I’m hoping like hell no one I knew in school—either high school or college—shows up in this building as an employee or visitor.

Even if they turn out to be a fellow candidate for this position, it would be too much—I wasn’t supposed to end up like this, on the verge of begging for some admin job.

As the daughter of two highly paid, responsible professionals, and the eldest child who got everything—from private schooling throughout my childhood and teens to an Ivy League degree—I had all the tools available to make far more of myself; there’s no excuse for not easily sliding into an upper-middle-class life.

Which I did, don’t get me wrong—I was just unable to maintain it because of a series of horrible decisions; getting involved with the wrong guy can really screw you over.

I know that keeping my eyes down while I sit here, waiting to be called in for my eleven o’clock interview, doesn’t make me invisible, but it makes me feel that way, at least, and I’ll take what I can get.

I keep trying to distract myself from my fear of being noticed in this shameful position because I know the more I think about it, the more likely my fear will manifest; I believe my aunt now about all that law of attraction stuff: where you focus your energy is where you fertilize the ground—good or bad.

I work on being positive, concentrating good vibes on getting this job which will help me slowly work my way out of my current mess. Relying on temping and a bunch of random gigs isn’t going to keep me going; a steady job is necessary, one I plan to supplement with evening jobs.

This job, if I get it, runs 8 a.m. to 4 p.m., giving me lots of time to work in the evenings, and it pays a little bit more than usual for this type of work.

Though I don’t actually have all of the skills listed for the position, I figured it was best to just show up; lots of things can be learned quickly on the job; say yes, learn later has been working out well for me so far.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, stretching it out as long as possible.

I have about ten minutes before my official interview time, so I continue to concentrate on the act of relaxing.

When my brain moves me to a warm, sunny day on a beach as if I’m fifteen again and on vacation with my parents in the Virgin Islands, I know I’ve succeeded.

I slowly open my eyes in relief, my lips tugged into a small, satisfied smile.

I’m calm and confident now, all of a sudden sure I’ll be hired and that I have nothing to worry about. 

I consider how to kill the rest of the time left to stave off another anxiety takeover; I need to maintain my peaceful state until the interview.

I decide to use my e-reader app, and I’m digging through my bag for my phone when an overwhelming masculine aroma hits me, making my nose practically twitch with the stimulation of the heavy—and heavenly—scent.

I search for the source and barely realize that my phone has slipped from my hands as my eyes lock with a pair of familiar blue ones that render everything else invisible, silent, insignificant.

“Jaxson?” I think I say, the word clear in my mind but I don’t think it quite made it past my lips beyond a pitiful whisper.

I must still be in the daydream I conjured up earlier, but that beautiful vacation scene has morphed into a daymare.

Jaxson Pace is absolutely the last person I would have wanted to see right now—my cruel mind is playing tricks on me, showing me my worst fear after making me think I’d gotten past it.

The insanely sexy, masculine mirage doesn’t respond to my stunned squeak—not surprisingly.

The spell is broken when Jaxson’s gaze leaves my face and his eyes briefly flicker to my fallen phone, alerting me to what had happened and giving me the sense that I’m not actually daydreaming.

I quickly scoop up the phone, despairing at the cracked screen.

By the time I look back up, Jaxson has breezed past me, and I see only the back of his crisp, expensive-looking dark suit.

Christ, this can’t be real.

I pinch myself hard and suppress an “ow,” accepting that I’ve managed to walk right into the most humbling, embarrassing scenario possible.

In the brief moment I saw him—though the few seconds seemed to stretch out much longer—Jaxson looked the same yet very different.

I’ve never seen him in a suit, and the way he fills it out has stirred up things in me I haven’t felt in... it’s embarrassing how long, actually, and it has me squirming in my seat for different reasons than before.

His shoulders are broader, his chest wider, his face, even more handsome than when I last saw it almost ten years ago.

The boyish, good-natured beauty I remember is gone; the chiseled face of this older man in his place has a harshness to it, yet instead of taking away from his devastating looks, it only adds to it.

I can’t believe this—the man I thought I’d marry when I was sixteen years old—my old best friend and first lover—has gone from a sweet dream to a smoldering vision.

I feel like I’m about to hyperventilate so I focus on my breathing again before I embarrass myself more—I already klutzed it up with my phone, and I’ll have to worry about getting the screen fixed later.

I can deal with a cracked screen; I need to work on my cracked composure.

I suppress the urge to take off, unable to deal with the possibility that Jaxson actually works here and I could end up seeing him every day—a living Scarlet Letter reminding me of the consequences of my past actions.

Since his face registered, my entire being has been wracked with conflicting sensations, oscillating between wanting the earth to open up and swallow me, and wishing the years that passed between us didn’t matter so much, and that he’d swept me up in his arms immediately instead of pretending I didn’t exist.

Would it be better that way? With us pretending not to know each other if I end up working here?

Is he in a position to put in a pity-filled good word for me? A spite-filled bad one?

“Ms. Brown, we’re ready for you now.”

It takes me a second to realize someone had spoken to me, and then my eyes focus on the pretty, smiling face of the redheaded receptionist.

I’d totally forgotten she existed, and that she was nearby, possibly cracking up at the sight of my slackened, flushed face.

“Thank you,” I say with a forced smile in return, waiting for an indication of what to do next.

Is someone going to come and get me to lead me in or...?

“You’re going to follow that corridor to the elevators, tenth floor. Number 1003,” the receptionist says in a neutral voice, but her eyes have a spark I can’t make sense of.

I nod in understanding, gathering myself.

The elevators should give me time to find my serenity zone again and get my job interview personality back together after being shattered by the sight of the man I once considered the love of my life.

* * *

I knock lightly on the door of 1003, and my heart seizes when I hear a sharp, masculine “Come in.”

My nervousness managed to take over again on the short walk from the elevators here, but the fact that my interviewer is a guy eases me a bit—interviewing with females has proven more difficult for some reason.

But as I open the door, everything hits me at once—the voice, the cologne, the back of the head of the man currently staring out of the window, hands held behind his back…

Jaxson.

My heart starts pounding too hard and too fast.

I stand there waiting for the next instruction or invitation, still holding the door open as if ready to bolt out.

Jaxson continues facing the window for a few more seconds, and when he finally turns to sit in his large leather chair, all the composure I managed to scrounge up dissipates once again in his overwhelming presence.

I wish I’d had a warning—a name on the door or something; I needed to prepare for this! The door doesn’t even say Human Resources or anything—it just has the number 1003.

Is this why the receptionist looked sort of amused as she gave me the instructions? Am I giving her much-needed kicks in an otherwise routine day as she imagines my face right now?

“You may close the door behind you, Candace. Have a seat,” Jaxson says in a much deeper voice than I remember, indicating the chair in front of his desk.

Everything in me liquefies when he says my name, and it’s a wonder I manage to do everything he said, considering my limbs feel like they’ve turned to jelly.

But the sound of the door closing reaches my ears, and the distance between Jaxson and me lessens until I find myself an unbearable few feet away, my hand on the intended chair.

“Sit,” he repeats firmly, and the command works on my chaotic body, my butt plopping down on the seat immediately.

Jaxson stares at me long and hard, and just when I think I’m about to actually melt and slide off this chair into a pile of goo, he says, “What brings you here today?” in a falsely casual voice.

What’s he really asking? I’m obviously here for a job.

But I guess I have to play along and keep calm, cool, collected. The interview has begun, and this question, like all others that will come after it, is clearly a test.

Time will tell if it’s just a torturous setup to send me packing at the end of a grueling interrogation; it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Jaxson decided to punish me by not giving me the time of day, and he just brought me here to watch me squirm.

I take in a deep breath and let it out with a smile.

I’ll just have to pretend he’s some other interviewer.

“Well, after reading the job description, I thought this company and I would be a great fit, considering…”

“Candace, stop. Why show up at my company? And for this sort of position? You made sure you’d never have to work a day in your life if you didn’t want to.”

A sharp pain briefly cuts through my composure, but I manage to keep it together.

I’m proud to hear the strength in my voice as I say evenly, “Having had a few things fall through, I found myself on the market, and my job search led me here. I had no idea you worked here; I was just looking for a good fit.”

I’m amazed I made myself sound so normal—nothing about me feels normal right now. My insides are raging—my heart slamming against my chest unnaturally hard and fast, the delicate flesh between my legs tingling persistently, no matter how much I try to ignore it.

I’m also overwhelmed by panic at being in such dire straits and facing the man whose heart I broke so many years ago.

It almost feels like too much for me, yet instead of passing out from all the emotional stress, I’m playing my part pretty well, I think, and it gives me a strange sort of hope, making me feel I’m much stronger than I thought, that I’m made of more durable stuff than I’ve been led to believe.

Who knew feeling like you’ve hit rock bottom could be so illuminating and empowering?

Plus, job interviewers can’t press you for personal info, so it’s not like he’ll find out…

“What happened to your husband?” Jaxson asks.

He delivers each word smoothly and calmly, but his sentences are infused with both fire and ice somehow. A hot fury is simmering beneath his collected composure, belying the cold distance in his eyes.

He definitely hasn’t forgiven me for what I did to him, and I get the sense he’s not actually far from erupting one way or another.

He probably wants to rage at me, but knows he can’t. And he shouldn’t—it was all such a long time ago, and this is certainly not the right time. He has to remain professional or else I could report him.

“No offense, but I believe that question is a no-no for job interviews,” I say while maintaining a pleasant expression. I think.

He raises one eyebrow as he patiently waits for my response, silently dismissing my objection.

I sigh in defeat. “We’re divorced, Jaxson; Charles is in jail now, and he’ll probably be locked up for a while. He... he ruined me.”

I’d been unsure about whether to call Jaxson by his first name or ‘Mr. Pace,’ given the circumstances, but he’s no longer playing by professional rules, so why should I?

I fully expect him to continue that personal vein, to pound me with questions about why I left him, why I never looked back, why I couldn’t even bother to check in on him all this time, considering how close we were and how much we loved each other. I expect him to finally rage at me once he gets all the answers he seeks—telling me how much I devastated him, how happy he is to see how far I’ve fallen, that it serves me right for what I did to him.

But instead, he says, “So it’s just you now?”

I nod, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Are you pregnant?”

Okay, that’s it. 

My composure finally breaks as indignity takes over.

“What the...? No, Jaxson,” I say angrily. “How dare you ask me such a question on this interview? It’s illegal! Why, I have half a mind to…”

“You’re hired,” he says calmly, and I could swear his previously impassive face now has a hint of amusement.

It takes a few seconds before I manage a weak “Excuse me?”

“I have a position for you here. Unless you’re not interested?”

He knows damned well I am—in more ways than one. My face is still burning, and it’s not just in shame over my clothing, my artificial accessories.

Jaxson knows I’m battling a carnal interest; he has always been smart, and he can only be sharper now, considering where he seems to be.

I can see the satisfaction, the laughter behind his eyes at my pitiful position, but I nod my interest, following up with a quiet “Yes, I am” after he puts his finger to his ear and tilts toward me as if hard of hearing.

God, this is so humiliating.

“Then you’re hired,” he repeats flatly.

I’m fascinated by the apparent disappearance of his simmering rage—which was understandable considering our history. But its replacement—this slight amusement—is baffling.

He thinks it’s funny that he got me so upset?

Whatever floats his boat, I guess; the important thing is that I did it—I got the job!

I take another calming breath before managing a quiet “thank you,” a surge of relief rushing through me.

The corner of my mouth has even been tickled into a slight smile again as things start to look brighter.

“Oh, don’t thank me yet,” Jaxson says rather ominously, his voice dropping an octave and sending my core buzzing again, zaps of electricity coursing through my body and concentrating on my heated nether lips.

I had forgotten all about the low hum between my legs since first spotting Jaxson in my excitement about the job offer.

I may not know what he’s getting at exactly, but the heavy hint in his voice, the intense look in his coldly focused eyes…

My tiny hopeful smile drops.