Fire on Fire

3. I'd rather marry a goat

The moment she entered the waiting room, Emma swallowed hard. There were 15 other young women applying for the same job. "This is a waste of time." She muttered to herself. There was no way she could compete with all those college girls.

Why had she even applied for an office job? She could never make it. Even Nancy said it: as long as she didn't have an education to compensate her lack of experience, she could only aspire to wait at tables or sell clothes. Nowadays, even a nanny was requested some sort of diploma.

Emma glanced around the room. Her rivals couldn't be more than 25 years old, probably fresh out of college, ready to take on life with its exciting adventures. She sighed, sagging her shoulders. "I might as well leave," she told herself.

However, before she could, a woman in her late 40s came out of the office, holding a clipboard, and called: "Hudson? Emma Hudson?"

"Damnit." She muttered to herself. "I'm here," she told the woman, raising her hand.

The lady nodded, crossing the name off her list. "Come with me, please." She gestured for the young woman to follow her inside the office.

Emma obeyed, albeit feeling defeated already. She could also feel the gazes of the other candidates, and she was certain they were judging her, both for her not very professional choice of attire – white shirt, light blue jeans, bright red lipstick – and for the lack of qualifications she thought they could read on her face. She didn't understand why had she even been selected for the interview, she was obviously not suited, they could have avoided wasting their time and hers.

Then again, Emma thought, the job offer talked about a position as personal assistant for the chief editor of a prominent magazine. The requirements, other than high school diploma, were "good-looking" and "aged 20-29". Had she not been desperate, she would have definitely skipped such an offer. But, once again, beggars cannot be choosers, she reminded herself.

Emma took a deep breath, and entered the office with the fortyish woman. "Emma Hudson." The lady introduced, then left. Swallowing her saliva, the young woman took a couple of steps closer to the large oak desk that was at the back of the room. The fancy leather swivel chair faced the windows, which gave an incredible view of New York's skyline. Emma would have remained staring in awe at the incredible panorama, had she not been too nervous to even make her presence known.

"Emma." A male voice called from behind the desk. "Nice name." He said, swiveling the chair to look at her. When he saw her, his eyes widened just as much as hers, but their reactions were entirely different. He looked bewildered yet glad, she was disgusted.

The world could be cruelly small, Emma thought, lowly sighing. "Daniel." She rolled her eyes. "The name of the magazine did sound familiar."

A smile slowly crept up on the dark-haired guy's lips. "I can't believe this." He stood, bypassing the desk to go greet her. "It's you!"

Instinctively, Emma pulled back from his attempt at hugging her. "Keep your hands to yourself, Daniel." She growled, ready to use force if needed to keep him away. He hadn't changed a bit: same dark hair, same mischievous brown gaze, same arrogant smirk of a posh kid born in wealth and used to having daddy come to the rescue.

Daniel chuckled, yet keeping a short distance from her. "Come on, baby girl, you're still mad at me? I told you it wasn't my fault."

She glared at him. "I'll hate you till your dumb ass turns into ashes, Daniel." She gritted her teeth.

Unfazed, he took a few steps closer – enough to invade her personal space, yet not enough to touch her. "I've always loved that mouth of yours ..." He reminisced, licking his lips. "I guess I can send the others home," he grinned, "I've found my new assistant." His gaze moved up and down her frame, both reminiscing the good old days and prefiguring the ones to come.