Lord of Rain (The Dragon Demigods #5) - Charlene Hartnady Page 0,12

I push out a slow breath.

I practiced my introduction several times in the mirror this morning. I’m going over what I’m going to say again right now inside my head. I googled questions that are most frequently asked during an interview, and I’ve formulated answers. I realize that he might throw me a curveball, but I’ve got this. I really do! I’m sure I’ll be permitted to work my notice period. I’ll take a course in computer literacy if I am successful in this interview. I’ll practice my typing. If I have to, I’ll work overtime to get the job done. Being a PA can’t be as tough as Candice made it out to be. I’m smart. I’ll make it work. I need this paycheck. It could mean the difference between saving the family business and losing Buns and Breads altogether. One thing is for sure, we won’t survive unless we adapt.

“Miss Shaw. Excuse me…Miss…?” The lady behind the reception desk is trying to get my attention. She’s standing, leaning over the counter, waving a hand.

I give my head a shake. I need to focus. “Yes,” I say. “Sorry…I guess I’m nervous.”

“Understandable.” She nods once. “You can go up now. Take the elevator.” She gestures to the gleaming chrome and glass doors. “You need to head to the fifth floor. Turn right. Go all the way down to the end of the hallway. You can take a seat and wait until you are called.” She smiles. I swear she looks like she pities me. I guess interviews are never fun, so her demeanor makes sense. “Good luck!” she adds as I turn towards the elevator.

“Thanks,” I say over my shoulder. I work on pulling myself together as the elevator goes up and up. “You can do this,” I whisper to myself. I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous. I follow the directions and head down the hallway. My mouth falls open when I enter a huge office. It’s beautifully decorated. Very modern and yet…masculine. Clean lines with dark wood and warm tones. There is a large desk and a chair, both of which are empty. There is a waiting area. No one else is here. I go and sit in one of the chairs in the waiting area. There are no magazines. No plants or flowers. The space is distinctly sterile. Even the white leather chair I’m sitting on is hard with a very straight back. It’s still one of the most beautiful rooms I have ever been in. Although beautiful isn’t the right word to describe it.

The door opens suddenly, and a man walks out. He doesn’t even notice me. His back is ramrod straight. His gaze is focused on the exit. If I’m not mistaken, his eyes are shimmering. It looks like he wants to cry. That can’t be right. He practically runs out. I hear his retreating footfalls down the passage. I’m sure I hear a sob.

No!

What?

Is he crying? Surely not! I look at the open door. My eyes are wide, and my mouth is gaping. Did that guy just run away crying? Was the interview that bad?

“Come inside,” a gruff voice says from inside the room.

I stand. I swallow down the lump that has formed in my throat. I consider running away, just like the man did. I smooth my hands down my skirt, they are feeling damp again.

“Today, Miss Shaw,” the gruff voice rasps. He sounds bored and irritated and angry…all rolled into one.

I swallow again, making a gulping noise that sounds loud inside the empty room. I can do this. I’m a Shaw, and we don’t run. We face up to our fears. We conquer them. My dad started our bakery in our kitchen at home when I was just a baby. He worked day and night for three years before Buns was truly born. It took guts and determination. I can do this! It’s one stupid interview.

I pull back my shoulders and walk into the room. I’m somehow convinced I’ll find an ax-wielding madman when I walk through the door. What I find is infinitely worse.

He’s gorgeous. Utterly devastating. “Mr. Bolt?” My voice is soft. I sound shocked. I imagine that I sound like a schoolgirl.

I see his Adam’s apple work. His eyes widen. I watch as he pushes his chair back and stands. I’m sure he also looks surprised, but I’m not sure why. I can’t think straight.

He’s tall. Six and a half feet of raw muscle and power wrapped in