Into You Series: The Complete Collection

2. Nia

CHAPTER 2

NIA

Nine years ago

N ew girl.

That’s what the IT team has resorted to calling me during my first month at Treasuries Inc. The problem with a startup-style company, and with me being their first human resources employee, is that they have yet to understand my role and what will result in a lawsuit—which is exactly why, on top of hiring me, they are also recruiting for an in-house lawyer.

The owner has interviewed about a million candidates. All have been either perfect for the company culture but unqualified or, alternatively, completely qualified yet a “corporate stiff,” as most of the team would put it. I’ve insisted on sitting in on the interviews as a second opinion, but, once again, when it’s your first time with an HR professional on staff, it’s hard to relinquish control and actually listen to HR’s opinion—even if that was the point of hiring said professional in the first place.

Instead, I’m tasked with being the “face” of the organization. I greet the candidate and escort them back to the conference room reserved for the interview. I had to force my way even into this position, but at least it’s a baby step toward something bigger—toward the career I enjoy.

It’s almost nine o’clock and I’m minutes away from welcoming this morning’s interviewee. I haven’t had my coffee yet and walking is a struggle. I can see how those people in Wall-E ended up where they’re at. I bet it was the lack of coffee beans. Even so, all of my coffee lust is halted, put in a grinder, and slow dripped down into my stomach when I see the candidate at the door.

He’s well over six feet tall, gorgeous, and wearing a suit that probably cost an arm and a leg to tailor as perfectly as it has been. He looks like a model, and I wonder if maybe that’s exactly what he does for a living and he just stumbled into the wrong building.

“Ian Chambers?” I ask, looking down at his resume in my hands. He turns to me and ice blue eyes stare back into mine. Paired with his black hair, he could be a human husky. Bow wow.

“Hello,” he says, holding out his hand and flashing straight, white teeth. We shake and he gives a firm grip. I almost swoon—or maybe I actually do. All I know is I try to give him a solid handshake as well. He doesn’t need to know I’m slowly melting in his presence.

“Hi, I’m Nia Smith. It’s nice to meet you.” Understatement. “We’ll be interviewing you in the back, so you can just follow me.” Once I’m turned in the opposite direction, my jaw drops discreetly into a silent “Oh my god” because, seriously, coffee couldn’t have woken me up as much as this man just did.

Back to professionalism, Nia. “So, how was your drive?” I ask, turning back around to make eye contact once more. Big mistake. Those blues are like daggers into my brain.

“Good,” he says. “I’m a bit far away, but thankfully I drive like I’m in the Daytona 500.” He laughs. His tone is deep but still boyish and jovial, like there’s some inside joke only he’s in on.

“It’s easy now, but just watch when school starts back in,” I say conversationally. I’ve never been good at small talk, and when I turn to see his eyebrow lifted, I realize I am not rising to the occasion this time either.

We get to the conference room and the company owner isn’t here yet. I pull out my phone and check my emails. There’s a one-liner stating he’ll be a bit late.

Not a problem—I’ll just interview him myself! It couldn’t be more perfect. This is how the company learns that HR is an important resource anyway, by us just doing . I belong in this conference room, and I will claim my spot here if need be.

“Looks like your interviewer is caught in a meeting, but he’ll be out soon,” I say, pocketing my phone into my slacks. “Make yourself comfortable. Do you need any coffee or…?”

“No thanks,” he says, flashing another daring, cocky smile. Does he know he could lead the world with that smile, know armies might follow him? At least armies of women?

“Alright, perfect,” I say. “Well, we can go ahead and get started if you want to take a seat over there.”

I wave my hand over to show him across the table. When he passes me, his scent wafts by and its unmistakably man . I’m fairly sure if Brad Pitt and Ryan Reynolds were together in one room, this would be the smell in the air.

“So, tell me about yourself,” I start, sitting across from him.

“Well, I’m Ian. Born and raised in Atlanta. Studied law, passed the bar, and now I’m ready for the next adventure.”

“Short but sweet,” I say, grinning back at him. “And what got you interested in law?”

“Once I figured out that any game worth playing can be cheated at or outsmarted, I knew law was for me.”

Wait—what?

I clear my throat. “Excuse me?”

“I think any good lawyer should like to win. Isn’t that point?”

I try to conceal my shock, but I still let out a mix between a scoff and a laugh. He’s bold. He takes what he wants. I can’t tell if the room’s thermostat is high or if he’s making me too hot.

“And how long did you study law?”

“Four years. Then I took two off, which I do feel I need to address. There was no bad work history or anything.” For the first time, his posture slackens, he averts his eyes, and his grin gets bigger as if compensating for the awkward nature of this conversation.

It’s cute. Maybe even adorable. Who is this guy?

“Personal issues,” he says. “You know how life is. But, that’s not common for me.”

There’s an awkward silence for a moment, and I’m struggling to fill it. Admittedly, that isn’t my strong point. I want to ask more, but there’s a line in interviewing that, if crossed, could potentially carry this conversation into illegal territory. I can’t ask things like What happened? , Are you okay? , or even Are you in a relationship? Definitely inappropriate.

“So, do you have any pointers to give me before my interview?” he asks after a moment. I shake my head before realizing I may have been ogling him. I hope I wasn’t. He leans back in his chair, slinging one arm over the rolling chair next to him, causing it to shift. He jerks his arm away and gives me a sheepish smile. How is it that I’ve known this man for less than ten minutes and he’s already ridiculously entrancing?

“Maybe tone down the sarcasm,” I say, giving a side smile and raising an eyebrow in a challenge. It comes off more seductive than I intended. Shit.

His eyebrows shoot up at my answer, as if surprised. He should be. I don’t do this. I don’t entertain taboo work relationships—especially with someone who doesn’t even work here yet. He slowly nods and then his short-lived expression of surprise slowly gives way to yet another smirk.

“Noted.”

Good god.

The door swings open and the man I know as Treasuries Inc.’s sole owner waltzes in with his usual swagger, the kind that can only come from someone who sports a backward baseball cap and Pollos Hermanos tee to work.

“Ian!” he bellows, stretching out an arm.

Ian stands and shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

I’ve seen this same exchange with every candidate so far, but Ian’s interaction is much more natural. His hand swings wide and shakes with a noticeably strong grip. I’m willing to bet he didn’t need our warm welcome. He’s provided his own.

“It was nice to meet you,” I say, grasping his resume and making my way to the door.

“Hopefully I see you around,” he calls to me.

I both want and very much do not need that burden in my life.

When I get back to my desk, I file his resume for record-keeping purposes. Maybe I’ll look at the phone number on it? No. Unprofessional. I’ll chalk up the whole experience to a one-and-done, at least I got to see some eye candy today type of deal.

Imagine my surprise when, that afternoon, I receive an email with specifications for an offer letter to be sent out ASAP to a Mr. Ian Chambers.

Fantastic.