Her answers are competent, clipped, and focused entirely on Jess. She hasn’t looked at me once since stepping into the office.
I should be assessing her, listening for whether she’s capable. But I’m distracted.
There’s something about her face. The shape of it. The way she moves. I’ve seen her somewhere. I’m certain of it.
But I still can’t place her.
Jess moves to the next question. “And you’ve been doing a course, right? Bringing your systems knowledge up to date?”
“Yes. It’s been a lot to take in, but I’m keeping up. Cloud systems, shared calendars, booking platforms, call management. It’s changed since I left the workplace, but I’m getting there.”
I watch her. She’s not flashy. She’s not polished. But there’s something steady under all that reservation. Like she’s held herself together for a long time, and knows how to keep doing it.
Jess glances at her notes. “You mentioned in your application that you have a daughter?”
That’s when it happens.
Stella smiles.
And it’s not just polite. It’s genuine.
“She’s nineteen. Studying psychology at university. Determined to understand everyone, even the ones who don’t want to be figured out.”
The smile softens everything. The nerves, the formality, the wall she’s held in place since the moment she walked in. It’s the same face, but that quiet kind of beauty she’s been keeping under wraps isn’t staying hidden anymore. It slips out before she can tuck it away again.
“You must be proud,” Jess says.
“I am. She’s... brave. She knows who she is. It took me a little longer to get there, but she’s already got her feet under her.”
Her voice drifts into the background as I take in the curve of her smile, the way her eyes light up when she talks.
It’s not just the smile. It’s her. There’s something open in her now. Unfiltered. For a second, it’s like she’s stepped out from behind herself and let me actually see her.
And I do. I see her.
She’s not the polished, sharp-edged assistant I’d expected. Not the kind of woman I’d usually look at twice. Earlier, I’d written her off as mumsy. Sensible. A little lost.
So why the hell can’t I stop looking at her now?
Why does it feel like I’ve missed something important until this moment?
Finally, her eyes lift to mine.
It’s just a glance, nothing more. But the way she meets my gaze and then looks away, like she didn’t mean to but couldn’t help it, catches something low in my chest. Her cheeks flush. She shifts in her seat. Looks back at the screen, suddenly all business again. Like I’m too much to look at.
It shouldn’t get to me.
But it does.
She’s sitting there in black trousers and a bloody cardigan, nervous as anything, clutching a purple handbag like it’s a lifeline. And I’m hard.
Not fully. But the heat’s there, low and sharp. A pulse of interest that’s impossible to ignore.
She’s not trying. That’s what does it. She’s not performing. She’s just being. And suddenly, I’m imagining her mouth and I wonder what she tastes. Just for a split second, but it’s a problem.
I shift in my seat, casual as I can manage, clearing my throat like it’ll help.
Jess barrels on, still unaware that I am giving the best impression of a monk who has taken a vow of silence. “Final question from me. Say you’re working with someone… difficult. A manager who’s set in his ways, doesn’t delegate well. How would you handle it?”
