But you can’t let Maxwell Cole do this, Lily. I’d worked my ass off to have the right experience for a job like this. Okay, yes, I had other options besides C.C.—I wasn’t stupid or naïve enough to put all my eggs in one basket—but those other companies weren’t Cole Cosmetics. They weren’t companies I related to and believed in. Those other companies didn’t tell the world you were beautiful for who you were on the inside and to buy their products simply because you enjoyed pampering yourself. Cole Cosmetics didn’t believe in making women feel ugly to sell makeup. And that’s exactly what inspired me to work in this industry. We all deserved to feel beautiful and have nice things regardless of what others thought about our looks.
Only that prick has been lying to the world.
I grabbed my résumé from the table and stormed after Mr. Cole, quickly spotting him disappearing into a room in the opposite corner. Probably his private office.
So what? Let them drag me out. First, he was going to hear what I had to say.
When I stormed through the doorway, Maxwell Cole already sat at his fancy-shmancy, black-cherry desk, talking on the phone in all his handsome asshole glory, looking perfectly unruffled, acting like that hadn’t just happened.
His eyes locked on mine, and he seemed unfazed as I approached his glorious fucking desk, where a glorious fucking built-in display case behind him exhibited his multitude of shiny plaques and awards like a shrine to himself. A giant whiteboard on the wall to his side had the words “I’m a Take What’s Mine Kind of Woman” written on it, and the floor-to-ceiling glass on the other side of the room gave him an amazing view of the city. One he probably didn’t appreciate.
Oh. I’m takin’ what’s mine, buddy. And I was after my pride.
“You’re a f-fucking asshole.” I threw my résumé in front of him, my hands shaking half with fear, half with anger, and half with adrenaline. That’s right. Three halves! I’m a dangerous woman!
His hazel eyes shot up at me with extreme irritation. “I’ll call you right back, Chuck.” He hung up the phone, not taking his eyes away.
“You didn’t even read my résumé,” I spat, my heart pounding. I couldn’t believe I was doing this, yet I couldn’t help myself. Maxwell Cole suddenly represented every person who’d ever done me wrong, and I was tired of taking that stupid high road. I was tired of shrugging it off. I deserved a fair fucking shake, goddammit!
“I read your résumé,” he said with a deep smug voice, lacing his fingers together over his stomach and leaning back in his shitty, black-leather exec chair like the huge dick that he was. “You’re not a fit. Now get the hell out of my office.”
“No. You didn’t,” I argued, “because if you had, you’d see that I have an MBA from Stanford, just like you, and I have two years of sales experience, which includes one year at B&H Cosmetics. You’d also note that I graduated top of my class, and that I have a letter of recommendation from Mark Douglas, who I believe is not only CEO of Wow-Wow Clothing and my college mentor, but a personal friend of yours, which is how I learned about the job. Not that I’d expect favoritism, but you know the man; he doesn’t lie, and his standards are ridiculously high. So when he says I’m a good person and extremely capable, he fucking means it.”
“You. Are not. Qualified,” Maxwell Cole growled, his beautiful horrible face a blistering shade of red.
“The job only requires a bachelor’s and one year of sales experience. So please explain where I’m lacking.” I folded my arms across my chest.
Mr. Cole stood from his desk, scowling, and forcing me to look up, up, up. Even in my three-inch heels, I suddenly felt tiny, like he was a huge dragon preparing to unleash his fiery breath and smoke my ass until I was nothing but a pile of ashes.
“What you lack, Miss Snow, can’t be captured on a piece of paper.”
Just then Keri, his assistant, entered with an armful of files.
Guess she forgot about my water.
“Oh. Mr. Cole. Uhh…” Her eyes darted between her prick of a boss and me. “Is everything okay?”
“Get the hell out of my office and shut the door behind you,” he said.
I thought he’d directed the comment toward me, but when I glanced back at him to say that I wouldn’t leave until I got an answer—the real answer—I realized he’d spoken to Keri.
She tiptoed backwards out of the room and shut the door.
“You want an answer, Miss Snow?” Mr. Cole snarled with those beautiful sexy lips he didn’t deserve. “I’ll give you an answer. My salespeople need to step into a room and deliver an image that makes the customer want to buy our products. Not make them search for the nearest hill.”
That had been a polite way of saying I wasn’t good-looking enough, but the rage inside me wanted to hear him say the blunt, fugly truth to my face. I deserved to hear it. I wanted him to admit what a disgusting excuse of a human being he really was.
“Just say it,” I fumed. “I’m fucking ugly, and you’re a fake superficial asshole.”
He stared coldly, and there was this moment where my body felt like it was falling through the air without a parachute, just him and me surrounded by nothing, seeing each other for who we were: Him a complete bastard—only beautiful on the outside—and me, the exact opposite.
“Yes,” he replied, snapping me out of a surreally vivid moment.
I took a deep breath and felt this strange knot in my chest. Despite already knowing the truth, hearing the words come from his gorgeous mouth cut me deep. Right down to the bone. And for the first time ever, I felt ugly. Truly ugly and unworthy of anything good in this world.
I pressed my lips together and stared down at my black heels. My heartbeat galloped at a million miles an hour, and my brain spun with a thousand ugly thoughts. I’d walked into a dream that ended up my worst nightmare.
When I looked up at his face, that strikingly handsome fucking face with the strong jaw and perfect goddamned chin, I wanted to rip it from his skull. I hated that this man wasn’t who I thought. I hated myself for being so naïve and believing I could get anyone in the world to see past my looks.
And then the thought occurred to me; maybe the world had been politely lying to my face and this asshole was the only person who’d ever been honest. Maybe no one had ever really seen me, the real me, except for my family.
Had I been living a lie? Just like good ol’ Mr. Cole here?
Fuck. I hated myself for even entertaining the thought, for allowing him to undermine who I was.
I lifted my chin and stared into his cold, beautiful hazel eyes, only they weren’t so cold anymore. They were tormented.
I can’t imagine why, you dick. Maybe because you’re a mess of a human being, and you’ve just admitted it. Ironically, he’d admitted it to a stranger he considered unworthy of sharing the glorious air he breathed.
“Well, Mr. Cole, at least my problem can be fixed with scalpels. But you’ll always be an asshole. A fake, unlovable, shallow prick. Good luck with that.”
I turned to leave.
“So why haven’t you?” he asked sharply.
“Excuse me?” Halfway to the door, I turned to face him again. “Why haven’t I what?”
The condescending look in his eyes knocked me down a peg. “Fixed your problem. If it’s so damned easy, why haven’t you done it?”
How fucking dare he. “Because there’s nothing wrong with me. But you should know that since you’ve made billions telling women that ‘beauty is soul deep.’” It was a slogan they’d used for years.
He crossed his arms over his broad chest, flashing his shiny silver cufflinks. “Don’t tell me you don’t know the difference between marketing and reality.”
“Yes, I do. And the reality is you’re a fake.”
He nodded with a chilling gaze. “Takes one to know one, Miss Snow. Now if you’ll excuse me, real life is calling and there’s no room for self-righteous, delusional little girls. Big boys only.”
Motherfucker.
&nb
sp; I straightened my spine, pasted on a smile, and gave him a cordial nod. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Cole.” Because now I won’t feel any guilt when I start my own company and take you down.
Someday.
I turned and left his office, hearing him telling me to wait. Wait for what? More insults? I left without looking back.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MIMI JEAN PAMFILOFF is a USA Today and New York Times bestselling romance author. Although she obtained her MBA and worked for more than fifteen years in the corporate world, she believes that it’s never too late to come out of the romance closet and follow your dream. Mimi lives with her Latin lover hubby, two pirates-in-training (their boys), and the rat terrier duo, Snowflake and Mini Me, in Arizona. She hopes to make you laugh when you need it most and continues to pray daily that leather pants will make a big comeback for men.
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