Stolen (Book One) (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) (8 page)

The receptionist was typing as she stared at her monitor. “We don’t make mistakes here,” she replied without even looking at Sigourney. Her fingers made clacking noises as her perfectly polished nails glided across the keys.

Sigourney laughed disbelievingly. “Well, I think this time you did. See, I’m supposed to have an interview and this…this is an offer letter.” She held the clipboard up as proof.

“Yes, that’s exactly what it is,” the woman replied, still not bothering to look at her.

“Well, that doesn’t make any sense,” Sigourney continued, her exasperation growing.

“Is that your name in the letter?” the receptionist asked.

She nodded. “It’s my name, but—“

“Then that’s
exactly
what was intended,” the receptionist said, her tone getting more clipped and cold, if such a thing was possible.

Sigourney felt like she’d stepped into a hidden camera television show. Was it possible? She actually looked around to see if there were cameras visible. Someone was going to step out from around the corner and begin laughing at her reactions.

Right?

Anything made more sense than this form attached to the clipboard. She scanned it more carefully this time.

D
ear Sigourney Beckett
,

W
e are pleased
to offer you the position of Personal Assistant to the Chief Executive Officer of Parker Capital. This is a full-time position with full employee benefits. The benefits package is discussed in the attendant handbook, available for your perusal.

The initial annual salary for this position is $120,000.

Other stipulations include: use of the company car for any errands related to work assignments, room and board at the company assigned lodging, and a phone device and phone plan paid in full by Parker Capital for use in conjunction with your official duties.

You have until the end of the day to accept and sign this letter. Your employment will begin immediately upon signing.

Sincerely,

O
rlando
Parker

CEO of Parker Capital

T
he letter was signed
with flourishing, confident script. She read it at least four times while standing in front of the reception desk.

Her mouth went dry.

This made absolutely no sense. There had been no interview.

Even stranger still, the position she was supposed to have interviewed for was not a full-time position, but a temporary one. Her duties for the temp position, as she recalled reading online, had been things like filing, faxing, doing mail runs and making copies.

Perhaps this was some bizarre ethics test. She’d read about competitive corporations doing strange things to challenge prospective employees, but this took the cake.

If this was a test, than she needed to figure out what they were testing for.

If she signed the letter, perhaps she would fail the test, if they were assessing her ethics.

Or maybe they wanted to see if she was ambitious and cutthroat enough to sign the offer letter even though it was plainly meant for someone else.

A venture capital firm surely valued greed above almost everything, including honesty.

She was truly stumped.

The phone at the front desk rang and the receptionist answered it with a quick tap of her head set. “Good morning, Mister Parker,” she said.

Sigourney flinched. Mister Parker? Did that mean Orlando Parker, the CEO of the firm?

Supposedly that was the person she would be working for if she signed the offer letter—although such a thing was impossible.

In fact, it was laughably ridiculous.

“Yes, I presented the letter,” the receptionist said archly into her headset. “The employee is considering it as we speak….yes, I’ll be sure to let you know, Sir.” A moment later, she hung up by touching her head set again. And then she went back to typing.

Sigourney approached one more time, trying to make her voice carry a little more power. “Excuse me, but I really have to insist that there’s been a misunderstanding,” she said, careful not to use the word
mistake
.

The receptionist finally looked at her. Her blue eyes were intense and condescending. “Miss Beckett, I assure you the only misunderstanding right now is that you seem to think you know something I don’t. And that is the only misunderstanding. Now, you have the day to consider the offer. Please take your time, but I have my own work to do.” She turned back to her monitor.

Sigourney rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Is there someone else I can talk to before signing? I’ve literally spoken to nobody but you.”

Well, that wasn’t strictly true, she thought. That stranger in the elevator had spoken to her, but that had hardly been a conversation, and certainly nothing to do with anything official.

The receptionist gave her a thin, restrained smile. “If you’d like, I can ask Mr. Parker if he has any free time. Otherwise, no.”

“Mr. Parker, the CEO?” Sigourney barely squeaked.

“Yes, the CEO. He’s very busy, but I’m sure he’d be only too happy to take his precious time to reassure you that we didn’t put the wrong name on the form.” Her expression was positively stony now.

“No, that’s okay.” She retreated from the desk and went to sit down on one of the leather chairs. She studied the letter over and over and ran through possible scenarios.

She had the day to consider it. She could leave, go back to the apartment and talk it over with Hannah. Or call her parents and ask their advice.

But in the end, nobody could truly tell her what to do because this was uncharted territory.

This required a
decision
.

“Shit,” she muttered, swiping the back of her hand across her damp forehead. She gripped the heavy pen tightly and brought it down to the signature line.

If the offer were legitimate (which made no sense whatsoever), then she would definitely want to accept it. She had no other options or opportunities and this was a prestigious and well-known Venture Capital firm.

On the other hand, if the offer were somehow a mistake or a test, maybe she would have failed to do the correct thing. Except that she had the sneaking suspicion that any such test in a place like this would reward the kind of employee willing to take risks and make brash decisions—even if it wasn’t strictly the right thing to do.

At least, that was what she was hoping and praying was the case.

If she didn’t get a job soon, she really would be forced to run back to Massachusetts with her tail between her legs.

And maybe that wouldn’t be the end of the world, either.

Scooping ice cream for another summer didn’t seem like such a bad thing right about now.

You’ve got nothing to lose but your pride, and there’s precious little of that left anyhow.

She shook her head, sighing at her own stupidity as she scrawled her signature across the line at the bottom of the page and dated it.

Her hand shook perceptibly as she did so.

And then it was finished. She stood up, walked over to the desk and handed the receptionist her clipboard.

The woman took it without acknowledging her.

After she’d handed it over, Sigourney walked to the door to leave.

“Excuse me, where do you think you’re going?” the receptionist barked at her.

She turned. “I just assumed—“

“You are an employee of Parker Capital,” the woman said sternly. “You need to be photographed, have an identification badge made up, and then you’ll report to your boss.”

“Oh,” Sigourney said. “Sure, that makes sense.”

“I can make up your badge for you right now.” The receptionist held up a phone and beckoned Sigourney to come stand in front of the desk, which she did.

After taking her picture, the receptionist typed into her computer and then there were sounds coming from a printer behind the desk.

The receptionist bowed her head as she fiddled with whatever was being printed, and then a few minutes later, she handed Sigourney an identification badge complete with picture, employee number, and her job title in red.

Executive Assistant
, it said.

She still couldn’t believe it.

“You can wear it, clip it on you, or you can put it in your purse. But always be ready to present it if someone asks you to,” the receptionist instructed.

“Oh, of course,” Sigourney agreed.

“Now you can go up to the top floor and meet with Mr. Parker.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, right now,” the receptionist said in a high-pitched, sing song voice, waving dismissively at her and rolling her eyes as Sigourney finally turned to exit the room.

She had a very dry mouth and badly needed to use the bathroom, but she was too afraid to ask that bitchy receptionist. Instead, she went to the elevators and hit the button for the top floor.

It beeped but the doors didn’t close.

She stared at it and realized that there was some kind of sensor there. She took her badge and waved it in front of the sensor and only then did the doors finally shut and the elevator began moving upwards.

Her heart thudded dully in her chest as the elevator rose and rose. Finally, it pinged again and the doors slid open.

She emerged into yet another lobby, only this one made the other areas of the building look like dirty alleyways by comparison. From the marble floor to the gorgeous but modern desk that looked space age, to the gorgeous paintings (also modern and quite large) adorning the walls, this new room made her feel smaller and more provincial than she’d felt before.

And that was saying something.

The receptionist was a thin, practically emaciated blond young man, who was standing, wearing a headset identical to the one worn by the mean receptionist downstairs.

He looked at her as she entered the room. “Welcome,” he said warmly. “You must be Sigourney.”

She smiled and nodded. “Hi. I’m here to—“

“Oh, we’re expecting you,” he said. “Do you need some water or to use the bathroom?”

“Both, actually,” she admitted, laughing nervously.

“Let’s take care of the restroom first,” he said. “It’s the door to my left,” he gestured. “When that’s done, we’ll get you a beverage. Sound good?”

“Great,” she said, thanking him as she went to a door that was almost invisible, it matched the wall precisely. But the handle pulled out when she grabbed it and the door swung open. She went inside, finding a comfortable and very private bathroom that was clean and smelled lovely.

She peed, relaxing momentarily, then washed up and dabbed at her makeup, patted her face and forehead down with a towel. Washed her hands.

She looked at herself in the mirror.

Sigourney thought that she didn’t look half bad, considering her nerves and the fact that these weren’t really even her clothes. Then again, she didn’t look nearly as good as she wished to look. Everyone else around this building seemed to be perfection—or close to it.

When she emerged from the restroom, she tried to smile as if she had all the confidence in the world.

The young blond man brought her a bottle of Evian Water and told her to have a seat—Mr. Parker would be with her shortly.

Sigourney drank a little but not too much—she was afraid of having to need to pee again while in the meeting with the CEO.

Her nerves were coming back again but she pretended to be calm. She was sitting on a long, spotless white couch. To the side, a picture window looked out on the skyline of Manhattan.

It was beautiful and a little frightening. She felt like an ant, a grain of sand on the beach, so small and insignificant that she might just be swept away and never heard from again.

“Miss Beckett?” the male receptionist said. “Mr. Parker will see you now.” He walked around the desk, punched a code into the wall to his right, and the door opened of its own accord.

She stepped through, as if into a different world.

The door shut behind her with a final click, and then she found herself in a large office that could have belonged to the President of the United States if she hadn’t known better. It was large, a bit less modern, but the gravity of the room held her in its sway.

There were large picture windows in here as well, but they were covered by heavy curtains at the moment.

There was also a floor to ceiling bookcase that ran the length of one wall, a wet bar on the other side of the office, a couch and some chairs for lounging, and an enormous mahogany desk with two monstrous monitors atop it.

For a moment, she didn’t see Orlando Parker. But then she realized he was drawing the curtain on the window behind the wet bar, as if to give them more privacy. As he turned around, she saw clearly that it was the stranger who’d helped her when she’d first entered the building.

Her mouth went instantly dry again.

“It’s you,” was all she could muster.

Orlando Parker gave an enigmatic smile as he crossed the room towards her, his hand outstretched. “We meet officially,” he said.

She shook his perfectly manicured hand, and his grip was very firm, his skin smooth but warm—and she felt a chill run directly up her spin and a distinctive tightening of her lower belly.

To be fair, it was even lower than that. Her knees clenched together protectively.

The CEO withdrew his hand and gestured to the chairs and couch. “Please do have a seat, Miss Beckett.”

She licked her lips, trying to get her mind around this new development. She hadn’t seen it coming, not even a little, although it was the only explanation that even made remote sense.

Except it still made no sense.

She sat down in one of the luxurious chairs.

Orlando Parker unbuttoned his suit coat and sat down across from her in another chair. He folded one leg up and crossed it over his knee. He seemed relaxed and very masculine, his torso expansive, muscular beneath his pressed and tailored clothes.

“I’m confused,” she said, crossing her own legs, aware of the skin she was displaying, but not knowing how to keep the pencil skirt from riding up her thighs in this position. The chair was too soft and low.