The Greek Billionaire's Counterfeit Bride (13 page)

By the time the last of the tests flashed the completed screen, Penny thought to herself that certainly the company did everything it could to weed uncommitted candidates out.
At least it’s fair; it’s not like they put anything on there that I didn’t already claim to know.
The trickier questions notwithstanding, Penny thought to herself that the scores would have to be at least a little bit impressive; and when she finally got into her interview, she knew she was capable of knocking it out of the park.
“While I don’t have the kind of experience that you might be seeing in other candidates, I think that I make up for that in my tenacity and ability to quickly pick up new information,”
Penny thought, mentally rehearsing her answer to one of the questions she knew would come up.

“Ms. Pritchard?” The man from before stepped into the little office. “The board is ready for you now.”

Chapter Two

Penny took a deep breath and stood, forcing her knees to be steady, pushing her shoulders back and keeping her lips turned up in the slightest of polite smiles. It wouldn’t be good for her to go in grinning like a buffoon, but she wanted to look approachable, friendly, and confident.

The dark-haired man led her out of the room and further down the hall; Penny waited as he knocked briefly on the door before opening it. She kept her poised smile on her face, following her guide through the door and taking in the people arranged around a large conference table made of highly-polished, solid mahogany.

One by one, as her gaze went over them, Penny identified each member of the board who was present for her interview; she had known that it wouldn’t be all of the members, but as she ticked the names off on her mental list, her confidence increased. The two women on the board—Zahar Nehri and Amariyah Nadezda—were both present, as were two of the men: Rahim Al-Naser and Zayef Hadad. They must have some confidence in her ability as a candidate for such a large panel to have shown up.

“Please have a seat, Ms. Pritchard,” someone said.

Penny glanced in the direction of the voice, and saw the CEO of the company—whom she recognized from his pictures in the press—Mahmood Al-Zeban himself, standing off to the side of the door she had just entered through.

For a moment, Penny’s heart stuttered in her chest; she definitely hadn’t expected the CEO to be at her interview, even if she was applying to be secretary to the Board of Directors. Somehow, through sheer force of will, Penny kept the slight smile on her face and nodded to the man, taking the only open seat left at the table.
Don’t even sweat it, Penny,
she thought firmly.
You can handle him just as well as you can handle any of the other members of the board.
She took a quick, deep breath as she settled herself in the chair, folding her hands in front of her.

“Thank you for your patience, Ms. Pritchard,” Ms. Nehri said, glancing around the room. “I’m sure you’re already aware that this is a very competitive position; we expect for our secretary to be able to handle a very demanding job.” Penny inclined her head slightly, acknowledging that point. “You seem very young for this kind of jump in career status…why do you think you’re an appropriate candidate?”

“When I first saw the posting, I admit I asked myself the same thing,” Penny said, smiling a little more genuinely. “I knew that the job would be demanding—you’re the people in control of this company’s future, and you can only be as strong as your weakest link.” She took a quick breath and continued. “As for me, I’m tough; I’ve held my own at one of the most successful real estate offices in the Chicago area. I’m also flexible—while I was in college, I managed an internship, a part-time job, and a full course load at the same time by scheduling everything precisely. I think my youth—far from being a negative factor—actually makes me a great candidate for this job: after all, I can work all night, go home and take a shower, and come back looking just as fresh as I did the morning before.”

The men and women at the table chuckled and Penny felt something relax inside of her.
You can do this. You’ve already made a good impression on them; keep it up.

“Ms. Pritchard, it’s a pleasure to meet you this afternoon,” Zayef Haded said, and Penny glanced at his slightly wrinkled face, taking in the graying hair at his temples; in spite of the fact that he was clearly the oldest man at the table, he still looked vigorous and strong. “I wonder if you can tell us something about your ability to manage a high stress environment.”

Penny mentally counted to five before replying. “I’d love to,” she said. “One of my functions in my current position is managing the travel arrangements for the partners who own the real estate firm,” she explained. “Of course, this becomes particularly…interesting when it comes to convention season, as I’m sure you can understand.” Penny waited a beat for the members of the board to acknowledge the point. “About a month after I started, I was given the task of arranging travel, hotels, and meetings for the two partners in four states over a course of three weeks. They didn’t want any overlap in their schedules, of course—and they were each attending two or three conventions in each state. The task had to be completed within two days, or they would lose the best possible arrangements.”

“And I assume you’re telling us this because you managed it perfectly?”

Penny half-shrugged, giving the board members a quick, wry smile. “Well—I will admit to one error: I scheduled one airport drop-off about forty minutes earlier than was absolutely necessary.” Penny spread her hands in front of her. “Fortunately that worked out to that partner’s advantage; he was able to convince someone at the airport to invest in Chicago real estate, and, two months ago, the man he met there ended up becoming one of our new clients.” The board members chuckled.

Penny fell into the rhythm of the panel’s questions, giving herself a few seconds after each one to make sure she stayed composed, and didn’t find herself talking too quickly, or for too long.

In the back of her mind, she noticed that the Sheikh—the CEO of the company—didn’t speak at any point; he simply stood in the sidelines, watching the proceedings, his gaze switching between her and the members of the panel. She refused to be fazed or flustered by his silent regard.
He is actually hotter than his pictures, though, and that’s saying something.

When she could glance at him in passing, Penny took in the details that made the man: like every person she’d seen since walking into the building, Mahmood Al-Zeban was immaculately dressed, in a suit Penny thought was probably worth more than her entire annual salary. His dark brown hair was combed back from his forehead, the tips barely brushing the collar of his shirt in the back. His dark eyes were framed by groomed eyebrows, along with long, dark lashes that more than a few of Penny’s friends would have envied. Clean-shaven, with full lips and smooth, olive-toned skin, Penny thought that he would attract attention even if he weren’t one of the wealthiest men on the planet.

After what felt like at least an hour, the interview finally seemed to be winding down, and with an effort, Penny held back the relief she felt at the slowing questions. She had expected to be grilled, and was certain that, thus far, she had made a good impression, but the sheer volume of questions had started to tire her.

“We have only a few more questions—we know this interview has been rigorous,” one of the board members was saying.

Penny let her smile deepen. “I would expect nothing less,” she said as brightly as she could.

Just when the man would have continued, the sound of Penny’s favorite song, Hot Hot Heat’s ‘Future Breeds’, cut through the air. Penny’s stomach fell to her knees as she realized where it came from: her phone, in her purse, which she had somehow managed to forget to set to silent. For an instant, it felt as though her heart had stopped altogether.

“I am so sorry,” she said quickly, reaching into her purse and unlocking the screen, tapping the icon to cancel the call and immediately flipping the switch on the side to set the phone to silent. “I would have sworn I took care of that when I came in the building,” she added, smiling nervously

The call had been from Martin.
It’s like he knew exactly the wrong time to fucking call me,
Penny thought bitterly. She swallowed against the tight, dry feeling in her throat and put the phone back into her bag before placing it on the floor.

“I hope it wasn’t urgent,” Zahar Nehri said, a flicker of concern in her voice.

“Oh—no,” Penny said, forcing herself to keep her smile in place. “Not at all. Again, I’m sorry; I should have double-checked before I came in here.” She glanced around the room quickly, trying to read the mood.

“What are your views on proper work-life balance?” Zayef Haded asked.

Penny felt a tickle in her throat and swallowed again, her whole body tingling as the nervousness she had managed to suppress before rose up again. “I think that it’s an important factor to consider but for me it isn’t really an issue,” she replied. She couldn’t think of anything else to say, but it was obvious that the panel wanted more of an answer than that. “By which, of course, I mean that I don’t have much of a life outside of work these days,” Penny added, feeling the sneaking, rising heat in her cheeks that signaled a blush. “I mean, I can certainly maintain my own life and balance it appropriately with my workload.”

“And how can we be certain of your loyalty to our company? After all, according to your resume, you’ve only had your current job for one year.”

Penny tried to take a breath, to count to three and compose herself, but the call had shattered her confidence. “Well,” she said, “A big part of the reason why I am looking for alternatives to my current job is that I don’t feel that there is much of a future for me with the realty office.” She glanced around the room quickly; the board members’ expressions were all frustratingly neutral—the Sheikh’s especially. “It’s been made clear to me that there isn’t really a path for advancement for me there, or a way for me to increase my earnings within the next several years—apart from standard pay increases. I believe that this position, while nominally a secretarial role, would give me an opportunity to show you all that I can be trusted with greater responsibilities in the future.”

Penny pressed her lips together as lightly as she could, forcing herself to say no more; but the damage had clearly been done. She kept a polite smile on her face as she mentally cursed Martin for screwing up her best chance at doing better for herself.

“Thank you very much for coming in to see us,” Ms. Nehri was saying.

Penny nodded, and stood as the members of the board did, clearly dismissing her. Sparing one last glance at the Sheikh, Penny hoped that she might see some flicker of warmth, or anything to indicate that she had managed to pass off the incident with some aplomb; but he was as stoic as ever.

As she left the room, Penny’s legs felt as if they had been encased in cement. She walked down the hall, following her guide with her head held high, but inside she was certain that she would never hear from Zeban Industries again.

Chapter Three

They were only halfway through the hallway towards the lobby of the executive floor when Penny’s guide abruptly left her side.

“I’m very sorry, but the board needs to see me about something,” he said, bowing his head towards her slightly and gesturing to his phone. “I’m sure you can find your way out of the building? Please make sure to turn in your access card at the front desk on the ground floor.”

“I can manage that,” Penny said, smiling tightly.

The man retreated back the way he’d come and Penny forced herself to keep walking.
They probably need him to call whoever they put next on the list of candidates—someone from the stand-by pile, because I screwed up so monumentally.

Penny closed her eyes for a moment, cringing at the thought of losing one of the best opportunities she’d ever found for herself. Why hadn’t she made sure her phone was on silent before she went in? For that matter, why hadn’t she blocked Martin’s number altogether? She certainly didn’t want to ever speak to him again, and she doubted anyone else she knew would have called her in the middle of the afternoon—people from work notwithstanding.
If it hadn’t been Martin it would have been Theodore, or one of the partners, calling to get you to do something from home,
Penny thought glumly as she emerged into the executive lobby.

She walked across the rug and almost started at the sound of her heels on the marble beyond it, looking around the lush, beautiful area with a sigh. It didn’t seem fair, but she had to admit that it was as much her own mistake as Martin’s ill-timed call that had ruined her chances with Zeban Industries. If she’d just put her phone on silent, it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d called her five times—no one would have been the wiser. Penny called for the elevator and waited, replaying the interview in her mind with as much detail as she could stand. Right up until the moment her phone had rung, she was certain she had made herself a contender in the eyes of the panel.

The elevator doors opened, and Penny stepped through them, reaching out and hitting the button that seemed to be the lowest.

“Please insert access card,” the elevator said in its frustratingly complacent voice.

Penny frowned, wondering that anyone from the executive level would need clearance to get to the ground floor; it seemed counterintuitive, but she inserted the card nonetheless.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Penny muttered.

She sighed again as the car began to move, shaking her head at her own stupidity.
If I’d just remembered to check my phone before I went in, the last fifteen minutes of that interview would have gone completely differently,
she thought ruefully. She wouldn’t have made herself look like an idiot by interrupting the interview; she wouldn’t have gotten flustered, and she would have answered the last few questions with just as much confidence and appropriateness as the first few.

The elevator stopped and Penny frowned again; it seemed to have only moved a few floors.
Maybe I’m just so miserable I didn’t notice,
she thought, glancing at the control panel. She saw that it wasn’t the ground floor she had selected—but one only a few floors down from the executive suite. “No wonder it asked for a security card,” Penny murmured.

The doors opened to reveal a well-lit, spacious room; Penny had expected to see more offices, but it was obvious that the floor she had come to was of a different character entirely. Soft, yellow-tinged light filtered through high-up windows, illuminating priceless artwork and artifacts.

Penny stepped out of the elevator, enthralled at the sight before her. After a moment, she realized that the floor must be some kind of private gallery; from the look of the artwork, it likely belonged to the Sheikh. She glanced around furtively, but she couldn’t see any sign of security guards or even any kind of alarm system.
The pass card must give access to this floor, too,
she reasoned.

For an instant, Penny considered turning around and getting back on the elevator, to head straight to the ground floor and leave. She was certain that she wasn’t supposed to be in the gallery at all.
It’s probably meant for potential clients or partners,
she thought.
So he can show off his taste and wealth.
But curiosity propelled her forward instead of back; the artwork on display in the room was intriguing indeed. A huge, intricate tapestry dominated one wall, in complicated loops and whorls that Penny thought must have taken ages to create. Along another wall, a sequence of images captured fleeting impressions of men and women in a market: eyes, hands, forms all rendered with a poetic grace. Penny wandered around slowly, forgetting all about her disastrous interview.
If I had to flub it so badly, at least I’ll have something beautiful to remember it by,
she thought, stopping in front of a mounted wall relief that a little placard said came from 200 A.D.

Penny’s gaze landed on an unspeakably beautiful golden headdress, mounted on a nondescript figure. She stepped closer to it, peering at the detailed craftwork, taking in the careful stitching and hand-placed golden scales. A tiny card next to the display said that it was a ceremonial item, used by an ancestor of the Al-Zeban line in an ancient marriage. Penny was so lost in thought, staring at the artifact, that she didn’t hear the muted chime of the elevator yards away from her.

“Excuse me,” a deep, quiet voice—slightly roughened by a light accent—said from behind her.

Penny started, turning on her heel, and saw the Sheikh standing a few feet away from the elevator. She felt her arm collide with something, but the shock was so great that she didn’t even think of the significance.

“Are you lost, Ms. Pritchard?”

Before Penny could answer, she caught sight of movement in the corner of her eye. She half-glanced at her elbow in time to see a vase—one of several balanced on a display plinth—rocking on its base, teetering along the edge of the stone it stood on.

She gasped, horrified, and in the moment it took for her to try and decide whether it would be worse to reach for the vase, or to let it fall and break, the vase overbalanced, tumbling end over end in two full rotations before it hit the floor.

It shattered with a wrenching, tinkling clatter, and Penny’s breath caught in her throat, her heart stopping in her chest before speeding up once more. “Oh—oh my God,” she whispered, realizing the enormity of what had happened.

She turned, numb and tingling at the same time, and looked at the Sheikh. His face had paled in anger, his lips pressed together, his eyes wide and his nostrils flaring with obvious anger.

“I’m so sorry,” Penny said quickly, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. She glanced between the destroyed vase and the CEO, her heart fluttering in her chest like that of a rabbit. “I—I didn’t mean to come in here, I swear…” Every time her gaze fell on the shattered, priceless vase, Penny’s feelings of guilt intensified. Her stomach had tied itself into knots. “I truly—I really didn’t mean to…”

“If you could follow me, Ms. Pritchard,” the Sheikh said, giving her a final, lingering look before turning on his heel and beginning to walk away from the elevator.

Penny, panic welling up inside of her with every step, followed Al-Zeban down a corridor that led away from the gallery. Her knees felt as if they’d been replaced with jelly, and her heart pounded in her chest. She could hear the blood roaring in her ears with every step that she took.
Oh my God, he’s going to call the police, I just know it. Even if I hadn’t already ruined my chances, this is going to make everything 100% worse.
Images of herself being led out of the building in handcuffs, in a prison-issue jumpsuit, locked in a cell, danced through her mind.

Al-Zeban turned at a corner and then Penny saw the door at the end of the corridor. She swallowed against the tightness of her throat, telling herself that at the very least, it wasn’t like she’d stolen anything; she should—hopefully—be able to avoid any kind of criminal charges, even though the vase she’d knocked over was likely priceless.

The Sheikh took a card out of one of the pockets of his suit and swiped it in a reader, and Penny heard the door unlock with a thunk. Still struggling to think of a way out of her predicament, she kept walking, not even pausing as the CEO held the door open for her.