Chapter 02

I stare at the man standing by the door, my brain malfunctioning so hard I can't even think of closing my gaping mouth.

It's the elevator guy! He's right there, still dashing, all tall and sexy. He doesn't notice me right away, so I use this opportunity to observe his features.

His face was either engineered in a lab, or he won the genetic lottery over everyone else. He has a sharp jaw covered with three-day-old stubble. His short, dark hair is a little messy—as if he only ran his fingers through it this morning. Thick eyebrows rest under a flat forehead, and underneath them, two narrow eyes. Then, the bridge of a straight, perfectly balanced nose, and lower, a pair of lavish lips, a shade darker than his skin, with a touch of pink.

His sharp gaze quickly scans the room, and I avert mine when it reaches me, embarrassed to have been caught staring. Thank God I'm not drooling, but close call.

"Oliver, you told me Andy arrived?"

Oh, wow. Oh, shit. This is the boss. He is the boss. The guy I lusted after in the elevator is my new boss. That has to be the worst way to start a new job.

Dakota smiles. "Yes, she has."

He processes her words, and something lights up in his eyes when he understands. Next thing I know, his attention is back on me, studying me in an entirely new light. Under his authoritative stare, I regret hiding my gender from the company. But I know how hard it can be for women to get into such positions, so it's only normal that I made sure the odds would be in my favor.

Now that they know the truth, they can't fire me for not having Y chromosomes. Not without risking the mother of all lawsuits .

When he's done examining me, I embarrassingly wave with a faint, "Hi."

"You're not an Andrew," he stoically states.

I bite the inside of my cheek at his icy tone, suppressing my urge to lecture him about manners. "No, I'm an Andrea."

His jaw clenches slightly, and after an instant, he turns to the oldest of the guys. "You owe me ten bucks. She doesn't have a beard."

"Actually—"

As soon as I realize what the bearded guy is about to say, I panic and let out a loud, forced laugh, determined not to let him repeat my stupid joke. Not a third time, and not in front of that man. "Haha! Yeah, no!" I loudly say. "No beards here!"

The others do their best to contain their amusement while the elevator guy—our boss—stares at me as if my IQ is in the negatives.

Today is not my day. I can't catch a break.

"Well, as entertaining as this is, I have to leave you nerds," Dakota explains, freeing us from the awkward tension. "But before I go, Lex, this is Andrea Walker, your newest full-stack developer, vagina-bearer, and slayer of scripts. Andy, this is Alexander Coleman, head of development, co-owner of the company, killer of joy."

Since I'd researched this company before applying, the name is familiar. But while I saw pictures of his business partner, Kevin Langley, I never stumbled on a photo of him —not that I looked for it. The elevator guy isn't just in a high position; he co-owns the whole thing.

Once the door closes behind Dakota, the broody hunk tells me to choose one of the free desks. When I reach for the empty one just in front of me, he stops me with a harsh command.

"This one's mine. Pick another one." I nod, biting the inside of my cheek so I don't say something about his abrasive manners. Dismissing my ire, I turn to another spot between two guys and settle my bag on the seat. When I spin back to the boss, he's looking at me with an intense, disapproving stare.

His confusion about my appearance is becoming offensive. I clear my throat, hoping it'll snap him out of it. "Is everything alright?" I ask with diplomacy.

"I didn't expect you to be so…" he trails off, looking for the right word.

"Womanly?"

"Young. From your results on the test, I expected someone with at least a decade in the field. How old are you?"

"Twenty-six. But I have been coding for over sixteen years now, so I do have a decade of experience—just not in the field. "

He remains unimpressed. "Having fun setting up a website for you and your friends is nothing like what we do here."

A twinge of anger rises in me, and my eyes narrow. What the hell?! "I can assure you I am well aware of that," I say, mustering my best amiable smile. "As you may have seen with the tests I aced to get here, I'm quite competent."

One of his eyebrows moves up arrogantly. "Are you sure no one helped you with those? Like a friend or your older brother?"

Oh, now he is asking to be put back in his place. I violently quench my urge to react to his provocation and stay level-headed. I'm not into letting people walk all over me, but I really want this job, so I can't possibly get into an argument with my boss on the first day.

We'll see about tomorrow.

"My brother couldn't differentiate C# from PHP." A few of the guys chuckle behind me. Ignoring them, I continue, "If you have doubts, by all means, test me again. I'm certain I can manage whatever you'll throw at me."

It only takes him three seconds to think about it before he turns to one of the guys. "Brian, what's the script you've been stuck on for the last iOS update?"

Whispers erupt among the dev team. I'm about to face a challenge harder than I imagined, right? Luckily, I have a quick brain to go with my quick mouth, so I'll teach this man a lesson.

"Are you sure you want to give her that one?" the guy to my left asks. He's wearing a bold red jacket that suits his dark complexion well. Of all of them, he's the one who looks the most put together—cleanly shaven, neat edges, and impeccable style.

"Well, you heard the lady: she can manage anything. And since you five have been stuck on this for two weeks, we might as well let her take a crack at it."

They nod and look at me, seemingly sorry for what's about to happen. Again, someone needs to gag me for my own good.

With a deep breath to summon my confidence, I sit at my chosen desk between the blond guy who used sign language and the red jacket guy. "Hi, I'm Mason," the latter greets me before pointing at my neighbor on the other side, "and that's Joseph."

"Hi, I'm Andy," I greet back with a smile, signing the words with my hands for Joseph, who grins in return.

"We have a shared server, and all our work is backed up daily," Mason explains. "You can use the script on the server. If you mess it up, we can always get it from the backups."

"Thanks, but I won't mess it up."

"You go, girl," he chuckles .

The computer is on, so Mason tells me where to find the file. As it opens, a movement to my right catches my attention. It's the boss, rolling a chair next to mine before sitting on it.

"What are you doing?" I ask, sounding more aggressive than I meant to.

"I'm curious to see you in action."

What kind of fresh hell is this? "I'm more efficient when no one's breathing down my neck."

Not minding my reticence, he reaches for the glasses tucked in his collar. "Tough luck."

There are no words to describe how much I hate this. I'm very aware of his presence, and I can't imagine my mind not drifting back to it every second. How on earth am I supposed to focus on my task? I turn to him, ready to negotiate some space, but something stops me.

Gray.

His irises are an icy, colorless shade that steals the words from my mouth. I don't think I've ever seen eyes so striking.

"What are you staring at? Get on with it," he says, pointing at the screen. "You have ninety minutes, starting now."

I have an acerbic remark ready to go, but he puts his glasses on, and my brain forgets how to compute. Oh, fuck me… He went from Kal-El to Clark Kent real fast, and I can't decide which version I prefer. The sporty, confident hunk or the nerdy, brainy one?

My body couldn't care less about the fact that he is an ass because I feel the urge to press my knees together. From this close, I can smell the fresh scent of his soap, the spicy aroma of his deodorant, and even feel the heat emanating from his large body.

Since it's the only way I can focus in these conditions, I ask permission to put my headphones on. He agrees, but when it takes me forever to pick the right playlist, something good enough to distract me from his proximity, he lets out an annoyed sigh. "You're wasting time, Andrea. Eighty-seven minutes."

"I'll only need sixty."

The jab is more of a grumble to myself, but his answer comes anyway. "Let's go for sixty minutes, then."

At that moment, I swear to myself I'll cut off my tongue if I survive the day.

But it's on. I am now an emissary for all women. This arrogant and misogynistic ass needs to be taught that we are as good and as worthy as men.

T ime is the one thing that comes with limitations for all of us. Some get a hundred years' worth of it, some barely an hour, but the finality of it is true for everyone. Aside from maintaining a healthy lifestyle, one cannot do much to earn themselves more of it, and even then, nothing is ever certain. That is why time is one of the things I value most in life.

And this whole hiring process seems to have been a massive waste of it.

All the hours I poured into preparing the test, selecting applicants, reading through their résumés… If my suspicions are correct, they've all been for nothing, and I'll have to do it all over again.

The test I designed wasn't meant to be passed but to evaluate the applicant's resilience. So, when "Andy" Walker's score turned out nearly perfect, I struggled to believe it. The cover letter that came with the application piqued my interest, mentioning a deaf older brother and a genuine desire to work with us because of it. But the LinkedIn profile was incomplete, with no picture and nothing past three years at a shitty cybersecurity company in Portland. With a score like that, though, I decided to go for it, thinking I found a gemstone among the masses, someone whose programming skills might be equal to mine.

But in came a petite brunette who looks fresh out of college. And she has an attitude, which I don't appreciate—especially not from a new hire whom I believe lied to get here. She has sixty minutes to prove me wrong, but with the way she keeps stalling, I think I already got my answer.

How disappointing …

While I rationally couldn't believe she was the same Andy who passed my test, a small part of me hoped she would be. I'll have to find someone else if I fire her, and I don't look forward to that.

Finally, she settles on what she wants to listen to, and indiscernible noises seep from her headphones. What the hell is that? Metal? She seems undisturbed by it as she leans in and gets to work. She focuses on the screen, hands hovering over the keyboard, and I come closer as well, eager to get my answer.

I discreetly observe her while she quickly scrolls down the script to familiarize herself with it. I'm seeking a crack, something that'll unveil the subterfuge. But before it comes, she begins typing, so my focus shifts to the screen instead .

Forty-seven seconds. That's all it takes for me to realize I was wrong. She won't need the rest of her sixty minutes because she proves herself in less than one. She's organized, meticulous, and very competent. The messy script is barely understandable at points, but it doesn't stop her as she makes her way through it. I meant to address this issue because the team has been stuck on it for too long. But by minute three, I already know I won't need to bother. Her sharp mind is quick to find errors and even quicker to fix them.

I try to remain focused on the screen, observing what she changes, removes, or rearranges, but I soon find myself drawn elsewhere. Down to her slim fingers and the way they move over the keyboard with dexterity, typing fast and flawlessly. Or how her short brown curls bounce as she bobs her head up and down in rhythm with her music. A verse sometimes slips past her mouth, barely a whisper, which also becomes distracting. Especially since it draws my eyes to her lips, which are plump, pink, and deprived of makeup.

While she loses herself in the script, I peer at her, rediscovering her in an entirely new light. Now that I know she didn't lie, the wall I mentally built between us is gone, and I can see the woman next to me.

I barely glimpsed at her back in the elevator, but enough to notice her almond eyes and the thick fringe of lashes surrounding them. And the way her slightly upturned nose is dusted with freckles, which spill onto her cheekbones. But as I look at her arms, I don't find more of those brown specks. I'm unsure what to make of the intrusive thought that makes me want to pull on her collar and see if there are any on her shoulders.

Why am I somehow even more intrigued by her now? Is it the relentless pride and assurance lying underneath her stubbornness? Is it because there's no way someone this young should be this skilled? Unless she's nearly as smart as I am, which is a very rare thing. Maybe I've found my match, and that's why I'm so confusingly interested in her.

In the elevator, I noticed her flowery scent, but it was lost among the crowd there, spoiled by other perfumes and colognes. Now, though, I can make out a specific smell. I lean closer to discreetly breathe it in, and she tenses, her fingers missing a couple of keys. But she gets over it quickly, and I get my answer. Jasmine. She smells of jasmine flowers and something else, something entirely her.

As my body reacts to her scent, a familiar swell tugging in my jeans, I forcefully rip my eyes off her and stare at the screen, where she's still adamantly proving me wrong.

I'm normally good at balancing out my needs, but it's been almost three weeks since Celeste and I gave it one last fuck and parted ways. And because I haven't found anyone to replace her, the lengthy hiatus is messing with my head.

Switching on the chair, I adjust my uncomfortable state and frown. Given the picture Celeste sent me this morning, something tells me she wouldn't mind meeting up tonight. But she was already asking too much from me then, despite our original agreement, and I'm not sure it would be a good idea. I need to find someone else. Soon.

Going around lusting after employees isn't acceptable, but I must admit it's never happened before.

I glance at Andrea Walker with a mix of confusion and frustration, wondering what triggered this issue. When I can't find a satisfactory answer, I force myself to look away one last time and focus on her corrections. Her clever mind is just as attractive as the rest of her, though, so it doesn't exactly help.

On top of all that, time seems to have slowed, so the moment lasts longer than it should. As soon as the sixty minutes are through, though, I hastily put an end to it.

Slowly, so I don't frighten her, I pull on her headphones and say, "Time's up, Andrea."

She tenses all over, probably worried about what comes next, but there's no need for that.

I made a fool of myself by questioning her abilities, and she more than earned her spot on this team.