It’s been two days, and Allison isn’t back. To say I’m a mess is an understatement.
I leave class an hour before the lecture ends and sit in my room, where I go over what I know about the situation. I’ve made several lists, all of which would make any outsider think I’m a lunatic. I fist my hair, groaning as I shuffle over to my bed and flop onto it.
“You okay there?”
I sit up in a flash, barely escaping a wicked case of whiplash, and see Allison standing in the open doorway. She looks fine, not a hair out of place, no wrinkles in her clothes. Her face is free of makeup, which is unusual for her, but aside from that, she looks normal. “Are you really here?” I ask.
It takes her a moment to smile. “Yeah, I’m here.”
I launch myself off the bed and throw my arms around her.
She pulls back and stares at me for a moment and then hugs me back, tighter. “I’m so sorry,” she murmurs. “I never meant to hurt you. I was so scared. I don’t know what came over me. I’m never like that. I shouldn’t have left you, especially after everything you went through.”
“It’s okay,” I say, rubbing her back. “You’re not going to disappear on me again, are you? What the hell was that?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she promises with a small laugh. “The disappearing is a fae thing. Shifting, we call it. Like teleportation, but calling it that makes it sound weird to me.”
“That’s because it is weird. Whatever, I’m just glad you’re here. Are you okay?” I pull away enough to look at her. “What happened? What did he do? Did he hurt you? I swear to—”
“Hold on,” she cuts in. “Slow down and breathe, Aurora. I’m okay.”
My eyes narrow as I look her over again. She appears to be unharmed, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t hurt. “What happened?”
“Nothing that you’re thinking. He didn’t hurt me, I swear.”
The tension in my muscles doesn’t relax any. “I came looking for you, but he wouldn’t let me see you.”
“You went back there?” she asks. “Are you insane? You could’ve been hurt.”
“It was you, Al. I had to do something. But now, everything is going to be fine.”
“How can you say that?” She sniffles. “With the news about your fae lineage, he isn’t going to let this mistake go, which means he isn’t finished with you.”
The panic that’s been living at the surface rears its unforgiving head.
He isn’t finished with you.
Life settles into a comfortable routine over the following days, and I’m able to focus on my studies. It’s almost as if I were never kidnapped, never told my family could be fae, never introduced to the insufferable Tristan Westbrook.
The morning of my work placement interview, I open my eyes to bright sunlight streaming in through my window. I roll over and reach for my phone. I’m still shocked that Tristan returned it, given he did kidnap me, but I’m in no place to question his kindness.
I squint at the backlight of the screen and my heart races when I read the time.
It’s almost eight thirty.
I throw myself out of bed and into the bathroom to put myself together as fast as I can. Once my hair looks decent, twisted into a quick French braid, I apply a few swipes of light makeup so I look alive. I get dressed in a formal black jumpsuit and shrug on a matching blazer. Grabbing my bag off the dresser, I shove my portfolio inside before I pull on my heels and rush out the door.
I spend the entire cab ride to the conference center tapping my hands on my knees and chewing my lower lip. My stomach is swirling with nerves, and my pulse is so erratic I’m sweating. I can’t remember ever being this anxious about something. If I’d had time for breakfast, I’m not sure I would’ve been able to stomach anything.
When the cab pulls up out front, I exit in a hurry after handing the driver some money. I burst through the front doors and speed-walk to the reception desk where an older looking man checks my ID.
“Aurora Marshall, you’re the last student to arrive. Please follow me.”
I almost scowl. Of course, I’m the last one here, did my frantic entrance not tip him off?
We walk down a wide hallway that opens into another lobby where a man sits behind a table.
“Register here, and you’re all set,” the receptionist says and walks away before I can thank him.
I step forward. “I’m Aurora Marshall.”
“Degree program?” the man asks without looking up from the stack of papers he’s looking through.
“Business,” I say.
He lifts his gaze and hands me a lanyard with a visitor pass attached. “Your interview will be held in conference room E.” He stands and points down the hallway. “Last door on your right.”
“Great, thank you.” I rush toward the room, but when I reach the door, my hand freezes halfway to the doorknob. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. I’ve got this. Straightening, I knock before walking into the conference room.
We all have moments in our lives where we reflect on every bad thing we’ve done in an attempt to comprehend why a terrible thing is happening to us. To determine why we deserve something so awful. As I approach the conference room table and lock eyes with Tristan Westbrook, I’m sucked into one of those moments. What did I do to deserve this?
He rises from his seat at the head of the table and buttons his black suit jacket. “Good morning, Miss Marshall,” he says, and I stand there, screaming profanities in my head.
There’s no one else in the room, no one to defuse the tangible tension or to look to for help.
“This isn’t . . . you can’t . . . what the hell are you doing here?”
His lips twitch. “An interesting way to introduce yourself to a potential boss.”
My jaw clenches. “I’d sooner work under the manager of a Taco Bell,” I seethe. “This is not happening.” I move back a few steps. “There must be some mistake. I’ll interview for someone—anyone—else.”
“I figured you might say that. Unfortunately for you, I’m the last mentor available. You see, that’s what happens when you sleep in and arrive late for an interview.”
“My apologies. I haven’t exactly been sleeping well.”
“That’s concerning to hear,” he says, but the look on his face tells me he’s far from concerned. If anything, he’s amused. Bastard.
I stand there in silence for several beats before sighing. “This is my only option. Of freaking course.” I approach the table that separates us. “This is serious. My education is the most important thing to me. I don’t know why god hates me so much as to drop this in my lap, but here I am—and here you are.”
He nods, remaining silent.
“For the duration of this interview, you are not you. You’re a successful business owner and mentor that I’m meant to learn from, and I’m, well, I get to be me.”
He presses his lips together against a smile, and I scowl.
“Quit it,” I snap.
He arches a brow. “What am I doing?”
“You’re looking at me like this is funny, and it’s not. This is my future, and I’m pissed that you’re screwing with it, so I’m telling you how this is going to go.”
“Are you?” he asks. “Please continue.”
“You ask questions, and I answer them. You’re impressed with my answers, and then I leave. Simple as that. Got it?”
“I thought I was supposed to ask the questions.”
“Tristan!” I shout without thinking. It’s unprofessional, sure, but nothing about this situation is normal, and he has been nothing close to professional either.
“Relax, Aurora. Why don’t we start?”
I huff out a breath and force a nod. “Fine.”
He sticks his hand out. “Good morning. I’m Tristan Westbrook.”
I hesitate but place my hand in his and shake it. “Aurora Marshall.”
“Come on. You can do better than that. Do I make you that nervous?” His eyes dance with amusement.
I snatch my hand back. “No.” My response is a bit too quick. “Let’s just do this.”
“Very well.” He gestures to the chair across from him where I’m standing. “Please,” he says before he returns to his seat.
I sit and pull my portfolio out of my bag. Opening it, I slide my resume out and set it on the table. I flick a glance up to find him watching me, and I push the paper toward him.
He picks it up and reads it over before setting it back down. “Your volunteer work is impressive.”
“Thank you.”
He meets my gaze. “What are you hoping to gain from this work placement?”
I take a deep breath. “Experience, of course. That’s what anyone in my position would say. This isn’t for me to get a taste of what my career might be to see whether I like it. I’m in my fourth and final year of this program. I don’t have time to change my mind. Before walking into this interview, I would’ve said this might lead to full-time employment after I impressed my mentor, but alas, circumstances shape my answers. I’m going to go ahead and say experience—that’s the safest answer.”
“You choose to play it safe?”
“It depends,” I say.
“On?” he counters.
“Circumstances.” My voice has a bit of an edge to it.
“Have you been in positions of power in the past?”
“Yes. As listed under my volunteer experience, I led several teams during school events, and over the past few years, I’ve been one of the head members of the student union during the winter semester.”
“Do you seek out these positions of power?”
“If you’re asking me whether I like control, I think you—” I stop. “Yes, I do.”
“You seem like a driven young woman.”
“I like to think so,” I say. “I know what I want, and I plan to do whatever it takes to achieve that.”
He clicks the pen in his hand. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“Any more questions?”
“Do you have a copy of your class schedule?”
I nod and hand it to him from my portfolio, cringing at the way my hand shakes. I knew this interview would make me nervous, regardless of the mentor, but Tristan sitting across from me is heightening that tenfold. I just need to get through this. I fold my hands in my lap and sit straighter, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth to try to calm my uneven pulse.
“Excellent. So you have Mondays off?”
“Yes,” I say.
“That works for me. You’ll start this coming Monday, nine o’clock sharp.”
My stomach flips at the burst of anxious excitement in my chest. “I . . . wait, hold on. That’s it?”
He leans back in his chair. “That’s it.”
“What if I don’t want to work under you?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a woman say that to me,” he says with a twist of his lips.
“First of all, gross. Off to a great start with the sexual harassment.” I shoot him a sarcastic thumbs up.
“Like I said, I’m the last mentor available, so it’s me or nothing. Your choice. But as I recall, you need this to graduate. Like you said, your education is the most important thing to you.”
“You did this,” I accuse in a low voice as I stand, Allison’s warning running through my mind. He isn’t finished with you.
He shrugs. “That doesn’t change anything.”
“I’m going to—”
“What? Tell your program coordinator that the leader of the fae manipulated her mind to ensure that you were placed with his company?”
“You can’t—”
“Yet I did,” he says, an arrogant quality to his voice.
I step away from the table, turning my back on this fucked-up interview, and head for the door. I’m reaching for the handle when I make a snap decision. I turn around quickly, only to find myself face to chest with Tristan. His presence overwhelms me all at once. Heat radiates from him, warming my cheeks as I fight to not inhale his scent. I need to keep my thoughts clear, sharp. I can’t have my head spinning right now.
“What?” I breathe.
He steals my gaze. “You turned around,” he says, a challenge in his tone.
“You were following me,” I counter, unable to force my eyes away from his.
“And soon you’ll be the one following me.” He flashes a grin. “Lighten up, Aurora. Your negative energy is ruining this moment. Try to see it as a unique learning opportunity.”
I glare at him. “Are you kidding me?”
He raises a brow. “What would you like me to say?” He tips his face closer sightly, and I have to remind myself to breathe. “You’re not making this little situation of ours any easier.”
“You’re the one who waltzed into my life all tall, dark, and . . . you.” I want to kick myself for letting his proximity cloud my head for even a second. Damn him and his distracting blue eyes and crisp, alluring scent. Fucking hell, I need to get out of here.
He leans forward, and I step back until I’m against the door. “I’m almost glad my manipulation doesn’t work on you,” he says in a voice so quiet I barely catch it. “I think that would eliminate all the fun we have.”
I shove him back, and he concedes a few inches with a nod, because there’s no way my actual shove did anything. “What part of this do you think is fun for me?” I bark out a laugh. “You think I go home at the end of the day laughing to myself at how much fun I’ve had dealing with an arrogant, egocentric, fae leader who could ruin my entire life if he chooses?” My hands are still pressed against his chest. Why are my hands still pressed against his chest?
Tristan tilts his head to the side, watching me with interest. My chest swirls with nervous energy as my eyes flick across his face.
“I’m not afraid of you, as stupid as that is. I’m concerned as to why you’re paying me so much attention. Max was right.” I pause. “You better not tell him I said that. If only you could make me forget. Then I wouldn’t have the knowledge of your race, regardless of whatever creepy connection my family has to the fae.”
Tristan seems to consider this for a moment before he says, “If it were possible, would you really want me to make you forget?”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” I mutter, finally finding the will to pull my hands away and let them fall to my sides.
“I realize that. I’m asking you.”
“I don’t see that it matters now,” I say.
“Answer the question.”
“Why?” I snap.
He’s quick in sliding a finger under my chin and tilting it up until our eyes meet, and my heart slams against my chest. His eyes flit back and forth across my face as I stand there, frozen. The wildness of his irises calms for a moment. There’s a shift, almost too insignificant to notice, but I catch it. For a split second, a pained expression darkens his features. It’s gone before I can understand what it means, and he steps away, giving me room to breathe.
His hands fall to his sides. “I think that answers my question.”
My throat is too dry to speak; my voice will crack if I try, so I stay silent. This interview is over. I reach for the door and step into the hallway, feeling Tristan’s gaze on my back. My feet carry me toward the lobby, but my mind is elsewhere. I’m almost far enough away to let myself relax when I hear his send-off.
“Good to meet you, Miss Marshall. I’ll see you on Monday.”