Love Always Find a Way

Yarra 's pov :

"Mom , I'm late for work " I yelled

You have to listen to me. I want you to be happy and I get that you don't want to have a boyfriend because you focus on your career" I cut her off

"Mom ...mom I'm late we will talk about this later ok ." 😤 it's not the first time she do this to me .

And I get the hell out of there

☆☆☆☆

It's a quarter to two when I arrive, greatly relieved that I'm not late as I walk into the enormous-and frankly intimidating-glass, steel, and white sandstone lobby.

Behind the solidsandstone desk, a very attractive, groomed, blonde young woman smiles pleasantly at me. She's wearing the sharpest charcoal suit jacket and white shirt I have ever seen. She looks immaculate.

"I'm here to see Mr.wallims I'm yara ..yara Jones ."

"Excuse me one moment, Miss Jones ." She arches her eyebrow as I stand self-consciously before her. I'm beginning to wish I'd borrowed one of Clara s formal blazers rather than worn my navy-blue jacket. I have made an effort and worn my one and only skirt, my sensible brown knee-length boots, and a black sweater. For me, this is smart. I tuck one of the escaped tendrils of my hair behind my ear as I pretend she doesn't intimidate me.

"Miss Please sign in here, Miss yara . You'll want the last elevator on the right, press for the twentieth floor." She smiles kindly at me,amused no doubt, as I sign in.

She hands me a security pass that has "visitor" very firmly stamped on the front. I can't help my smirk. Surely it's obvious that I'm just visiting. I don't fit in here at all. Nothing changes. I inwardly sigh. Thanking her, I walk over to the bank of elevators

and past the two security men who are both far more smartly dressed than I am in their well-cut black suits.

The elevator whisks me at terminal velocity to the twentieth floor. The doors slide open, and I'm in another large lobby-again all glass, steel, and white sandstone. I'm confronted by anotherdesk of sandstone and another young blonde woman, this time dressed impeccably in black and white, who rises to greet me.

"Miss Jones , could you wait here, please?" She points to a seated area of white leather chairs.

Behind the leather chairs is a spacious glass-walled meetingroom with an equally spacious dark wood table and at least twenty matching chairs around it. Beyond that, there is a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the new York skyline that looks out through the city toward the Sound. It's a stunning vista, and I'm momentarily paralyzed by the view. Wow.I sit down. I know nothing about this man I'm about to be interview. He could be ninety or he could be thirty. The uncertainty is galling, and my nerves resurface,

making me fidget. I've never been comfortable with one-on-one interviews, preferring the anonymity of a group discussion where I can sit inconspicuously at the back of the room. To be honest, I prefer my own company, reading a classic British novel, curled up in a chair in the campus library. Not sitting twitching nervously in a colossal glass-and-stone edifice.

I roll my eyes at myself. Get a grip, Jones . Judging from the building, which is too clinical and modern, I guess Williams in his forties: fit, tanned, and fair-haired to match the rest of the personnel.

Another elegant, flawlessly dressed blonde

comes out of a large door to the right. What is it with all the immaculate blondes? It's like Stepford here. Taking a deep breath, I stand up.

"yara ?" the latest blonde asks.

"Yes," I croak, and clear my throat. "Yes." There, that sounded more confident.

"Mr. Williams will see you in a moment. May I take your jacket?"

"Oh, please." I struggle out of the jacket.

"Have you been offered any refreshment?"

"Um-no." Oh dear, is Blonde Number One in trouble?

Blonde Number Two frowns and eyes the young woman at the desk.

"Would you like tea, coffee, water?" she asks, turning her attention back to me.

"A glass of water. Thank you," I murmur.

"Olivia, please fetch miss yara a glass of water." Her voice is stern. Olivia scoots up and scurries to a door on the other side of the foyer.

"My apologies, Miss , Olivia is our new intern. Please be seated. Mr. Williams will be another five minutes."

Olivia returns with a glass of iced water.

"Here you go."

"Thank you."

Blonde Number Two marches over to the large

desk, her heels clicking and echoing on the sandstone floor. She sits down, and they both continue their work.

Perhaps Mr. Williams insists on all his employees being blonde. I'm wondering idly if that's legal, when the office door opens and a tall, elegantly dressed, attractive African

American man with short dreads exits. I have definitely worn the wrong clothes.

He turns and says through the door, "Golf this week, zany ?"

I don't hear the reply. He turns, sees me, and smiles, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. Olivia has jumped up and called the elevator. Sheseems to excel at jumping from her seat. She's more nervous than me!

"Good afternoon, ladies," he says as he departs through the sliding door.

"he will see you now, Miss Jones . Do go through," Blonde Number Two says. I stand rather shakily,

trying to suppress my nerves. Gathering up my backpack, I abandon my glass of water and make my way to the partially open door.

"You don't need to knock-just go in." She smiles kindly.

Holy cow-he's so young.

"Miss Jones ." He extends a long-fingered hand to me once I'm upright. "I'm zany Williams . "

"Hi I'm yara Jones from new York magazine "

So young-and attractive, very attractive. He's tall, dressed in a fine gray suit, white shirt, and black tie with unruly dark copper-colored hair

and intense, bright blue eyes that regard me shrewdly. It takes a moment for me to find my voice.

If this guy is over thirty, then I'm a monkey's uncle. In a daze, I place my hand in his and we shake. As our fingers touch, I feel an odd exhilarating shiver

"Would you like to sit?" He waves me toward an L-shaped white leather couch.

His office is way too big for just one man. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, there's a modern dark wood desk

that six people could comfortably eat around. It matches the coffee table by the couch. Everything else is white-ceiling, floors, and walls, except for the wall by the door, where a mosaic of small paintings hang, thirty-six of them arranged in a square. They are exquisite-a series ofmundane, forgotten objects painted in such precise detail they look like photographs. Displayed together, they are breathtaking.

"A local artist. Trouton," says Grey when he catches my gaze.

"They're lovely. Raising the ordinary to extraordinary," I

murmur, distracted both by him and the paintings. He cocks his head to one side and regards me intently.

"I couldn't agree more, Miss Jones ," he replies, his voice soft, and for some inexplicable reason I find myself blushing.

Apart from the paintings, the rest of the office is cold, clean, andclinical. I wonder if it reflects the personality of the Adonis who sinks gracefully into one of the white leather chairs opposite me. I shake my head, disturbed at the direction of my thoughts, and retrieve Clara 's questions from my backpack. Next, I set up the digital recorder and am all fingers andthumbs, dropping it twice on the coffee table in front of me. Mr. Williams says nothing, waiting patiently-I hope-as I become increasingly embarrassed and flustered. When I pluck up the courage to look at him, he's watching me, one hand relaxed in his lap and the other cupping his chin and trailing his long index finger across his lips. I think he's trying to suppress a smile.

"S-sorry," I stutter. "I'm not used to this."

God mr Williams your so damn attractive

"Take all the time you need, Miss Jones ," he says.

"Do you mind if I record your answers?"

"After you've taken so much trouble to set up the recorder, you ask me now?"

I flush. He's teasing me? I hope. I blink at him, unsure what to say, and I think he takes pity on me because he relents. "No, I don't mind."

I sit up and square my shoulders in an attempt to look taller and more intimidating. Pressing the start button on the recorder, I try to look taller and more intimidating. Pressing the start button on the recorder, I try to look professional.

"You're very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you

owe your success?" I glance up at him. His smile is rueful, but he looks vaguely disappointed.

"My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail. I work hard, very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good solid idea and good people. The bottom line is it's always down to good people."

"Maybe you're just lucky." This isn't on Clara 's list-but he's so arrogant. His eyes flare momentarily in surprise.

"I don't subscribe to luck or chance, Miss Jones . The harder I work the more luck I seem to have. It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing their energies accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said, 'The growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership.' "

"You sound like a control freak." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

"Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Jones " he says without a trace of humor in his smile. I look at him, and he holds my gaze steadily, impassive. My heartbeat quickens, and my face flushes again.

Why does he have such an unnerving effect on me? His overwhelming good looks maybe? The way his eyes blaze at me? The way he strokes his index finger against his lower lip? I wish he'd stop doing that.

" So do you have any girl in your life right now ?"

"Actually I do have "

"Have you had to sacrifice family life for your work?"

"I have a family. I have a brother and a sister and two loving parents. I'm not interested in extending my family beyond that."

"Are you gay, Mr. Williams ?"

He inhales sharply, and I cringe, mortified. Crap. Why didn't I employ some kind of filter before I read this straight out? How can I tell him I'm just reading the questions?

"No, yara , I'm not." He raises his

eyebrows, a cool gleam in his eyes. He does not look pleased.

"I apologize. It's, um ... written here." It's the first time he's said my name. My heartbeat has accelerated, and my cheeks are heating up again. Nervously, I tuck my loosened hair behind my ear.

He cocks his head to one side.

"These aren't your own questions?"

The blood drains from my head.

"Er ... no. Clara -she compiled the questions."

My face is aflame.

" I .... we work in pairs she writes the question and I make the interviews . Im so sorry, i didn't read them before or else I would never .... i 'm so sorry "

There's a knock at the door, and Blonde Number Two enters.

"Mr. Williams , forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes."

"Ok , thank you .

" if you'll Excuse me .miss Jones , I'm really sorry for that but we can do this again if you want. "

" Yeah that will be great "

My heart is pounding. The elevator arrives on the first floor, and I scramble out as soon as the doors slide open, stumbling once but fortunately not sprawling onto the immaculate sandstone floor. I race for

the wide glass doors, and suddenly I'm free in the bracing, cleansing, damp air of new York . Raising my face, I welcome the cool, refreshing rain. I close my eyes and take a deep, purifying breath, trying to recover what's left of my equilibrium.

No man has ever affected me the way zany has, and Icannot fathom why. Is it his looks? His civility? Wealth? Power? I don't understand my irrational reaction. I breathe an enormous sigh of relief. What in heaven's name was that all about? Leaning against one of the steel pillars of the building, I valiantly attempt to calm down and gather my thoughts.

I shake my head. What was that? My heart steadies to its regular rhythm, and when I can breathe normally again I head for the car.

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