Ria

Ria had already drunk too much. She knew this was a bad idea—coming here by herself—but she hadn’t needed much persuasion. The moment she knew she’d been fired was the moment she knew she’d be drinking alone in a bar smack bang in the middle of the day. She’d gathered her handbag and jacket and headed straight in, ordering herself a martini extra dirty.

The barman served her drink, which she paid for before making her way over to one of the round tables with bar stools. When drinking, she preferred sitting up on a bar stool rather than slouching on a low stool or chair.

It was a hot day—too hot. She was wearing only a simple camisole under her suit jacket, but the jacket hadn’t been worn; it was that hot. Whilst the bartender was mixing her cocktail, she got her compact out to check her makeup. It was fine—the few tears she had shed had, fortunately, not caused a meltdown in the makeup department.

Ria was an attractive brunette with pale grey eyes, high cheekbones, and a heart-shaped face. She was average height at five foot five and had long, wavy brown hair reaching almost to her waist.

She was angry about her job; she’d worked her hardest to be professional, efficient, and to show initiative. But apparently, it was that last one that had caused the problem. The new office manager, Samantha, had decided she’d shown far too much initiative and was a threat. OK, the woman hadn’t admitted that she was a threat, but she had told her she was using far too much initiative—which Ria found laughable. Every job she’d ever had had been thrilled when she’d used her initiative, so she wasn’t sure what the fuck Samantha’s problem was.

Hence the reason she was day-drinking martinis at the bar nearest to her ex-work. She was a lightweight, so now that she was on her third martini, she knew she’d officially crossed over into the “tipsy” category.

She was scrolling on her phone when Martin sidled over and plonked his unwelcome arse onto the stool next to her.

Ah, Martin—the office weirdo. He thought he was God’s gift to women, flirted outrageously with anyone vaguely feminine, yet never got the clue that no one was interested in him. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him pull. He was about five foot ten and soft. That was the only way to describe him. He wasn’t fat, but everything about him seemed soft—from his round face and floppy mousey hair to his limp handshake. In one way, Ria felt sorry for him. He was probably lonely and hoping to meet someone just right for him. The main problem was that he gave off “I just wanna shag you” vibes rather than “I want to get to know you” vibes.

“Hiya, Ria, how come you’re not in the office?” He pulled the bar stool closer—far too close for comfort. Ria leaned back.

“Probably the same reason as you, Martin,” she said, sidestepping the question.

“Oh, you’ve got the interview too?” he asked.

Hmm… interesting, Ria thought. What interview?

“Yes,” she replied. “Although I was surprised it was being held in a bar and not in their office,” she probed, hoping Martin would give a hint as to who was doing the interviewing.

“Good point. I’d not thought about that. Although he’s always one to go against the grain, hasn’t he? A bit of an oddball, if you ask me. But beggars can’t be choosers, eh? When you’re given redundancy, you’ve just got to dig in and try anything—especially with a mortgage hanging over your head!”

So she’d learned that Martin had been made redundant and had a mortgage, but she still hadn’t learned anything about this interview he was waiting for. Time for a different tactic.

“So, Martin, where did you hear about the job?”

“Probably the same as you—Gemma at work. She mentioned that Beau Hawkins was looking for a PA, and I thought I’d give it a go.”

Ria knew exactly who Beau Hawkins was and yes—he was definitely in the “unique” category when it came to CEOs. She was also a bit annoyed with Gemma that she hadn’t shared this little nugget of information with her.

“I know it’s a bit of a different job to what I’m used to, but honestly, how hard can a PA’s job be?...”

It was then that Ria watched in admiration as none other than Beau Hawkins himself walked past Martin on his way to the bar. Hawkins was one of those men who made men jealous and women wet. He was about six foot two, broad-shouldered, probably worked out regularly, and wore his hand-tailored suit with ease. Today he was in a light grey summer-weight suit with a white linen shirt and a silver-grey tie fastened with what looked like a diamond tie pin. He had dark brown hair, stubble and hazel eyes that seemed to shift from green to amber. He was loose-limbed and carried himself with an almost louche ease. Those bad-boy vibes made Ria shudder.

Ria decided to give in to the devil on her shoulder and pressed Martin to explain what he meant about a PA’s job being easy.

“Well, I suppose if you’re not used to pressure or deadlines like I am, it may be a challenge, but for someone like me? A piece of cake—just answering the telephone and taking messages. I mean, how hard can it be?”

“So Martin, if it’s such an easy role, I’m not sure why such a go-getter like yourself would want to apply?” Ria noticed the conversation seemed to have wafted its way to Hawkins’s ear—he was definitely earwigging.

“Oh, the salary, of course, Ria! It’s more than I’m earning at the moment, so I thought, piece of cake, I’ll go for it!” Martin said cheerfully.

“I’ll be honest with you, Martin—a PA’s job is quite complex. Between dealing with the boss’s diary, travel arrangements, meetings, correspondence, not to mention handling their larger-than-life ego, it’s a full-on role. Although it’s a very fulfilling position when everything falls into place after weeks of work. It needs someone with an eye for detail and a well-organised work ethic,” Ria said—hoping Hawkins had heard her.

“Oh Ria, don’t be silly. That’s all automated these days—it’s just automatically in the system,” Martin scoffed.

“Oh? And who do you think puts it in the system and reminds everyone, books flights, hotels, etc., and organises catering and drinks if necessary? I’m telling you, Martin—it’s full on. Are you sure you really want to go for such a high-pressure position?”

Ria could see Beau Hawkins from the corner of her eye looking over in their direction.

“You really think it’s a high-pressure position, Ria? I must admit I don’t want to end up with something even more stressful than the job I’m leaving.” Martin’s brow furrowed, and Ria had to hide a little smile.

At that moment, Hawkins himself decided to descend upon Martin.

“Martin Coles, is it? My two-o’clock?” he asked, looking down at him.

Martin’s face flushed crimson as he realised everything he had just said about the job. He turned his head stiffly to look at Hawkins with an uncomfortable smile plastered to his face. “Erm… yes, yes it is, Mr Hawkins.”

“I’m presuming you’ve decided not to interview for the position then?” Hawkins asked, a wicked twinkle in his eye, as Ria nearly choked on her martini.

“Yes, erm… sorry about that.” Martin looked so embarrassed that Ria did feel somewhat sorry for him—but realistically, he would have been a nightmare as a PA. He excused himself and wandered off to chat to a couple of young ladies who had just entered the bar.

Beau Hawkins then turned his attention to Ria, who had suddenly become very interested in the olive in her martini glass. She could have sworn she heard him take a sharp intake of breath.

“May I have the honour of knowing the fair lady’s name?” he asked, holding out his hand. Ria—blushing furiously for completely different reasons than Martin—held out her hand and met his gaze.

“Ria Jessop,” she said with a smile.

“Well, Ria, it looks like I owe you a debt of gratitude. I’m very glad I didn’t have to go through with that interview,” he said, smiling roguishly.

“Just doing my duty to mankind,” she chuckled.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he asked. She was taken aback, but she wasn’t going to complain.

“Not at all. Do you have many interviews this afternoon?” she asked politely.

“Not any more,” he said. “The position has been filled.”

“Oh, that’s good. A shame for those who came for the interview, but good that you don’t have to continue interviewing.” She felt she was babbling; it was difficult to stay composed under the gaze of Beau Hawkins himself.

“So just out of curiosity, why did you decide to interview in a bar?” She sipped the last of her martini.

“My one-o’clock was next door and I’m flying to Edinburgh for my five-o’clock. I’ve been trying to fit in interviews as well as I can.” He sipped his whiskey.

“Is there a reason you don’t just leave it to HR?”

“My, are you always this nosey?” He chuckled good-naturedly.

“Sorry! I can be a bit,” she smiled.

“Honestly, the last two times I left it to HR I ended up with the most unsuitable candidates ever, so it’s easier to do this one task myself,” he responded.

“Fair enough. I suppose you have a specific idea of the type of personality you want,” she nodded, deciding this would be her last drink. Better to go home and cry a bit over her lost job. “Anyway, I must go now. It’s been very nice meeting you, Mr Hawkins.”

“Beau, please,” he said, giving her that damned twinkle again.

“Ah, OK—erm, Beau—I’m heading out now.” She grabbed her handbag and smiled with a confidence she didn’t feel.

Just as she was about to leave, Beau asked, “Back to work for the afternoon?”

“Oh no. They let me go today for showing too much initiative, so I was just having a commiseration drink with myself before going home.” The moment the words left her mouth, she could have kicked herself. Brilliant. Now he knows I’m a crap employee, she thought.

“Oh well, their loss,” he said, taking a sip of his whiskey and looking at her intensely. “Anyway”—he finished his drink—“I’ll see you at eight-thirty a.m. sharp on Monday. It was nice to see you, Ria.”

“Erm, you too—oh wait…” Ria frowned. “Why will I see you on Monday?”

“To start your new job, of course!” he said, smirking before walking out of the bar.