Burns’ eyes become brush fires.
Ida notices his death stare and looks back at him, until he notices her and straightens up, leaning back in his seat with a shoulder roll and flex of his arms.
God. It’s almost obscene how he moves.
I hate that he’s chiseled—one more ridiculous thing that makes him a perfect fit for the royal title I kindly bestowed on him—and he probably uses his good looks to push people around.
“Well, congratulations. That’s a real accomplishment for someone so young,” Ida says.
I nod. “Thanks. It came with a scholarship in the arts at a public university of my choice. All of my professors agreed I could sling words well enough, and since I started with a lemonade stand, copywriting just made sense.”
“You can write copy anywhere,” Burns grumbles. “Why here? Why Haughty But Nice out of dozens of other companies in this city that would be thrilled to have you?”
Ugh.
Now that I know he runs the place, I’m not sure I want to work here. But I do like holding my own in this interview.
Just suffer through the next hour. Get out of here. Let the chips fall where they may.
“Well, Haughty But Nice sells an upscale product without being over the top. It’s the kind of style I appreciate,” I say. “I also love that it was started by a busy mom, and the marketing you’ve been putting out lately has been pretty eye-catching. You produce innovative copy. I’m a creative at heart more than anything else. I’ll be an asset here, but I’ll learn a lot along the way, I’m sure. A challenge keeps things interesting.”
The women smile, impressed with my generous, easygoing answer.
Ogreman frowns, of course.
Obviously because he knows I nailed it.
Nothing I said was kissing up or untrue. It was all genuine—at least, it was when I first walked in here with answers to questions like that drafted in my mind.
“We asked about the florist project because it’s the closest to what you’ll be doing here,” he says coldly. “We’re preparing a major launch for a brand-new line of luxury wedding attire, and our current copywriters already have dedicated projects. We need fresh blood. Think you can handle that?”
Weddings?
My whole body stiffens.
I detest them.
They’re sentimental fluff designed to keep a sixty-billion-dollar sham industry alive. Plus, there’s always a risk your personal investment becomes a catastrophic loss when the groom runs off with his secretary—or you know, a bandmate—leaving you with nothing but your tears.
My face must give me away.
“Miss Poe? Is wedding content going to be a problem?” he asks, snapping his fingers to draw me out of my trance. “Surely, being a Poe doesn’t mean you’re stuck writing about dreary dungeons and atrocious maniacs, right?”
I keep my face stern and meet his eyes.
“I like writing about the beating hearts of the men I bury under my floorboards only occasionally.” I cock my head while the women around us snicker. “It’s no problem at all. I can write about anything as the depth of my portfolio shows.”
“Very original, Poe,” he throws back.
“Not even close. I’ve been collecting bad Poe jokes for twenty-four years. Unless you’ve been writing them that long, you don’t have one I haven’t heard.”
“Sorry, but I have to ask... Do you guys know each other?” Anna looks at me.
Oh, crap. Did I come on too strong?
I stop and stare like I’m caught in the headlights.
“We’ve met,” the suit answers for me. “It’s becoming a regular occurrence in the morning coffee line. If I’d known it was her, I could have saved us a lot of trouble,” he adds under his breath.
“Trouble?” Ida asks.
I smile at her even though I’m breaking inside.
If this is how it’s going down, I’d might as well get the last word in.
“He means that this whole interview is just a formality, right? He’s already made up his mind,” I venture.
“I’m sure he doesn’t mean that at all. Do you, Mr. Burns?” Ida asks. When he doesn’t answer for a few seconds, she looks at him and bites her lip. “Off-record reminder, it would be highly improper for a publicly traded company to make hiring decisions outside of the structured interview process.”
Hot Shrek shakes his head and looks over my resumé.
“No decisions made and no objections lodged. Not yet. I’m still eager to find out what Miss Poe can do for us and why she’s the best person for this job. Since the next questions are softballs, I won’t risk any personal bias clouding the hiring. I’ll step out and leave you fine ladies to the assessing,” he says, sliding out of his seat.
Without a single look back, he’s out the door, moving his hands to his throat like he’s adjusting his tie—or making a cross like he’s warding off a vampire.
Jesus. What was that?
Lucy rolls her eyes, slurping her coffee. “Nice save, bossman. Now, Miss Poe, can you tell us what you think your greatest strength is?”