Something Shifter This Way Comes – The Order of the Bear Series (Book 1)

What if my dream job is really a nightmare?

I shouldn’t have taken a job I knew nothing about, but I was desperate. That’s how I wound up living in a sprawling mansion that looked more like it belonged in Europe than America. My billionaire boss locks me in my room every night from ten to eight. That’s weird, right? Should I spend more time obsessing over the occult-inspired artwork or the creepy blue lights that surround the mansion at night? Or should I keep my mouth shut and focus on working off my mountain of debt? (A fast-paced urban fantasy you won’t want to put down.)

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***Contains new added scenes from Steel’s POV

CHAPTER ONE

CRYSTAL

I’m Crystal Banks, and I’m about to give you no-holds-barred access to the deepest, darkest secrets of my mind. I can’t guarantee that you’ll like everything you read in the pages to come, but just know that it’s the truth . . . every last word of it. I’d been privy to some pretty weird and mysterious stuff in my short twenty-five years on this planet. I’m talking about the types of encounters that give you nightmares and make you purchase fancy security systems. But before I start yammering on about haunted woods and monsters, I think it’s best to hit the rewind button and take you back to the beginning.

Well, not quite that far because I’m sure my childhood would only bore you. Trust me, none of you want to read about my first kiss because it was nothing but a bunch of awkward nose bumping. Instead, I’m going to start with the seriously crappy weekend that changed my life forever.

It all began when I walked in on my boyfriend doing the nasty with the student from my grad class with the highest GPA. She had not only graduated summa cum laude, but had somehow managed to juggle a ridiculous amount of résumé-padding extracurriculars.

I guess the whole bit about men not liking intelligent women was a lie, at least so long as those brains were paired with a big enough rack. I don’t understand what he saw in her other than the fact that she was blonde and busty. Personally, I refused to bleach my hair just because being brunette wasn’t popular.

I had long, dark brown hair with blunt bangs that generally felt like they were stuck to my eyelashes. That got annoying fast. I’m five-ten, so maybe I was just too tall for Bryce the Cheater, otherwise known as the man I would never sleep with again under any circumstances, not even in the classic last-man-on-earth scenario.

The height-sensitive loser had always complained when I wore heels. But essentially, it didn’t matter why he had gone out and cheated on me. Whether he was looking for bigger boobs or a shorter and thinner figure was of no concern to me because I wasn’t willing to change a single thing about myself. Well, at least not for that two-timing loser. I wasn’t ready to rule out all men at that point—just one.

There were so many lovely questions lolling about in my angry mind. Was that the first time he’d been unfaithful? Had there been other women? And why, oh why, oh why did he have to do it on our sheets? I felt dirty, and if I discovered that I had an STD because of him, I was determined to knife him in the balls. Quite frankly, I was sure that any jury would side with me! I made the stabbing motion with my right hand and smil ed darkly at the thought.

Once it was over, I realized that I’d never loved Bryce, but even so, I would never have done something so despicable to him. I’m just the faithful type, I guess. If I’m being honest, there’s something that upset me far more than the fact that he’d sought some action on the side. Our breakup had rendered me homeless.

I may have purchased those incredible hotel thread count sheets, but the apartment was his. Well, actually, it belonged to his parents, but any way you looked at it, he got to keep it, and I was out of my cushy place to live. None of this would have mattered if I’d had tons of money at my disposal, but I didn’t. I’d barely made it through school, and I was up to my ears in debt. Trust me, I looked into it, and you can’t turn in your master’s degree for a refund.

But there was no use crying over spilled milk because none of it would matter soon. I was determined not to sleep until I landed a new job. Thanks to a somewhat aggressive email campaign, I’d managed to finagle back-to-back interviews with several of the publishing firms in town, so all I had to do was dazzle them. I felt like I’d spent my whole life in school, mainly because I had spent my whole life in school.

I should have quit years before, you know, back when I was only fifty grand in debt. I suppose it was my own fault because I hadn’t felt that a bachelor’s degree would be enough to land me a good job. I’d added on two more years of debt—a.k.a. schooling—in order to pursue my master’s degree in English. By that point, I’d racked up so much school and credit card debt that I doubted I’d be able to pay it all off before I got old and died. To add insult to injury, I’d maxed out my last credit card in order to buy the hideous outfit I was wearing for my interviews.

The navy suit dress looked even worse on me than it had on the hanger. I felt like a total dork, not to mention unfashionable. But this was the type of crap people had to wear when they were trying to get a job that paid more than minimum wage. It wasn’t that I wasn’t willing to flip burgers or anything; it just didn’t pay enough to keep my lovely lenders off my back.

Maybe I’d have felt differently if the ugly garment hadn’t cost me two hundred and fifty bucks, even though it was marked down on the clearance rack. I couldn’t believe other women paid $750 for such things. It didn’t seem possible to my flat-broke state of mind. I was trying to consider it a sound investment into future earnings, but that didn’t mean I didn’t resent the expense. Apparently, it was legal to commit highway robbery; they just used price scanners instead of guns in these more “civilized” times.

I had somewhat nefarious plans of returning the suit and had sneakily tucked the tag up under my jacket in the back, where you couldn’t see it. I typically tried not to be superstitious, but I definitely had my fingers crossed that the tag would stay put and I wouldn’t spill anything on my “lovely” and hopefully temporary purchase. If I didn’t land a job, I would be totally and utterly screwed because I was out of money. I didn’t even have any credit left at that point!

My student worker position at the university had ended two weeks prior to graduation. It hadn’t made any sense to look for a filler job because, once I had my degree in hand, I would be able to seek far more fulfilling employment in the “real world” of publishing. But I hadn’t factored being homeless into any of my plans. I hadn’t been ready to waltz my way down the aisle or anything, but I certainly hadn’t been planning to break up with Bryce in the near future.

I had no money and no job, and my student loan payment was the size of an inflated house mortgage. At least I’d have a few months before I had to start making payments on that beast. All of it was Bryce’s fault! Every time I thought about my ex, I wanted to kick something and scream, but I figured that wasn’t acceptable public behavior.

Taking the subway was far from glamorous, but that’s what you did when you lived in a big city and couldn’t afford a cab. I tried not to make eye contact with any of the crazies. As tempting as that molded plastic seat looked, I didn’t sit down because the last thing I needed was gum on my expensive interview outfit. I was especially careful not to break a heel on the escalator during my ride back up to street level.

All of this would have been easier if I’d had a full night of sleep, but instead, it had been filled with nothing but fitful tossing and turning. I hadn’t suffered from nightmares since I was a young girl, but something had shifted in me since the breakup. Twisted scenes haunted me each time my head hit the pillow. They were crazy dreams, though most of what happened was forgotten by the time I woke up, except for one detail—there were always bears.

I’m not talking about cute Winnie the Pooh cartoons here; I’m talking about “rip your face off and tear your throat out while you go for a walk in the woods” monsters. I’d literally resisted adding honey to my tea the other day because my subconscious feared that it would attract a bear or something. Right! Like there were bears in the city.

It was a short walk from the subway exit to the high-rise office building where my first interview was, so I took my time and tried to focus my mind on more positive thoughts; basically, anything but bears would have sufficed. I took a deep breath and tried to think confident thoughts like “I’m so getting this job!” as I rode up the elevator.

I didn’t do stairs—not in heels. Stairs were for crazy people who enjoyed exercise . . . you know, masochists. I may have looked thin on the outside, but that didn’t mean I was healthy. I was about as lazy as you could get. Maybe I should have been ashamed of this, but I believe in accepting who you truly are. The elevator doors dinged as they opened to the level occupied by the publishing firm. I screwed a hopeful smile onto my face as I approached the lobby. I checked in with the receptionist and waited patiently until t hey led me back for my interview.

Five minutes in, I knew something was up. The woman kept checking her email, and she refused to make direct eye contact with me the whole time. Instead of the usual “we’ll get back with you” song and dance routine, she cut right to the chase and told me that I wouldn’t be a good fit. I was disappointed, but this wasn’t the only firm in town, so I checked my pride and thanked her for her time.

Did I mention I’d been having a rough week? Well, apparently, it wasn’t getting any better. It actually took me three more appointments to figure out what was really going on.

“Bryce called you, didn’t he?” I accused the man who’d just “interviewed” me and then promptly explained that I wasn’t a good fit for their company. He’d already been trying to show me to the door when I had my big eureka moment and put the last piece of the puzzle in place.

The telltale look of guilt on the man’s face told me everything I needed to know. My slimy toad of an ex had called around and somehow blacklisted me in the entire publishing community. Bryce’s family owned the largest firm in town, so I suppose it wasn’t that hard for him to pull a few strings in order to abuse his power and lay me low. The whole thing seemed unusually cruel. It wasn’t like I’d been unfaithful to him. He was the cheater! What right did he have to pull such a nasty stunt when he’d already screwed me  over, literally?

Did he think I’d come crawling back to him like a beaten-down puppy? Did he think I’d forgive him for being a lying, cheating, not to mention short, douche? Was he so conceited that he couldn’t see how messed up this whole situation was? I was furious, and I felt like my blood was boiling beneath my cheap-to-the-world-yet-expensive-to-me suit dress. I imagined burning those sheets he’d tainted, and in several of my fantasies, he was still in the bed when I dropped the match.

I wasn’t completely ready to throw in the towel, so I went through the motions of my last two interviews. Big surprise, the results were exactly the same as they’d been with all the other firms. Exactly what had he told them about me? It must have been seriously awful. I checked my reflection in my compact to make sure that horns hadn’t suddenly sprouted from my hair because the last woman had looked at me as though I was evil incarnate.

I walked back outside and stood on the street corner, waiting for inspiration to strike, but I was plumb out of life-altering, decision-making capabilities for the day. Quite frankly, I was feeling beyond disenchanted. Too bad I didn’t have any other close friends. Between work and school, I’d only had time for Bryce. So, as far as relationships went, I was batting zero. No one was going to offer me their couch, let alone a friendly shoulder to cry on.

Right when I was trying to figure out a way to land myself another one of those handy-dandy store loyalty credit cards, I noticed a line of well-dressed men and women curving halfway around the block. They were all dressed similarly to me, only their suits looked a heck of a lot nicer.

“What’s going on?” I asked the last woman in line.

She handed me a computer printout so that I could read for myself. It was a surprisingly long ad. I quickly scanned the text. “Seeking personal assistant . . . Must be willing to relocate . . . blah blah blah . . . middle of nowhere.” 

If I’d had deeper relationships with people, moving might have been a deal breaker, but I was more than ready for a fresh start. In fact, it seemed like a unique opportunity. Not only was the minimum salary more than generous, but the position also included free room and board. The thought of being able to free myself from the shackles of debt was definitely tempting.

In some ways, it seemed as though the job posting had been tailored specifically to me. No doubt, everyone else waiting in line felt that way too. Otherwise, they wouldn’t still be standing in their uncomfortable formal wear and heels while they sweated off all their pretty makeup. Needless to say, I was intrigued by that point, and as I wasn’t faced with any better alternatives, I stepped into line behind the other applicants to try my luck at a job that seemed a little too good to be true. I couldn’t help but compare the whole situation to the lottery. Only one person would walk away with the jackpot, but we were all excited to buy our tickets . . . or at least wait our turn for an interview.

Surprisingly enough, no one else sidled in after me, so I retained my dead-last position. Could that possibly give me an advantage? I would be the last face they saw after a long day. I refused to dwell on the fact that it was far more likely they would be totally zoned out by the time I got my shot. That was loser talk, and I already had enough negative crap going on in my head without feeding it more. Let’s hear it for blind optimism—the true friend of desperation.

Eventually, I made it inside the building, and the air conditioning wafted over me in a big, welcoming gush. I sighed as the cold air worked to cool my overheated skin. The odds of being able to return the ugly suit were diminishing more by the second. I was getting that hot skin smell that happens when you spend too much time outside. It’s different than a B.O. smell, but still not altogether pleasant. I wasn’t ready to completely abandon the notion of getting back my money yet, at least not until I’d landed a job.

I began to chant inside my head, This job is mine, hoping that perhaps the universe would hear and take pity on me. Normally, I tried to avoid such silly activities and focus on concrete actions I could actually control. But my ex and the universe had shown me that I was no longer the governor of my circumstances. By that point, I was sufficiently willing to plead with God if that was what it took to improve my financial prospects.

Being inside was soooo much nicer than baking outside in the heat. The A/C helped to revitalize my tired body, and I began to stand straighter again, where before I’d been wilting and drooping. My eyes scanned the walls, which were covered extensively with framed oil paintings. It was like moving through a museum at a snail’s pace, so it took me a while before I comprehended that all of the paintings had similar subject matter . . .  bears.

What the what? Why did I feel like I’d just walked inside one of my creepy dreams? If it hadn’t been for my unrelenting loop of nightmares, I wouldn’t have given the paintings’ themes a second thought. But my nightmares had been terrifying. Was it possible that this wasn’t a coincidence, that the two were somehow connected?

If I’d been a superstitious person, I would have turned on my heel and proceeded to run at warp speed until the building was no longer visible. But I considered myself a logical person, and I was desperate for employment. I stopped staring at the walls and focused on the progress of the line itself. There were still a crap ton of people ahead of me, but at least we were moving at a reasonably steady pace.

I hadn’t been inside for more than thirty minutes when the secretary received a phone call. Mine were not the only eyes trained on the woman with avid interest. Two seconds after the headset met the cradle of the receiver, she stood and addressed the line of waiting candidates.

“I regret to inform you that Mr. Steel won’t be conducting any more interviews today. Please leave a copy of your résumé with me if you’d still like to be considered for the position. We’d appreciate it if you could show yourselves out of the building.”

I stared at the woman in fish-mouthed disbelief. More than a few of the other job seekers were muttering under their breath as they stormed out of the office. Most hadn’t bothered to leave a copy of their résumés behind, which showed a general lack of confidence that it would make any difference. It was obvious that the position had already been filled, which meant that I should have obediently turned around and followed the rest of the disappointed candidates in their dejected, feet-dragging stroll towards the exit.

Yup. That would have been the logical thing to do. But sane Crystal had vacated the premises about five interviews ago. Not getting a chance to interview after all that waiting in the heat—well, that was the straw that broke the tired and thirsty camel’s back. The thought of accepting one more bit of rejection in my day failed to compute. I wasn’t ready to seize a weapon and do bodily harm to my fellow humans or anything, but I was totally up for a screaming match, if necessary.

Everyone has a limit, a point where they just can’t take any more, and they crack. Apparently, I’d reached my breaking point. Like I said, I’d had a rough weekend. My slimy boyfriend had cheated on me, and I’d been cruelly blacklisted from the publishing community I had worked tirelessly to become a part of for years. At that point, I would have to leave town in order to find work in my chosen field of expertise. Adding insult to injury, given how hot it had been outside, I probably had pit stains, which meant there was no way I could return my pricey discount rack suit. I wasn’t even going to have a job to show for it!

Perhaps my stomach was to blame. Maybe it was the fact that I hadn’t eaten anything since my hurried, free continental breakfast from the cheap motel where I was staying. All of the PMS hormones raging through my body could also have triggered my crazy outburst; I really don’t know for sure what to blame. The tight hold I normally kept on my wayward tongue wrenched free as I strode determinedly over to the secretary’s desk. My heels tapped sharp staccato notes on the marble floor, loudly marking each step of my fool’s journey. I tried not to let the rage enter my voice as I spoke, and I carefully schooled my features into a look of respectful insistence.

“I’m not leaving until I see Mr. Steel.” Okay, so there was a little more anger in my voice than I’d hoped for. Naughty tongue. Bad inflection.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. Mr. Steel won’t be conducting any more interviews today. You are more than welcome to leave me a copy of your résumé, and I’ll see that he gets it.” She repeated her statement from before like a mindless robot. She was the type of woman who would never alter the script she’d been given. She’d continue to parrot the same information over and over again, right up until the point she called for security. Obviously, I wasn’t going to get anywhere with her, so it was time to try a different tactic. No. More. Arguing.

I stared the woman down, sizing her up. She was petite, barely pushing five feet, even with the help of her five-inch heels. She didn’t appear to be overly muscular, which was good because I wasn’t into weights either. My legs were miles longer, which was a definite boon.

Secure in the knowledge that I could best her in a race, I turned and made a mad dash towards Mr. Steel’s office. I’d seen countless applicants traipsing in and out of his door all day long. Everyone else had been given a chance to interview with the hotshot billionaire, and that’s all I wanted: a chance.

It wasn’t that I didn’t recognize that I was acting totally crazy, but I chose to press forward anyway. In the back of my mind, I was aware that the man would pretty much have to be a lunatic to hire me after I’d exhibited such rash and unprofessional behavior, which was why most of those other people had simply walked away. But I wasn’t most people. I was Crystal freaking Banks, and I was done taking no for an answer. Sure, I probably wouldn’t be getting the job. All I knew was that I was getting my interview and that it would be an interview not sabotaged by my ex.

Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I ran. My arms pumped wildly, and an uncontrollable grin contorted my face as I sped across the lobby. The woman shouted furiously after me to stop, but I ignored her. Security would probably arrive any second to throw me out. On the plus side, if I got arrested, I’d at least be entitled to a hot meal for a night or two. “Al—ways look on the bright si—ide of life—,” I hummed the Monty Python song under my breath.

CHAPTER TWO

STEEL

The tension that had been brewing inside of me all day reached a boiling point. I’d lost count of the number of applicants we’d interviewed. The day felt wasted, with no promising candidates and nothing to show for hours of my time.  

“You guaranteed you’d fill the position today.”

“And I assure you I’m worth every penny you pay me,” Lauren breezed.

“Did you change your mind about one of the candidates?”

“No.”

“Then can you explain why you sent everyone away?” I asked, raking a hand through my hair as my frustration mounted ever higher.

Lauren crossed her arms defiantly and glared right back at me.

“Have I ever failed you before?” she asked, sounding annoyingly confident.

Instead of answering, I growled and checked the time on the clock once more. I hated being in the city; I felt closed in. I needed to return to my estate, but I couldn’t do that until my staffing issue was resolved. I crossed my arms and leaned back against the wall.

My ears perked up at the unexpected sound of heels clicking rapidly on the tile floor outside the door. Was someone running? How unprofessional. My eyebrows raised in shock as the door to my office burst open, and a woman stumbled inside. Her scent hit me first, ushered in, no doubt, by the breeze created by her forced entry. She smelled of wild berries and jasmine. I inhaled sharply, unable to stop myself from drawing more of her sweet aroma towards me.

She was absolutely stunning. Her long, brown hair cascaded over her shoulders and draped invitingly over her perfectly rounded bosom. She was tall for a woman, but not too tall for me. She looked up, and the defiant gleam in her eyes rocked me for a moment. Something primal sprang to life inside of me, but I ruthlessly shoved it back into the darkest recesses of my mind. I didn’t have time to entertain such impossibilities. I swallowed, blinking my eyes to clear my vision, and stared her down determinedly.

One thing was certain: there was no way I could hire this woman. It didn’t matter how qualified she might or might not be. She would prove too much of a distraction. I would never get any work done with her around. I needed to get rid of her as expeditiously as possible . . . before I did something stupid.

CRYSTAL

The knob turned easily in my hand as I burst into the room. The office was ridiculously lavish, and it screamed money. The indignant secretary was hot on my heels, demanding for me to cease, but I ignored her and focused my attention on the people occupying the office space.

There were two of them: a gorgeous, well-dressed woman with stylish blonde hair and a tall, brooding Adonis who really had no business being so good-looking and rich at the same time. It really wasn’t fair. He probably had an ego the size of a football field to go with it. Why did all attractive men have to be such narcissists?

Mr. Billionaire was wearing a suit that looked like it was custom-tailored to his deliciously trim, muscular body. Beards weren’t normally my thing, but his carefully sculpted facial hair looked so good that I was itching to run my fingers through it. His chocolate brown eyes were drawing me in like a tractor beam, and I had to press my hand against the doorframe in order to resist eagerly taking another step towards him. I felt compelled to squeeze his arms to see if he was as muscular as I was hoping. It was hard to tell with the cut of his suit jacket, but I really hoped it wasn’t just padding. I wasn’t sure exactly what had come over me. I might have continued gawking at him indefinitely if he hadn’t spoken.

“The interviews are over,” he stated coolly as he stared at me with bored indifference.

Thanks to his height advantage, I felt even less like his social equal. He studied me in a way that made me feel like he resented the fact that I was breathing his air. Those eyes, I couldn’t tear myself away. It didn’t matter that the way he was looking at me made me feel as lovely as a big pile of stinky garbage that the janitor had failed to remove. So much for my delusional fantasies that he might possibly be as attracted to me as I was to him.

Whatever. I wasn’t there to hunt for a new boyfriend. What I needed was a job that paid well. At the time, that was my one and only prospect, and I refused to let it go easily.

No, I would not go gentle into that good night. Okay, I know that was cheesy; just remember that I read way too much, and cut me a little slack already. I was done with gentle, and I was so ready to rage, rage against the dying of the light. If it weren’t for the fact that he was already dead, I’m pretty sure that Dylan Thomas would have rolled his eyes at me big time for ripping off his uber-famous poem. Man, I hated how much I needed a job. It wasn’t even in my field. I was supposed to be working in publishing. That’s where I really belonged and why I had worked so hard to get my degree.

“I tried to stop her, Mr. Steel,” the secretary panted behind me, out of shape and out of breath.

I bet she takes the elevator every day too, I thought snarkily. Her hand locked down hard on my arm as she prepared to forcibly drag me out of the office. All of that typing and phone answering had given her super-strong fingers, and I had to bite back a strong expletive about what she could do with her Superman grip. I really couldn’t decide what my next course of action should be. I was in a bit of a pickle.

“Let her stay, Eric.” The attractive blonde behind the desk spoke loudly and with authority.

I wasn’t sure why she’d chosen to come to my rescue, but I wasn’t about to complain. Maybe not all blondes were mean. Come to think of it, it didn’t seem fair to blame all blonde women for the fact that a certain fair-haired smartie pants had danced the horizontal salsa with my cheating ex. I decided to judge the woman on the merit of her actions, hair color be darned.

“Are you certain?” Steel questioned gruffly. For a moment, he looked like a petulant little boy whose mother had told him that there would be no dessert after dinner.

The blonde nodded decisively, and Steel waved the secretary out of the room. She shut the door behind me so hard and so fast that it almost took my arm off. Thankfully, I managed to whisk my fingers out of the way just in time, keeping all of my digits blessedly intact. The blonde behind the desk laughed, but Steel didn’t appear to be amused in the slightest. Well, come to think of it, I didn’t find almost losing a hand all that funny either. I was at a loss as to what to say next. I hadn’t really given much thought to my plan of attack beyond forcing my way into the room. He glared at me and held out his hand expectantly.

“I assume you have a résumé?” Steel asked imperiously.

“Oh, um, of course,” I stammered, pawing through my leather-bound portfolio.

Okay, so I lied. It wasn’t really leather at all. It was some sort of plasticky pleather, but it still looked nice and professional, and it wasn’t like I had plans to use it all the time anyway! I retrieved a copy and handed it to him. I’d printed it on “classy” paper that looked like high-end stationery, or at least that’s what the salesclerk had assured me when I’d purchased it.

“It appears you would be better suited to a job in publishing,” he stated after he’d scanned the contents.

The first words to pop up in my head were Brilliant deduction, Watson, but I wisely kept my sarcasm to myself. I’d already done enough damage for one day with my forced entrance, possibly enough damage for a lifetime.

“I’ve made a terrible first impression,” I said bluntly, looking him boldly in the eye. “So I’m going to be frank and admit that I would have greatly preferred to land a job in the publishing community today. Unfortunately, my slimy toad of an ex has ruined all chances of that for me. I need a job, and I need it today. I’m a fast learner and a hard worker. You won’t regret hiring me. Seriously.”

He ignored my eager rant and moved forward with his intense interrogation tactics. His unwavering eye contact was beyond intimidating. “You understand that this job requires you to reside full-time at my estate and that my home is very remote. I keep odd hours, and it may be necessary at times to travel with little to no notice.”

“I’m currently living in a motel that I can’t afford, so that won’t be a problem.”

“What is your family situation?” he asked bluntly.

“Are you asking if I’m pregnant?” I asked incredulously.

“No, but are you?”

“Thank God, no.”

“Extended family?” he asked, frustration weighing heavily in his voice. I was pretty sure I’d read somewhere that it was illegal for employers to ask personal questions like this in a job interview because it could be grounds for discrimination. But at this point, I really didn’t care. I needed the job.

“I don’t have any family.”

“She’s lying,” the blonde announced crisply, and I had to resist glaring at my so-called “ally.”

“I don’t speak to any of them. I’ve intentionally burned all my bridges, so they may as well not exist. They are not a part of my life in any way. Sharing a few branches on a family tree doesn’t mean someone gets to be a part of your life,” I explained.

The blonde frowned at Steel like she was his own personal lie detector or something. What I would have given to hear what was going on beneath those bleached platinum roots, but “alas, poor Yorick,” I wasn’t a mind reader. She closed her eyes like she was meditating or something; it was beyond annoying, but apparently, I’d managed to pass the family hurdle because, after a tense pause, she opened her eyes and nodded affirmatively at Steel.

That was more than good, it was fantastic. As far as I was concerned, that discussion was over and done with, as in, put a period at the end of the sentence, we weren’t talking about it anymore. I wasn’t about to go spilling my family history to a couple of people I’d just met. That stuff was personal. Everyone was entitled to a few secrets, and some skeletons were better left in the freaking closet under five layers of Christmas decorations and a bunch of crap that you didn’t even remember buying in the first place.

“She’s the one, Eric,” the woman stated confidently, and I couldn’t help but admire what good taste she had. Of course I was the one. I was all that and a bag of freaking chips!

“I told you I didn’t want a woman,” he argued, glaring at the blonde. “They question everything and have an annoying tendency to fall in love with me.”

Wow, that was highly offensive . . . not to mention discriminatory. Wasn’t he supposed to have a legal department to guide him on stuff like this? I couldn’t resist snorting before I responded disdainfully, “I assure you that so long as your checks don’t bounce, I can keep my heart firmly under control.”

On the plus side, I was becoming less attracted to the man by the second, which would certainly make working for him easier. Every time he spoke, his hotness meter plunged another number. He’d started off at a ten, and by the end of the interview, he’d be lucky to be a two.

The blonde let loose a throaty laugh, but Mr. Steel was woefully unamused. He grunted as he turned, meeting my gaze in an unnervingly direct way. I almost felt like I should apologize or something, but I bit my lip to keep in the words. He was the rude one, and I didn’t want to set some sort of precedent of always having to say sorry for stuff that wasn’t even my fault. I was already mentally preparing myself for the final job rejection of the day, so his next statement surprised me big time.

“How soon can you pack and be ready to go? I’d like to leave this infernal city as soon as possible.” His tone was clipped, begrudging, and rude—but none of that registered.

Holy crap, he’d actually offered me the job! How on earth I’d managed to land the position was totally beyond me. I’d officially broken every rule in the book, and I was still walking away with the prize. I decided to keep being myself at that point because the whole transparency thing was obviously working for me.

“Pay for my cab fare, and I can be back here in less than an hour,” I replied bluntly.

He pulled a hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to me. “My helicopter is on the roof of this building. I’m leaving in exactly one hour . . . with or without you, Miss Banks.”

“Understood,” I replied, bobbing my head up and down like an idiot. I thanked him for the job, and then I took off as fast as I could out of the office. I waited until I reached the lobby to take off my heels so he wouldn’t see me in such an “undignified” condition. Then I ran barefoot across the dirty city sidewalks and hailed the first taxi I saw. I couldn’t believe it, but somehow, I’d landed the job. Given my insane stunt of forcing my way into the man’s office, this was surprising, to say the least. It was shaping up to be one of the strangest days of my life.

There was no stopping the big, stupid grin that threatened to split my face in two. Maybe my future wasn’t destined to be so awful after all. I’d managed to land a job with a smoking-hot billionaire with the added bonus of free room and board. Take that, school debt! Prepare to be toast. I would happily have continued to daydream in the back seat of the cab, but there was no ignoring the fact that the taxi was traveling at a snail’s pace.

I hadn’t factored in the rush hour traffic, so even with the cab, I would be cutting it close. When we reached my motel, I told the man to wait and that I would be right back. He tried to holler after me, demanding his payment, but I knew if I paid him, I only had a fifty-fifty shot of him sticking around like I wanted. I couldn’t risk the time it would take to hail another taxi, so I had to be a little slimy. I hoped to repair the damage to my karma by giving the man a nice tip.

It took me less than ten minutes to pack up my stuff. What can I say? I’ve never been big on material possessions. Call me a minimalist if you will, but I was really too cheap to spend my own money on anything but the bare essentials. I was usually more than happy to make do with everyone else’s furniture and such. All I cared about was my clothes, and I rarely had excess funds to splurge on those.

I didn’t want to risk missing my deadline, so I kept the ugly suit on, even though the reflection I caught in the mirror on the way out frightened me. The man had made it quite clear that he wasn’t interested in my body, and vanity could cost me my position before I even started.

“Fugly is so hot right now,” I intoned in my best fashion designer voice as I rode the elevator down to the lobby and sprinted back to the cab.

The driver raised his eyebrows when I gave him the address back to where he’d just fetched me. He no doubt encountered stranger requests on a daily basis and took it all in stride. The traffic was even worse on the return trip. I wasn’t really a religious person, but that didn’t mean that I was above praying when I really needed something. On the way back to the office building, I kept up a near-constant litany of God, please get these stupid cars out of my way so I don’t lose this job.

I shoved the hundred-dollar bill at the man when we arrived. I didn’t have time to wait for the change, no matter how desperately I wanted to. Plus, I still felt a little guilty about making him wait to get paid the first time around.

I looped multiple bags over my arms, and I was already panting and out of breath by the time I reached the elevator. When I saw the “Temporarily Out of Order” sign taped on the steel doors, I felt as though I’d been slapped in the face. Was the universe screwing with me? I ditched a box containing feminine hygiene products and makeup on the ground as I sprinted for the stairwell. All of those items could be easily replaced.

Next, I kicked off my high heels, abandoning them on the ground where they fell. My bags weighed me down heavily as I climbed one staircase after another. I didn’t even know how many stories there were because, at some point, I lost count. Keep climbing! I chanted inwardly as I focused all of my energy on the ascent.

I was five seconds away from a full-on cardiac arrest when I breached the landing to the top floor. I shoved open the door and shouldered my way outside. The helicopter blades were already whirling about, but the chopper was still firmly planted on the ground. The air currents the machine was throwing off were fierce, but I hadn’t come that far to give up. I ran towards the aircraft, doing my best to keep my head low so that I didn’t get decapitated. Steel pushed open the door and glared at me as I threw my luggage and shopping bags into the back row of seats. I couldn’t help but feel like he’d been secretly hoping to leave before I returned.

“You’re late,” he accused.

I didn’t bother to defend myself, doubting he’d care about mundane things like traffic and malfunctioning elevators. Not deigning to speak, I focused instead on buckling myself into the complicated harness system. I hoped he wouldn’t notice how nervous I was.

I wasn’t a huge fan of planes to begin with, and the smaller the aircraft was, the more nervous I got. This here was a two-seater chopper, so I wouldn’t have been surprised if I was visibly shaking. I regretted ever watching that Buddy Holly documentary. It was what had fueled my belief that small aircraft were nothing better than death traps.

“Are you sure you know how to fly this thing?” I asked, hating the pathetic tremor in my voice.

“Yes,” he shot back tersely.

After that point, I gave up trying to carry on a conversation with the world’s most boorish man. The helicopter was too loud for talking anyway. I tried to enjoy the flight; after all, the small world below looked quite beautiful from this vantage. Much to my surprise, I relaxed enough to doze off at some point.

I woke up to a sharp nudge in the arm. At first, I wanted to upbraid him for poking me, but when I saw the lush countryside laid out beneath us, I was actually glad he’d woken me. I was used to the harsh grays and neons of the concrete jungle, but here, everything was laid out in verdant shades of green. I could almost see why he chose to risk flying about in his little chopper of death.

As we approached his estate, I couldn’t get over how vast it was. There was an enormous stone fence surrounding the main grounds around the house, but I had no doubt that he owned a ton of the surrounding acreage as well. The forest called to me, demanding that I acknowledge its magnificence, and I did everything but drool in appreciation.

I’d never seen trees quite so big. They must have been hundreds of years old. The forest seemed almost magical, and I would have loved to drop everything to explore it right then and there, but somehow, I doubted my new employer would have sanctioned such a frivolous waste of time. He wasn’t the type of man to be swayed by whimsy. From what I could see, he was a man of few passions. I was willing to bet that he sat around counting his money for fun. Maybe he even swam in it like Scrooge McDuck.

Steel landed the chopper on his own personal helipad. I waited until he’d killed the engine before undoing my harness. They could have filmed Jane Austen movies there because the impressive edifice looked like it belonged somewhere in England instead of smack dab in the USA. There was a large, circular fountain set into the cobbled drive in front of the house, and the mansion itself was constructed out of a lovely cream-colored brick. I gave up trying to count all the windows after I realized that Steel was already a good distance ahead of me.

I wouldn’t have put it past him to lock the door in my face and leave me twiddling my thumbs in the yard with no means of contacting the outside world for help. He was one cold cookie. I’d gone from feeling like I was going to wind up homeless and sleeping on a park bench to moving into a mansion in less than twenty-four hours. It was a lot to process. Steel didn’t offer to help with my bags, but I hadn’t really expected him to. After all, he’d hired me to assist him, not the other way around.

As I struggled to retrieve my bags from the chopper, a scary thought popped into my head. I still had no idea what this job would entail. Whatever it was, I was all in. I didn’t have a plan B.

“Please don’t be a murdering psychopath,” I muttered under my breath as I snuck a glance at his retreating form.