“Come on. You can do better than that. Do I make you that nervous?” His eyes dance with amusement.
I snatch my hand back. “No.” My response is a bit too quick. “Let’s just do this.”
“Very well.” He gestures to the chair across from him where I’m standing. “Please,” he says before he returns to his seat.
I sit and pull my portfolio out of my bag. Opening it, I slide my resume out and set it on the table. I flick a glance up to find him watching me, and I push the paper toward him.
He picks it up and reads it over before setting it back down. “Your volunteer work is impressive.”
“Thank you.”
He meets my gaze. “What are you hoping to gain from this work placement?”
I take a deep breath. “Experience, of course. That’s what anyone in my position would say. This isn’t for me to get a taste of what my career might be to see whether I like it. I’m in my fourth and final year of this program. I don’t have time to change my mind. Before walking into this interview, I would’ve said this might lead to full-time employment after I impressed my mentor, but alas, circumstances shape my answers. I’m going to go ahead and say experience—that’s the safest answer.”
“You choose to play it safe?”
“It depends,” I say.
“On?” he counters.
“Circumstances.” My voice has a bit of an edge to it.
“Have you been in positions of power in the past?”
“Yes. As listed under my volunteer experience, I led several teams during school events, and over the past few years, I’ve been one of the head members of the student union during the winter semester.”
“Do you seek out these positions of power?”
“If you’re asking me whether I like control, I think you—” I stop. “Yes, I do.”
“You seem like a driven young woman.”
“I like to think so,” I say. “I know what I want, and I plan to do whatever it takes to achieve that.”
He clicks the pen in his hand. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“Any more questions?”
“Do you have a copy of your class schedule?”
I nod and hand it to him from my portfolio, cringing at the way my hand shakes. I knew this interview would make me nervous, regardless of the mentor, but Tristan sitting across from me is heightening that tenfold. I just need to get through this. I fold my hands in my lap and sit straighter, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth to try to calm my uneven pulse.
“Excellent. So you have Mondays off?”
“Yes,” I say.
“That works for me. You’ll start this coming Monday, nine o’clock sharp.”
My stomach flips at the burst of anxious excitement in my chest. “I . . . wait, hold on. That’s it?”
He leans back in his chair. “That’s it.”
“What if I don’t want to work under you?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a woman say that to me,” he says with a twist of his lips.
“First of all, gross. Off to a great start with the sexual harassment.” I shoot him a sarcastic thumbs up.
“Like I said, I’m the last mentor available, so it’s me or nothing. Your choice. But as I recall, you need this to graduate. Like you said, your education is the most important thing to you.”
“You did this,” I accuse in a low voice as I stand, Allison’s warning running through my mind. He isn’t finished with you.
He shrugs. “That doesn’t change anything.”
“I’m going to—”
“What? Tell your program coordinator that the leader of the fae manipulated her mind to ensure that you were placed with his company?”
“You can’t—”
“Yet I did,” he says, an arrogant quality to his voice.
I step away from the table, turning my back on this fucked-up interview, and head for the door. I’m reaching for the handle when I make a snap decision. I turn around quickly, only to find myself face to chest with Tristan. His presence overwhelms me all at once. Heat radiates from him, warming my cheeks as I fight to not inhale his scent. I need to keep my thoughts clear, sharp. I can’t have my head spinning right now.
“What?” I breathe.
He steals my gaze. “You turned around,” he says, a challenge in his tone.
“You were following me,” I counter, unable to force my eyes away from his.
“And soon you’ll be the one following me.” He flashes a grin. “Lighten up, Aurora. Your negative energy is ruining this moment. Try to see it as a unique learning opportunity.”
I glare at him. “Are you kidding me?”
He raises a brow. “What would you like me to say?” He tips his face closer sightly, and I have to remind myself to breathe. “You’re not making this little situation of ours any easier.”
“You’re the one who waltzed into my life all tall, dark, and . . . you.” I want to kick myself for letting his proximity cloud my head for even a second. Damn him and his distracting blue eyes and crisp, alluring scent. Fucking hell, I need to get out of here.
He leans forward, and I step back until I’m against the door. “I’m almost glad my manipulation doesn’t work on you,” he says in a voice so quiet I barely catch it. “I think that would eliminate all the fun we have.”
I shove him back, and he concedes a few inches with a nod, because there’s no way my actual shove did anything. “What part of this do you think is fun for me?” I bark out a laugh. “You think I go home at the end of the day laughing to myself at how much fun I’ve had dealing with an arrogant, egocentric, fae leader who could ruin my entire life if he chooses?” My hands are still pressed against his chest. Why are my hands still pressed against his chest?
Tristan tilts his head to the side, watching me with interest. My chest swirls with nervous energy as my eyes flick across his face.
“I’m not afraid of you, as stupid as that is. I’m concerned as to why you’re paying me so much attention. Max was right.” I pause. “You better not tell him I said that. If only you could make me forget. Then I wouldn’t have the knowledge of your race, regardless of whatever creepy connection my family has to the fae.”
Tristan seems to consider this for a moment before he says, “If it were possible, would you really want me to make you forget?”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” I mutter, finally finding the will to pull my hands away and let them fall to my sides.
“I realize that. I’m asking you.”
“I don’t see that it matters now,” I say.
“Answer the question.”
“Why?” I snap.
He’s quick in sliding a finger under my chin and tilting it up until our eyes meet, and my heart slams against my chest. His eyes flit back and forth across my face as I stand there, frozen. The wildness of his irises calms for a moment. There’s a shift, almost too insignificant to notice, but I catch it. For a split second, a pained expression darkens his features. It’s gone before I can understand what it means, and he steps away, giving me room to breathe.