LITMIR.BIZ

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was gargantuan. Two storeys of glass-walled offices circled the outer rim of the floors above, while the ground floor looked as if it had been hit with a paintball explosion. White walls and floors were splattered with brightly coloured beanbags, cubicles, desks, couches, exercise balls, computers, TVs and in between slouched dozens of guys in jeans, T-shirts and baseball caps, laughing, arguing, creating.

      When she found her feet again, Evie followed Montrose along a wall of nooks filled with gaming rooms, VR rigs, darts, pinball machines. One room had rows of bunk beds like a camp dorm.

      “When can I move in?”

      Montrose laughed. While Evie took it all in—every rivet, every light fitting, every gumball machine, in case she never saw its like again.

      Right when Evie felt as if she’d hit sensory overload, Montrose led her up a set of stairs to a huge but relatively subdued office on the second floor, tinted windows looking over the Bullpen below. When he shut the door, everything went quiet.

      Evie breathed out in relief when the first woman she’d seen in the place popped her head into Montrose’s office and said, “I’m grabbing a coffee. Can I get you guys anything?”

      Evie shook her head, frantically gentling her mind. “No, thanks, I’m fine.”

      “Nothing for me. Thanks, Imogen,” said Montrose, and the woman walked back out the door, leaving them alone.

      Montrose motioned to a leather tub chair. Evie slid her backpack to the floor and sat.

      Montrose sat on the edge of his desk—very much in the power position—crossed his feet at the ankles and began. “Tell me, Evie, why did you leave your last job?”

      Evie opened her mouth to give the sensible answer Zoe had forced her to rehearse. Something along the lines of, After several years of loyal service, I felt I’d achieved all I could and needed a new challenge.

      But she’d always been sensible. Taken small, considered steps. Choosing work she could do with her eyes closed, saving her pennies by sleeping on Zoe’s futon. And it had all come crashing down around her ears anyway.

      Because luck was out of her hands. Just ask the fortune cookie.

      Hang on a second. If losing her last job ticked off the career part of her fortune’s portent of “bad luck”, this opportunity was uncontaminated. Clean. A fresh start.

      And if she truly wanted to make an impression on the likes of Jonathon Montrose, playing it safe wasn’t going to work this time.

      Forgoing baby steps for a blind leap off a tall cliff, she looked her idol in the eye and jumped.

      “You already know why I left, Mr Montrose.”

      The edge of his mouth twerked. She hoped it was a good sign.

      He said, “Indulge me.”

      Okay then. “I worked for Binary Logistics until my ex-boss’s son, Eric—who also happens to be my ex-boyfriend—embezzled from the company. That company is now under investigation by every federal agency there is and, considering my position, my access level, my connection to the guilty party, I was a suspect for co-conspiracy. Thankfully they caught Eric at the airport and he confessed to everything, their forensic decoders followed his trail with ease and I was cleared. But mud like that sticks. Which means you are the only person who has taken my call, much less asked me in for an interview.”

      She would love to have made it to the end without swallowing but if she didn’t wet her dry throat she’d probably pass out.

      “And why do you think I would do that?” he asked.

      “You’re a risk-taker, Mr Montrose. You actually like that I am marginalised. Perhaps I wouldn’t have piqued your interest otherwise. You like that it has made me hungry and desperate, because I’ll push to prove myself. Qualities you value within yourself.”

      A muscle flickered at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe. Or maybe I appreciated the gumption it took to even try to get an interview with me, knowing what I know.”

      Evie’s laugh was a little shaky. “Every bit of gumption I have.”

      From there the interview took a turn into the normal, with Montrose asking about her family—her beloved granddad who’d moved into a retirement village, leaving his farming days behind him—and hobbies—gaming, knitting, hanging with Zoe.

      And suddenly it was all over.

      Montrose stood and so did she. Grabbing her backpack. And popping her beanie back on her head.

      He blinked at the rainbow pom-pom but to his credit said nothing about it. Though he did say, “You are clearly a very bright young woman, Evie. Someone whose name has appeared on my radar more than once. I’ve heard men with far greater experience gasp over the work you’ve done, without knowing whose it was.”

      Evie held her breath.

      “Unfortunately, though, I don’t have anything for you at this time. I’d suggest you see this career break as an opportunity to look up and out. Read a book, travel, get your hands dirty. In the meantime, we will certainly keep you in mind for future work.”

       What? Wait. No. No!

      Evie opened her mouth to state her case. To ask to be given a chance. To drop to her knees and beg if that was what it took. Because, having taken the leap, she could feel the wind in her hair and she wanted more.

      But Jonathon was already distracted, and old habits were hard to break. Evie stood, put her beanie back on, grabbed her backpack and—

      White noise from downstairs burst into the room as the office door was opened and a voice said, “Do you have a second? I need you to look at...”

      The voice came to an abrupt halt.

      But it was too late. The accent, the gravel in the tone, the huge amount of air that had been displaced—Evie knew who she’d find when she spun on her heel.

      A small noise left her throat as she found herself staring down Hot Stuff in the Swanky Suit. He filled the doorway, the light from below tracing his broad shoulders, his wide stance, his mussed hair.

      But gone was the bare hint of that smile he’d given as she’d babbled on about poetry and wooing. The one that had scrambled her brain, making it impossible for her to work out what was real and what wasn’t.

      Instead his entire body was taut as he glared as if he’d found her in his kitchen boiling his bunny.

      “You,” Hot Stuff accused, his voice deep and rumbling.

      Feeling like a squished bug under the microscope of a stranger’s unflattering glare, Evie was finally overcome by the dire reality of her situation and something snapped. “Oh, my God, did you follow me here?”

      “I believe that is a question I should be asking.”

      “Pfft. Why would I follow you?”

      The self-assurance in his gaze made her knees go a little weak. And fine, he had a point. But still!

      “Excuse me,” said Evie. “I made it perfectly clear I’m not interested in your...” She flapped a hand at him, taking in his tousled hair, his arresting face, his slick suit, before blurting, “Your poetry.”

      Perhaps “perfectly clear” was pushing it, but it had been her intention, which had to count for something.

      Yet the man glowered at her, Why me? written all over his face.

      Seeing him with Montrose’s book might have given her the idea to apply for a job with Game Plan. And, come to think of it, had she seen him reading a file with the Game Plan logo on the front? Either way, it didn’t seem like admitting it would help her cause in that moment, so she kept her mouth shut.

      She saw something move out of the corner of her eye, and was reminded that they weren’t alone. She slowly turned

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