An Interview

Present Day

~Emery's POV~

I lean over the expensive Italian marble counter, a little, to check my makeup in the mirror, glad that even if it is the cheapest stuff you can find it is not completely terrible. The mascara is beady and doesn't do much but stick my eyelashes together, the foundation is not the right shade for my complexion, but it will have to do. I wasn't expecting it to be perfect, not when it cost me five dollars. It was all I could get from collecting bottles from the ditch.

Stepping back from the counter, I look over my jeans and tight blouse, with a small frown. It wasn't the best outfit for an interview, it didn't fit me incredibly well, but it was the best I could do. Thank God for thrift shops.

Finally, I leave the bathroom and head back to the waiting room to wait for my name to be called. I don't even know why I came here. I was not going to get this job, no way this prestigious company would hire a girl who slept on park benches and wore five-dollar makeup. But what did I have to lose? I had already hit rock bottom. There was nowhere to go but up.

"Miss Palmer."

I turn my gaze at my name. She is beautiful. She is tall about 5'7 and slim with long flowing black hair. Though she has very few curves. She wore an expensive black dress that stretched past her knees. She is almost a clone of every other woman I have seen in this place. Now I really doubt I will ever get this job, if that appearance is a requirement, I'm not going to meet it.

"Right this way, please," the woman says.

I scramble to my feet and follow quickly behind her.

I have never been inside a place this expensive. White marble Italian tile lines the floor, running up the front of each of the secretary desks that we pass. The walls are painted a pale green colour. Paintings of nature and distinguished authors hang on the wall. The company had many departments, but the main one was the publishing department. It was huge and it had owned the corporate world of the United States for a long time now.

"Right in there," the woman says indicating to the door that she paused outside of.

"Thanks," I say, stepping up to the door. I hesitate a moment before pushing into the door.

"I have more important things to do than sit through some pointless interview. I looked over this chick's resume, why are you even giving her the time of day?"

I pause gazing at the man feeling like my stomach has twisted. The man is standing facing the boardroom table his stance strong and sturdy. His back is to me so I can't see his face, he is tall 6'3 easy, and strong. His muscles are rounded underneath his expensive dark gray suit. The air in the room is tense, he must be furious. His voice is deep and manly, but a bit distant.

"Mr. Corrette, sir," the woman who sits at the table says, nodding toward me.

The man turns to me. I almost feel my stomach roll. He is incredibly handsome, with deep piercing gray eyes, a solid jawline, high cheekbones and messy but sexy dark brown hair.

Suddenly I feel embarrassed. God his gaze is intense. His gray eyes are tinted with frustration, but they warm a little as he looks me over. I have to stop myself from shifting, it's like he has x-ray vision or something.

"I-I can go," I manage to murmur. I hadn't expected this to turn into anything so I'm not even disappointed.

"No," the woman says getting up from the table she walks over to me. "I promised you an interview."

I glance at the man, he seems to have lost his voice, but his eyes are giving nothing away as to how he is feeling.

"O-okay," I say, finally managing to tear my gaze away from the man and back to her.

"I'm Jayne Duncan I'm head of HR here," she says shaking my hand. "And this is Mr. Colin Corrette."

I can't contain my surprise at the introduction. I had not expected to meet Colin Corrette of Corrette Enterprises today. He was a billionaire, the richest man in Chicago Illinois, and one of the richest in the entire United States. A ridiculously handsome and sexy, mysterious, billionaire. What was he doing here? Surely, he did not have to be present for a simple interview for a potential intern.

"I-it is very nice to meet both of you," I finally manage to say. I am surprised that my voice barely stammers. I had been nervous before, but it is nothing compared to how I feel now. I wish he would look somewhere else, it's like my mind is becoming fuzzy under his gaze.

"Your name?" he asks, no — more demands, stepping closer he shakes my hand. The moment our skin touches a jolt of electricity races through me.

What the hell was happening? It was like warmth spread through me as he holds my hand, and then stops the moment he lets it go.

"Ugh... Emery... Emery Palmer," I finally manage to say.

Something changes in his gaze as our eyes meet and suddenly, I am even more intimidated. So many alarm bells are going off inside me, as though warning me to keep my distance.

"Ignore what I was saying," he says, I can tell that it is an order. "Sometimes I am quick to judgment. Come, sit, let's get started."

I nod, stepping up to the chair he indicated and lower myself into it. Mr. Corrette walks around the table sitting down in the chair beside where Duncan now sits. Mr. Corrette grabs the file in front of him, flips it open, and lets his gaze scan it. His face twisted into a frown of consideration.

"I generally like to start off an interview with a quick overview of the position and company before we get to the question portion," Duncan says, sitting straight up in her chair. She is all professional and serious, completely immune to the hunk of a man sitting beside her.

I nod doing my best to pay attention to what she is saying rather than just observing the man candy before me. It should be illegal to be that hot. He is a literal weapon, every time he glances up at me, I feel my body react.

"So, you have applied for an intern position in our publishing department. Here you will work under some of the best publishers, editors, and cover designers in the country. You will read and summarize manuscripts; help edit and watch for up-and-coming authors for us to pair with. You will also have the opportunity to write in your free time and bring a manuscript to our publishers once a year. If it is up to our standards the company will publish your book free of charge."

I nod slowly. I have always dreamed of becoming a published author. Maybe that is what drew me to give this position a try.

"What are the hours like?" I ask.

"Most of our interns report between forty to fifty hours of work a week," Duncan says.

I nod that is not bad. It's not like I have a whole lot to do outside of work anyways. The longer I can stay here the less time I have to spend out in the cold. It wasn't as bad as it had been in winter, but Chicago spring was not warm by any means.

"You only have a high school diploma," Corrette says looking up from my resume.

I nod slowly. "Yes... is that a problem?"

He slowly shakes his head. "No. But that will mean that there is a ceiling for you here. All of our senior publishers are required to have a bachelor's degree at the very least."

"You don't," I say it before I can stop myself. I don't even remember how I know that. Maybe I had read it in a news article or something. But I knew Colin Corrette had dropped out of Standford in his last year.

He frowns a little at my comment. "And I am not a senior publisher. What I do have or not, is not the item of discussion. We are discussing you. Why didn't you go into post-secondary? Why are you exploring the work world instead?"

Because I couldn't afford to go to school. I wonder if telling the truth is the best option. It sort of feels like this guy can sense a lie from a mile away, but I don't want either of them to give me the job in pity, so instead, I word the answer differently.

"I didn't think post-secondary would suit me," I say.

"Why not?" Corrette asks. "You had exceptionally high grades in High School."

Yeah, that's because I was in a group home and even as terrible as it was, it was still home. But I had to get out of there, I couldn't stay any longer. "My situation changed."

"What situation?"

He must know that I am lying. Why else are there so many follow-up questions? I take in his gaze, he is frowning, and he has not smiled once since I walked into this room. Does he ever smile? His eyes are guarded like he is being careful to not show any of his emotions or ideas in them. What has made him so careful of his emotions and feelings?

"I wouldn't have been able to put my best foot forward if I went to post-secondary. So, I decided I would try the work world," I say simply.

"But you can put your best foot forward here?" he asks as though this is some sort of trap.

"Well, it is easier to do that with a bit of money to work with," I say without really meaning to. His eyes darken a little at my response. Did he figure out my secret? I hope not.

"If you could have 'put your best foot forward' at post-secondary, what would you have taken?" he asks.

Duncan looks really surprised as she gazes at him. It is clear she had not expected him to be so present and active in this interview.

"Um... to be honest I didn't really think about it. Maybe English literature as a major and a minor in creative arts," I say with a small shrug. Considering the question, a little bit more before I nod "yeah, probably something like that."

"What can you bring to the company?" he asks.

I hesitate. What can I bring to this company? Nothing probably. But I do have a passion for books. Books have always been my greatest escape. No matter what I could always find the closest library and spend an entire day there, reading and diving into a new world. Even now, even while I was sleeping on a park bench, I could still read. Libraries where wonderful inventions.

"I love books. There is nothing like escaping into another world," I say with a small smile. "I have read a lot of books."

Corrette nods slowly, it's like he agrees. "Who got you into reading?"

I can't help but smile more at that question. I can talk all day about books. "The first book I remember being read was Charlotte's Web, and then The Chronicles of Narnia, Harry Potter, The Hobbit, I was read nearly every Dr. Seuss book as a child."

"And what sort of books do you read now?" he asks, his voice is now softer, it's not the hard, stern, almost cold voice that he had used before.

"I read a lot of fantasy and science fiction. Romance too. Honestly, I can't think of a genre I haven't read a little bit of."

"Are you a romantic?" he asks.

Is that a normal interview question? Maybe when applying for a publishing company. "Er — yes? I think all of us who read are, at least a little bit. Right?"

He frowns deeper looking down at the resume in front of him. "Miss Duncan will finish the interview. I have a meeting to attend." He gets to his feet, giving Duncan a glare like he was daring her to disagree before he heads off.

Did I say something wrong? What was wrong with saying I was a romantic? I don't think you can read books and not become one. "D-Did I say something wrong?" I ask glancing at Duncan.

"No, ignore Mr. Corrette, he has been in a terrible mood for a few weeks now," she says with a small wave of her hand. "Shall we continue?"

I slowly nod.

The rest of the interview, at least in my opinion, goes pretty well. Duncan almost seems to like me, and I like her. She is very nice and incredibly strong. She must have to be to put up with Mr. Sour Face all the time. When I step out of the room, I am smiling a little. Maybe I will get the job, that would be awesome. So, what if there is a ceiling? I was not meant to be at the top of my chosen career. I have long since accepted that. But I would be content as a junior publisher, writing in my spare time and hoping that one day the company likes what they read and publishes it for me. I can buy a small, run-down apartment and be happy. It will be more home than I have ever had in my life.

"How did the rest of your interview go?"

I turn and feel myself tense. God his eyes are just so... piercing. I can't think straight while I am under them. Why does he have to be standing out here? Was he waiting for me?

"Um... good. Miss Duncan is very nice," I say, when I take a hesitant step toward him, I can't help but notice that he takes a full step back. Like he is afraid to get close to me. Afraid? No, not afraid. I can tell this man is not afraid of anything.

"She can be, I suppose," he says. It is like he is having an internal battle with himself as he asks. "Listen, I am sorry for what you overheard, apparently the company needs better morel and somehow me attending interviews is how we do that."

"Oh... it's forgotten," I say. "I'm sorry if I offended you."

"Offended me?" he asks like the idea is alien.

"Yeah... by what I said about us all being romantics? You left right after... I-I —"

He frowns a little shaking his head. "That's not why I left. I truly did have a meeting."

"Oh, okay... good," I say. Though I am not sure I believe him.

"Let me buy you a coffee, to apologize for my attitude," he offers. I can't help but notice that his eyes flicker a little at his words. It's like he is kicking himself.

I'm not sure what compels me to say yes, but I barely hesitate before saying, "o-okay."

My breath gets caught in my throat when he smiles. A true smile one that touches his eyes. His face was already handsome, but now it is breathtaking. His dark eyes, lighten, and become less guarded like now he is willing to show his emotion in them, but only just a little bit. Everything about his face is perfect, from his messy, careless dark brown hair, which hangs over his forehead in a way that makes me want to push my fingers through it. His dark eyebrows which are now lifted with his smile react to everything he is feeling and saying like they have a mind of their own. His dark, long lashes outline his eyes perfectly. He has small bags under his eyes like he has been having trouble sleeping and they seem out of place. Like a mark against his beauty. His full lips, sit on his, perfectly sculptured face, which is under a short, well-groomed, dark brown beard.

When we reach the elevator, it is already open and waiting for us. Another black-haired girl of 5'7 stands there blocking it from closing. Where do they find all these women? Are they cloning them in some lab somewhere?

"Mr. Corrette," she says with a small formal smile as we step inside.

When we step out of the street, he guides me next door to the coffee shop.

"Mr. Corrette, sir," a man says with a warm smile of greeting as we step up to the counter. "What can we get you today?"

"A mocha latte and a scone," he says before glancing at me. "And whatever she will be having."

Oh shit. What do I want? I have had coffee before, but it was terrible. Gross and stale. "Um... I'll have a mocha latte too."

"Do you want something to eat?" Corrette asks looking down at me.

I hesitate, looking over at the display of baked goods.

"She will have one of your ham sandwiches," Corrette says like he isn't willing to wait for me to decide for myself. I would decline but it has been a few days since I had a good meal.

"Right away, I will bring it right over, sir," the man promises.

Corrette nods in approval before he guides me towards a table in the back corner by the window.

Once we are seated, I take a moment to look around. Taking in the beautiful and cozy shop. Whoever designed it deserves a raise. It smells amazing like fresh coffee, caramel and lavender. The floor is lined with oak hardwood and the walls are painted white. Small shelves run up the wall, each holding a potted plant, many of which have vines which are growing down the wall. Black dangling lights hang from the roof and string lights are hung from the windows.

Cushy armchairs sit beside small end tables, it is rather busy today but it's not loud. On the back wall tall bookshelves stand holding hundreds of books, and beside them, a sign reads. Coffee, read, repeat. Leave a book, take a book. It's so wonderful in here.

"This is a really nice coffee shop," I comment, turning my gaze back to Corrette.

He is watching me, his eyes once again dark and piercing. Like he is trying to see every bit of my soul. "Thank you."

"You own it?" I ask.

He nods.

I gaze at him in surprise, looking around the shop again. "Your interior designer is brilliant."

He laughs, and the sound is like music. It's deep and warm. The smile that crosses his face is one of amusement. "Yes, she is."

The man comes over carrying our two coffees and the scone. "The sandwich will be right out. Did you want chicken noodle or minestrone soup as your side?"

"Chicken noodle," I decide, almost instantly. It has been so long since I had chicken noodle soup and I miss it. My mother used to make it for me every time I was sick.

"Good choice," Corrette says, with a small nod of approval. "Chicken noodle is my favourite, too."

I smile. "Isn't it everyone's? I mean I think everyone remembers their mom making it for them as a child."

Something flashes in his eyes. Like my words have woken long-forgotten pain.

"That's not why I like it," Corrette says with an instant shake of his head. His tone is darker and more distant. "It just tastes good."

I gaze at him puzzled by his reaction. I want to ask him, but I am afraid. Afraid of what? Why exactly is every part of me sounding off alarms? Alarms to be careful and cautious of this man, maybe it is because he is at least twelve years older than me. But a larger part of me wants to stay and talk to him for as long as possible. Learn everything I can about this seemingly mysterious man sitting across from me. I have never been in the presence of such a handsome man, nor one so rich. And now here I sit with his undivided attention. Maybe I have been without human contact for too long.

The man returns quickly with my sandwich and soup. I tear open the small package of crackers, dipping one into the soup. Taking a bite, I realize just how starved I am. When was the last time I ate something? I had eaten a bowl of cereal at the shelter I went to yesterday morning. Was that really the last time I had eaten?

. . . .

~Colin's POV~

I feel some tension release from my shoulders as I watch Emery eagerly eat, first the two crackers and then half of the sandwich. I don't know what her story is but I have my suspicions. I can tell life has not been kind to her, her skin is not warm and lively, more shrunken and dull. The makeup she wears on her face is cheap, she probably would have been better off without any. I can tell by how thin she is that she has not been eating properly and it stabs my heart.

My day had been boring and dull until she stepped into that boardroom for her interview. After a pair of early meetings, a conference call and a stack of paperwork and then Jayne stepped into my office to inform me that I needed to attend an interview for an intern position. God was I livid. I hated when people tried to tell me how to spend my time. My time is valuable, what the hell was I paying hiring managers and HR for if I had to sit in and watch them do their job? But apparently, morel was down and putting on a more united front, building a bigger, stronger community would help. Whatever.

So, there I stood all upset and angry, spewing my mouth off, I was probably angrier because I was in between Subs. I had not found a replacement for Peyton yet, no matter how desperately I tried to search. I didn't care that the girl we were supposed to interview had overheard me, until I turned around to see her.

My internal reaction to her had been instant. She was beautiful. She was very short probably just reaching 5'3. Her long dirty blonde hair ran down her back in a slight wave. Her hair was so thick, so full, I craved to feel what it would be like to knot my hand in it. She had a perfect body, so beautifully curved and shaped, with wide baby-birthing hips and large breasts. A large, firm ass. She was young, only eighteen. Only just an adult. I shift in my chair as I continue to watch her eat, my body already reacting to the girl.

Everything about her had been perfect, save for the fact that she was applying for a job at my company. I wasn't a fan of mixing work and my sexual life but if I must, I would. Everything had been perfect, that is until she said that she was a romantic.

It wasn't a problem, per say. You wouldn't believe how many times a girl has told me she was a romantic, only to find out that by romantic she meant having a man completely devoted to her in every way. That I could do, that I would promise her. But long night strolls along a boardwalk, dinner and a movie... I wasn't turned off by the idea it just was not what I preferred, and I was not willing to compromise on my usual relationship. If she wanted the romantic, she would have to also contend with the Dominant. I had done it before, about three years ago I got closer than usual with a Submissive. Our relationship had become more. More than I had ever done that is. Outside of my dungeon, I had been her boyfriend. I had still been the alpha, the one in control but I had spent nights sleeping in her bed next to her. I had bought her chocolate on Valentine's Day, I had taken her to chick flicks. Everything had been going well, I had actually been enjoying it, debating just how much further our relationship could go. People at Hard Metal had been so fricken jealous, we were the star couple. But then she had learnt of my desire to impregnate her, and she left.

What was it with women? Some were sitting there practically throwing themselves at every eligible bachelor they could, desperate for a family. Sure, those were generally women up in their late thirties who had a biological clock that was running out but still. Yes, eighteen to twenty was young but people had children at that age all the time. People just disapproved because the couple was generally poor and ill-equipped to take of a child. But that was not a concern when it came to me and the women I wanted to carry my child. I had money, I had a house, multiple, and I could buy whatever I wanted. If anyone was prepared for a family, it was me.

I don't speak until Emery has eaten every last bite of her meal, organizing my thoughts. I needed to learn more about this girl. I needed to understand what her story was and if she would be willing to have the sort of relationship that I need.

"That sandwich was amazing," she says with a bright smile.

I can't help but return the smile. God, she is beautiful. Her young face still screams youth, with large eyes, a small nose, and full lips. She doesn't have any wrinkles or crinkles that scream age. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. Did you want anything else?"

She shakes her head "no that's okay, I'm rather full."

Finally, I can't contain my desire to know more about her. "Do you have a boyfriend?" I ask, making sure my voice was casual. Like some stranger just simply wanting to have a conversation to better get to know someone.

"Ugh... no," she says as she sips her latte. I can tell she is enjoying it. She seems to be having an internal struggle between gulping it down or sipping it to enjoy it longer.

No boyfriend. That was good. "Girlfriend?" I ask.

She bursts out laughing at that. "Are you asking if I am gay?"

"Maybe I am," I say.

"No, no girlfriend, no anything," Emery finally says when she has contained her laughter.

I smile inwardly, feeling like an overgrown child getting excited for Christmas. I had been without a Submissive for three weeks and then she walks into my life. There was so much about her I needed to know. I couldn't just ask her though. I can't ask her every question I have. I would have to get Reese to investigate her privately first.

Looking up towards the counter, I make eye contact with Alden our waiter. Ordering his service with only a look.

"Mr. Corrette, sir. Is there something else I can get you?"

"Two more lattes," I say.

"Yes, sir."

"What was your favourite subject in school?" I ask when Alden had retreated back into the kitchen.

"English."

That was an obvious answer. When I asked her about books, I could see the passion in her eyes. Her appreciation for the escape that a good tale could offer. It's something I understand completely. For my entire childhood books had been an escape for me. I had been caught stealing them off shelves on more than one occasion. It was what had me even more drawn to her.

"What about you?" she asks. "What was your favourite subject?"

"English," I say with a warm smile.

She returns the smile and laughs a little "I should have guessed that. Given that you went into publishing."

I nod. Though honestly, what a person ended up doing with their life, I have found to be a poor indicator of their true passions. It's pathetic to me really. Why would so many deviate from what they enjoy? If you were passionate you put in more time and effort and therefore were more likely to succeed.

When my phone rings, I can't help but frown. The number of untimely phone calls I have had in my lifetime is countless, but none have ever felt untimelier than this one. "Excuse me, sorry," I say standing I walk out of the shop, once on the street I answer.

"Mr. Corrette, I'm sorry, sir, but we need you in the legal department. We have a situation."

"What kind of situation?"

"We have been presented with a lawsuit of plagiarism."

"What? Why?"

"The author is claiming that Mr. Turner's recent book has many similarities with their own."

"Is there precedent?"

"Yes, sir."

I sigh, looking through the window at Emery. I didn't want to end our time together so soon, but I had no choice. "I will be right there."

Stepping back into the coffee shop I walk over to the counter. "Alden, pour those into to-go cups," I order the man.

"Yes, sir," he says.

"Do you have a pot of chilli ready?" I ask.

"I do, sir."

"A large then."

When Alder finishes with my request, he passes me a takeout bag with the chilli and the two fresh lattes. I return to the table with a small apologetic frown.

"I am sorry to cut this short but I'm afraid there is a situation that needs my attention. I had Alder put your latte in a to-go mug and here is a large cup of his chilli, it's fantastic," I say.

Emery seems a little surprised as I pass over the bag and one of the lattes. "T-thank you. That is unnecessary."

"Don't mention it," I say with a warm smile.

When we are back on the street, I turn to her. "Can I walk you to your car?"

"Um... er — no? I don't have a car... I'm just walking to the bus shelter a block from here."

I frown a little. I don't really like the idea of her taking the bus or walking through the street alone, but I have no base to stand on to disagree. Finally, I nod. "Well, thank you for your company. Good luck with your position. Though something tells me you have it in the bag."

She smiles at me, and her laugh is like music. "Thanks. I'll see you around then."

I nod. Oh, you will definitely be seeing more of me. Stepping closer I finally allow myself to touch her, brushing my hand against her cheek. It's like electricity runs through my fingers as her skin touches mine. "Yes," is all I say before I turn and head back into my building.