Stepbrother Billionaire(36)

“So, tell them that!” Riley insists, giving me a quick hug and a pat on the ass. “Go get ‘em tiger.”

I take a deep breath and march out of our Upper West Side apartment.

It’s been a few months since I finished my masters program in graphic design. I’ve been able to freelance for a few different companies, and have built up my portfolio by doing so. I never pictured myself having such a tech-based job, always sort of assumed I’d stick with visual art exclusively. But graphic design lets me be just as creative as drawing does, and employ my mind in other ways, too. If I get this job as Bastian, I’ll be designing and helping come up with marketing strategies for different companies and brands. It would be something new every day, the perfect, totally consuming job. Just what I’m looking for.

Don’t get me wrong, I have other interests and hobbies, outside of work. I’m an avid runner, adore going out to restaurants, read like a maniac, and try and volunteer around the city. I just loathe downtime more than anything in the world. Downtime means thinking time, reminiscing time, and I want as little of that in my life as possible. Without fail, my thoughts always turn to the past if they’re not rooted in the present. And that’s never a pleasant experience for me.

I take the subway down to the Lower East Side, a neighborhood chock full of galleries, cool shops, and excellent cafes—not the mention some kickass bars. The Bastian offices are housed in a building that used to be a factory, once upon a time. These days, it has the industrial feel that’s so popular in the city while simultaneously being super high tech. The best of both worlds. I stop before the front door the office, taking a moment to check my reflection in the glass. Riley was right to suggest this top—it brings out the green in my hazel eyes nicely.

As I ring the buzzer, a strange feeling passes through me. It’s almost like deja vu, the feeling that this moment is significant, somehow. Clandestine. Maybe I’m just anticipating the interview going well? Whatever the case, there’s no more time to ponder. The door opens before me, and I step quickly into an old fashioned elevator.

The elevator doors part before me, and I step out into the high-ceilinged office space. A large communal desk stands at the center of the room, surrounded by a dozen hip twenty-somethings. The walls are covered in white board, so that people can jot down ideas whenever and wherever they occur. My jaw falls open a little as I see a fully stocked bar standing in one corner of the main room. The people running this place weren’t kidding when they described it as “off beat”.

I like it.

I’m supposed to be meeting with the founding partner and CEO of the agency, Owen Cooper. But glancing around the spacious room, I don’t see a reception desk anywhere. Silly me. As if a place this cool would ever have something as square as a front desk.

“Are you Abby?” asks one of the people at the communal desk, plucking out an earbud as the rest of the group types on.

“Yeah, that’s me,” I smile, hoping my nervousness doesn’t show.

“Cooper is waiting for you in his office,” she says, nodding toward a glass door off the main room. Calling the boss by his last name, huh? How unconventional. Another check in the plus column for this place.

I thank her and make my way toward the door. Before I can raise my hand to rap against the frosted glass pane, it swings open before me. Standing there is a man I recognize from the Bastian website as Owen Cooper himself. He’s super young for a CEO, in his late 30’s or so. He’s dressed in jeans, a sweater, and a friendly smile.

“Abby!” he says, as if we were old friends. I guess being able to check out interviewees’ social media profiles makes everyone fast friends these days. “Come on in. Coffee?”

“Sure,” I reply, “It’s nice to meet you Mr.—”

“Just ‘Cooper’ is fine,” he cuts me off, pulling a shot from a fancy espresso machine sitting on a table against the wall. “So, thanks for coming in. Even if this is a bit of a formality.”

“What’s that?” I ask, happily accepting the rich cup of espresso.

“Your portfolio is excellent,” he tells me, sitting down at his desk. “Top notch. I knew I wanted to hire you from the second I saw your work. Sorry...did I forget to mention that in my last email to you?”

“That you did,” I say, sinking into a chair opposite him in mild disbelief. “Are you saying...I already have the job?”

“You do if you want it!” he smiles, “You’ll have to forgive my absent-mindedness. My brain is always hurrying onto the next task, so I sometimes skip over what’s right in front of me. Anyhow, yes! The job is yours for the taking.”

“Well, I absolutely want to take it,” I grin, “Thanks Mr...Er, Cooper.”

“Yeah!” he says, clinking his coffee cup to mine. “And you’re in luck, too. One of our managing editors from the European office is going to be lending me a hand here in New York for a while. He’s much less of a scatterbrain than I am, so he’s going to be the one showing you the ropes. I can’t remember if I told him that...”

“That sounds great,” I reply, sipping the fine espresso as I try to play it cool. I can’t believe I stressed out all week for an interview that was actually a job offer! I guess with the fast-paced aspect of the tech world, hiring practices are a little quicker at places like this.