Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 102(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 102(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
“You joke when you’re nervous,” he observes, and I feel the flush from earlier returning. This time there is nowhere to hide.
“Yeah, well…”
“Why are you nervous? Surely my reputation in the media isn’t that rough.”
You are so private that your reputation is just ‘mysterious, I think, but keep the words to myself. “Because I’m a total stranger who is terrified she’s going to say the wrong thing on what must be one of the worst days of your life.”
Adam looks surprised by that, and I realize too late that it’s too honest. What I just said crossed the line of polite interaction and ventured into real stuff. But then Adam clears his throat and goes back to leaning on the wall, staring straight ahead. “There’s nothing anyone could say to make this day better or worse. It just…is.”
I don’t think he’s telling the truth, but it isn’t my place to press. “Okay. Um…”
“What’s your name?”
“Elowen Hart.”
“Pretty,” he compliments. “Well, Ms. Elowen, do you want a job?”
I blink a few times before slipping my hand into the pocket of my dress pants, pinching my thigh to make sure I’m not dreaming up this bizarre scenario. I feel the sting of my fingernails, and sigh internally. No. This is really happening, as weird as it is.
“A job.” It doesn’t come out as a question, though I meant it to.
“A job.” He confirms. “Or, possibly, a better job. Temporary, but well paid, travel work. In six months I’m due to attend a retreat in the Alps, and Celeste was the only one between the two of us and Camille who spoke French. I didn’t even think about it until you just spoke…but I’m going to need someone. A translator. On site.”
“Why…” I inhale, trying to slow myself down. “Surely you’d need more than this five-minute conversation to offer me a job, Mr. Valmonte.”
“Adam,” he corrects, as if it should have been a reasonable thought for me to assume I’m on a first-name basis with a billionaire. “And usually I’d agree with you, but you’re the first person in days to speak to me like a normal person and not like I’m made of glass. I’ll have to work closely with my translator, and that’s reason enough for me to think I’d find you tolerable.”
Tolerable. Okay. Well. That’s something, at least, but I’m struck by how terrible of an idea it is. Surely he’s not thinking clearly, and I know little to nothing about him, his company, or this so-called business retreat.
“I appreciate the offer,” I say carefully, “But I suspect you’re being so kind because of how difficult today has been for you, so I’m going to have to decline. “ I fidget awkwardly, and seeing tension across his face, I add, “for now”, before my brain has any chance to reason.
Adam looks at me again, down his straight, slightly large nose. “That’s not why.” I open my mouth to decline again, but he digs into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, and from there, a business card. It almost makes a hysterical laugh bubble up. A business card. From Adam Valmonte. As if everyone on the face of the earth doesn’t know who he is.
He hands it to me, and when I look down at it, the significance of the gesture sobers me. Oh. This is his direct contact information. Something like this from someone like him is unheard of.
“Email me your contact information, and I’ll send you a legitimate job offer. Hell, I’ll even open it up for other candidates. But I think you’re going to be the right fit, Ms. Hart.” Adam pushes off the wall now, straightening his suit jacket as the cold, stoic expression from the ceremony falls back over his handsome face. “We’ll talk soon.”
And with that, one of the richest men in the world disappears back inside, leaving me in the small contemplation garden as a few drops of drizzle begin to fall once more. I look down at the thick, steel-gray business card as a drop lands on it, quickly shaking the water off and slipping it into my pocket.
I find myself sliding my fingers over it again and again as I meet Imogen and we depart. The business card is the only proof I have of my rendezvous with Adam Valmonte, and I feel oddly attached to it.
2
ADAM
Three months after the funeral, my assistant begins screening candidates for a new position that I’ve essentially invented out of thin air: Temporary multilingual translator, international travel required.
Buried in my thousands of emails is a single one from the woman I’d met in the contemplation garden while I was hiding from the world and miserably smoking a cigarette. Everything had been in a shade of gray that day, but she had been a small spot of unexpected color. While she’d rejected my initial offer and she’d slid from my mind during the grief-soaked slog of the following week, when the veil of loss lifted from my mind, I remembered her.