Who the hell was this guy?
“Some might remember the gecko part or the stay true to yourself part or the not signing anything part, and all of those are good life lessons, but I’m going to drop one major one, and then I’m going to drop the mic and let you guys get out of here so you can binge drink one last time before life fucks you.” Gasps were heard all over the stadium. “Nobody, and I do mean nobody, is owed anything. If you want it, you take it. That’s it, that’s my advice. If you want something, you take it, you work hard for it, and you own up to your own failures when eventually you don’t get what you want because ninety-nine percent of you will be working at some random job in the next year, with student loan debt up your ass, and wondering what’s so bad about living with your parents. But the one percent of people in here who want to tell me where to shove it, I look forward to seeing you change the world. The ninety-nine percent left, I suggest you learn how to coupon, so you can survive on something more than ramen every day. Welcome to adulthood.” He grinned. “I wish I was kidding. Also, I’m using this time to announce that Emory Enterprises is seeking interns for this summer. Whoever does the best—” he hesitated and then “—job will be offered a lucrative signing bonus, company car, and full salary in the best place where they fit in my company. Good luck to you all. And remember…life doesn’t owe you shit.”
He literally dropped the mic, walked off the stage, head held high.
And I’d never been more traumatized or driven to not be the fry girl. I would not be moving back in with my parents! They collected dolls! The creepy porcelain ones that look like they’re plotting your death. On top of that, both my mom and dad were exhibitionists! They’ve been arrested multiple times in the Walmart parking lot, and let me tell you, there’s nothing more traumatic than bailing your parents out of jail while they suck face. Even the police, who have literally seen it all, weren’t making eye contact with me.
That internship was mine.
And as if Mark could hear the challenge from the universe, I turned to see him lock eyes with me, one eyebrow quirked upward as if to say game on.
“Game on, you psycho,” I growled.
“Why are you repeating that over and over again?” Amelia whispered.
“Sorry,” I snapped, then looked back over to Mark only to see him still staring directly at me, his eyes mercilessly raking over my body as if measuring me up.
“He’s dead to me.”
“You’re scaring me.” Amelia laughed uncomfortably.
“Good.” I nodded my head, then leaned back in my chair and huffed. “Good.”
Chapter One
Mark
Present day
I’d been convinced that I was the perfect candidate for Emory Enterprises, only to find out that the waitlist had been hundreds of applicants long. So, for the next year, what did I do?
Exactly what he said I would.
The only job I could get was working at a car dealership as a fucking receptionist—yes, a male receptionist. Times are changing, okay? Lay the fuck off!
Part of my job entailed greeting customers and then calling over the loudspeaker for certain sales managers to come forward and meet their clients. Then I was privy to all the long waits with financial, where the salesman went back and bullshitted for at least an hour before coming back and “making the deal of a century” for their client.
Now, here’s the thing. I know some dealerships are awesome on customer service, and I have nothing against car salesmen; some of them make bank and really care about getting people into the right car.
But I wasn’t at that sort of dealership.
I was at Fancy Fred’s.
Fancy. Fred’s.
And across the street, my nemesis stood, at the Audi dealership, dressed in black every single day, wearing perfect makeup, heels, and somehow staring daggers at me across the parking lot as if she had won.
Which, technically, in the job department she had.
When I graduated with my business degree, I wasn’t really picturing the guy walking by me with day-old coffee in his mug and a tie with eyesores on it, as if his own clothing even knew it was rough waters over at Fancy Fred’s.
I’d imagined skyscrapers.
Headhunting.
City life.
I had imagined driving that Audi not watching someone else sell them.
At least I wasn’t living with my parents. I guess in that area, I won, where Olivia lost. I heard through Ryker, who heard through his new girlfriend Amelia that Olivia hadn’t been able to afford her expensive apartment and, to save money, had moved home.
Which seemed odd since she had the better job out of the two of us, and I was the one living with a roommate.