“Ready for your interview?” my mother asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“I still don’t think you should do it,” she said.

“Because I’m interviewing to be a secretary or because you don’t like Mr. Weber?”

“Both. You’re better than a being someone’s secretary, Tiffany. You have a degree. Certifications. You’ve worked hard to get where you are.”

“Secretaries have those too, you know. And what do you have against Kenneth Weber?”

I watched in the mirror as my mother pursed her lips. My mother had been riding me about this interview for weeks. But the position was too good to pass up and I wasn’t going to let her fleeting judgment of one man taint my possible success. Kenneth Weber was a major force in the health-and-wellness industry. He was known for coming into struggling businesses and turning them into massive successes. He was an urban legend in the halls of any business, and entire classes in colleges all across the field of nutrition and personal health were dedicated to him and his success. That was his speciality.

That also happened to be the industry I wanted to succeed in.

My dream was to open a personal health and wellness spa that had affordable prices. A place where people like my parents could’ve gone and afforded things like pedicures, massages, and essential oils. Facials and waxings, all within a reachable price. Packages that anyone making below the average necessary wage in Miami could still afford.

I wanted to help people like that in the community.

Just because someone was considered poor by Miami’s standards didn’t mean they had to live like they were.

“What?” I asked. “What’s so wrong with him? Did he piss in your coffee or something?”

“I’m sure that language will nail you this job,” she said.

“Seriously, Mom. What do you have against this guy?”

“Nothing,” she said curtly.

“It’s something,” I said. “Now spill.”

“Nothing’s wrong with Mr. Weber. I just don’t trust him.”

“Is it because he’s rich?”

“No.”

“White?”

“No.”

“Handsome as hell?” I asked.

“When did you grow such a dirty mouth?” she asked.

“When you apparently started passing judgment on unsuspecting men,” I said coyly.

My mother’s face fell as I slid in my earring. Everything was in the place I wanted it to be. I was wearing my nice bra, but it was conservative. My bright red top made my eyes pop before it fell behind the band of my sleek black pants. High-waisted with an orange belt in the loops to add a pop of color. I’d taken a class on the psychology of interviews. And the information was eye-opening. In current culture, almost none of a face-to-face interview was focused on someone’s resume. That piece of paper got them in the door, but then it went out the window. An interview was all about an initial impression. It was imperative to be the best professional version of myself I could be.

And a little pop of color went a long way in a world of navies, grays, and blacks.

“What’s got you in such knots about this?” I asked as I turned towards my mother. “You know this is only temporary. Until I can save up enough money to open my business without a loan.”

“What’s so wrong with a loan?” my mother asked. “Many respectable businesses take out loans to help them in the beginning.”

“Haven’t you always told me not to settle, Mom?”

“Taking out a loan isn’t settling.”

“But it does mean starting off on a foot that requires owing money to someone. I worked my ass off-”

“Language.”

“Sorry, my tail off during high school to save up the money to go to college. Part-time school, full-time work. Overtime in the summers and during all the breaks. I don’t like debt, Mom. Debt ate us alive when I was younger. I don’t want that for myself and I don’t want that for you.”

“What does any of this have to do with me?” my mother asked.

I swooped my hair back into a french twist and pinned it with a clip. It had a lot to do with her. I wanted to make her proud. I wanted to make my father proud-- God rest his soul. But most importantly? I wanted to take care of my mother. She was living off my father’s measly savings that was running out, his Social Security that was practically nothing, the money she got from a worker’s compensation lawsuit, and her disability. All of it culminated to maybe two thousand dollars a month, which was why I’d stayed living with her after my father’s death.

And everything that surrounded the circumstances of it.

My mother’s health was failing and she needed help. But more than that, she needed someone who could provide for her. I wanted to do that. And taking a job with Kenneth Weber would enable me to do a lot of things. Pay bills she couldn't. Put her on my health insurance with the bills I would take on so she could have surgery on her back. I could save up to open my own business in a few years, and if I made the right connections I could have someone like Mr. Weber in my corner.

It was everything I’d been looking for and more, which was why I needed to nail this interview.

Making my father proud was riding on this interview.

“I promise everything’s going to be all right,” I said as I turned back towards my mother. “But if I don’t get out of here, I’m going to miss my interview.”

“I still think you should keep looking around, Tiffany.”

“And I think you should give Mr. Weber a chance. I’m not sure what you have against him, but I think you’ve done something you always told me not to do.”

“Which is…?”

“Never make a snap judgment about someone I’ve never met,” I said.

My mother sighed and I kissed her on her cheek. I knew that part of the reason why she felt the way she did was because she was in pain with her back. My mother had worked her entire life at odds and ends job in order to make sure we could pay bills. My father was a full-time janitor with a prominent business in Miami called Instatech before they fucked him over. Ruined his career. His life.

Killed him with their false accusations of his character and slandered his reputation within the community.

Mom worked everywhere. The gas station on the corner. The pharmacy up the road. At the grocery store bagging groceries and retrieving carts. She even took a secretarial position herself once. Maybe that was why she didn’t want me interviewing for this position. She saw being a secretary as a means to an end. A way to help make bills, not fully pay them. But the job I was interviewing for was nothing like that. It was salaried, with benefits. A 401(k) with a matching plan. It was an incredible opportunity, and I wasn’t going to pass it up.

I grabbed my things and headed out the door, trying not to let my mother’s demeanor affect me so much. I wanted her to be happy for me. I wanted her to be excited for me. But I understood where she was coming from in one ways. And in other ways, I knew she understood something was lacking. I’d just graduated a month ago and it was something both of us figured we would be celebrating with my father at my side.

And we weren’t.

I slipped into my car and drove into the heart of Miami, the city I had come to call home. For a long time, however, it hadn’t been. It had been a prison, and one that ultimately killed my father. He drank himself to death in front of my mother and I, and while we both understood why it was happening, it didn’t stop us from being angry at him. It didn’t stop us from hating him for it. It didn’t stop me from becoming angry and lashing out at those around me. It almost cost me my two-year degree and it did eventually cost me one of my certifications.

I failed the exam the first time through and had to wait an entire year to retake it.

My father, who had been the light of my life, had been snuffed out by alcoholism spawned from false accusations at work.

It still made me sick to think about.

I pulled into the headquarters of Casual Recreations and parked my car. The electronic parking attendant spat out a ticket for me and I hoped someone at a front desk somewhere would sign it off for me. I didn’t know I’d have to pay for parking, and as I settled my car into the nearest space I dug around for some change.

Just in case.

Stuffing it into my purse, I got out of the car. This was my last chance. All of the other job interviews I’d done up until this point had proved fruitless. Declined resumes and unreturned phone calls and pity-filled ‘I’m sorry’’s over the phone before Human Resource departments notified me that the position had already been filled.

Miami was a tough city, but I was determined to love it again.

Even if it didn’t want to love me.

I walked into the headquarters and tried not to gape at the massive building. My heels clicked across the floor as I headed for the elevator, my hand trembling as I reached out for the keypad. I was going straight to the top floor. Directly to his office to interview. Kenneth Weber had just been appointed the new CEO of the largest health and wellness product distribution companies in the world. And he was cherry-picking new secretaries for all his departments. Rumor had it that he was revamping the entire company and bringing it into the twenty-first century. Which meant installing all new technology and updating all the products and making trips to different parts of the world to re-negotiate contracts for a newer business model.

Stuff I drank up like a child with a juicebox.

The elevator door opened and I was dumped onto the penthouse floor of the company. I held my breath as I walked down the hallway and took a sharp right, coming face-to-face with his door.

Kenneth Weber, CEO.

A small plaque on his door to denote such an importance. And there was an empty desk sitting against the wall to my right. I wasn’t sure what to do. I figured I’d have to check in with someone so they could alert him I was there.

“Keep coming,” the baritone voice offered.

I watched a shadow move against the frosted glass of his office.

I walked to his door and pushed it open and was met with the most stunning man I’d ever seen. His dark brown hair was swooped back, glistening with the gel in his hair. It was long enough to have a slight curl to the ends of his tendrils, but not long enough to sweep against the lobes of his ears. His blue eyes were dark. Piercing. Stoic. And his body was thick with muscles. His suit pulled against his body and the fabric of his button-down shirt was molded to his chest. Teasing my eyes as I raked them down the exposed lines of strength underneath his shirt. I forced my eyes upwards, concerned about what would happen if my eyes traveled any lower. My gaze met his and he stood from his desk, his tall form growing until he towered over me by almost an entire foot.

“Sit,” he said.

His hand ushered to the chair in front of his desk as he slipped his free hand into his pocket. His shoulders were rolled back and his legs were flexing with muscles. I nodded, relinquishing myself to his command and failing miserably to cover up how sexy I thought his suit looked on him.

Blanketing tightly the body of a man that had power coursing through his veins.

Without a word, I made my way to the seat. I sat down and placed my purse at my side, then pulled out another copy of my resume. I held it out for him and he eyed me carefully, but didn’t reach out for it.

Instead, he picked up the resume he had sitting on his desk and cleared his throat.

“Do you know what position you’re interviewing for?” Kenneth asked.

Was that a trick question?

“Yes?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Because the woman before you wasn’t all too familiar with the job description,” he said.

I wasn’t sure what that meant and the curious part of me wanted to press the matter, but I didn’t. Instead, I focused on his eyes. How unwavering they were as they studied me. His lips were crimson, possibly from chewing on them. They had a slight chap to them, and it made me wonder if he was a nervous chewer. I bit my nails from time to time. It was a terrible habit and one of the reasons why I kept them manicured with fake nails. They were short and tasteful. Rounded off and painted in neutral colors. But the foul taste of the gel kept me from biting them when my nerves got the best of me.

Like when I was sitting in front of powerful CEOs who looked at me as if I was nothing but a piece of lint on his pants.

His wonderfully-tailored pants that clung to the strength of his legs.

He leaned against his desk, cocking a hip and sitting on its side. Pulling the expensive fabric tightly against the rippling muscles of his thighs. I heard the desk groan at the descent of his weight and I thought it might collapse from underneath him. Was there protocol for that kind of thing? If a mahogany desk collapsed under a thick and handsome CEO conducting an interview? I imagined him tumbling to the floor, the desk reduced to nothing but toothpicks and sawdust as his massive muscles chiseled away at the sharp edges. Leaving nothing but dust and wood screaming for mercy underneath his dramatic assault.

I buried a smirk, but couldn’t stop the crinkle forming at the corners of my eyes.

“Something amusing, Miss…?”

He looked at my resume and I cleared my throat.

“Miss Graves?”

“No sir,” I said. “Just waiting for you to conduct your interview.”

I closed my eyes and chastised myself for how that came out.

“Then let’s get started before I keep you from more important endeavors. Like cracking silent jokes at your interviewer’s expense.”

I opened my eyes and found him staring down at me. Great. I’d already botched my interview. No matter what I said at this point, there was no way in hell this man was hiring me. His large hands held my resume delicately in his fingers, as he undid the button of his suit jacket. I looked up into the profile of his face, and for a moment I sat there with my mind at a dead standstill.

He looked familiar.

For a reason I couldn't put my finger on, it was like I had encountered this man before.

But that wasn’t possible. I would’ve known if Kenneth Weber and I had ever come into contact.