolly and then with a thought she added, "I hope I managed to make this interview worth remembering," she smiled sarcastically and walked out.
Asher sat motionless, staring at the door she had just closed behind her. No one had ever told him, 'no.' No one had ever rejected him.
A tiny muscle twitched in his jaw as he glared at the closed door. Samantha Cater might have walked out, but this wasn't over. No one said no to a Mitchell ever. He would see to it, that it remained that way.