Jeremy sat behind a desk, with a heavily pregnant woman sitting beside it. Alice barely noticed the woman. All she saw was him. A man with cropped dark brown hair, hazel/green eyes, a jawline you could cut bread with, and lips that looked capable of doing incredibly wicked, sexual things to a woman. Or a man. Alice had no idea what his sexuality was, but she found herself hoping he liked women.

She chastised herself. Even if he did like women, he wouldn’t go for someone like her. A Plain Jane, with mousy brown shoulder-length hair, blue eyes, average height and above average weight. Alice had always known she’d never be a supermodel, so she’d worked extra hard academically, and here she was. About to be interviewed for her dream job.

The sinful lips she’d been so admiring twisted into a grin, and Davenport stood and made his way around the desk with his hand held out. She pushed her inappropriate thoughts to the back of her mind and made herself focus on the present, and the two people in the room that she had to try her best to impress. Her smile was still in place, and it widened as she took the hand that was offered to her, and shook it.

“Jeremy Davenport,” he said, the posh accent even more obvious now. He indicated the pregnant woman, and said, “This is Erin Clarke, our property manager, who’s due to go on maternity leave very soon.” He let out a small laugh. “But I guess you’ve already worked that one out for yourself.”

“Alice Brown. Thank you so much for seeing me.” She nodded politely, then moved over to the woman, who was awkwardly attempting to manoeuvre herself out of her chair. “No, no, don’t get up,” Alice said, holding out her hand. The other woman sank back down with a sigh of relief, and gave Alice a wry grin.

“Sorry, I’m not so light on my feet as I once was.” She took Alice’s hand and shook it, then dropped her hand to her swollen belly. “It’s lovely to meet you, Alice.”

“Likewise.”

Davenport indicated the chair that had been placed in front of the desk. “Please, sit. Would you like something to drink? Tea, coffee, hot chocolate, juice, water?”

She thought how strange it was to be offered such a variety of beverages. Usually it was tea or coffee, and that was pretty much it. It pissed Alice off no end because she didn’t like either of them, and she usually felt like a nuisance for asking for something else. She decided to make the most of it.

“Um, juice would be great, thanks.” She crossed her fingers it wasn’t grapefruit. Anything but bloody grapefruit. Horrible stuff.

Alice took a deep breath, in through her nose, and out through her mouth. Repeated the process once more. Then, realising she could sit there all day doing it and not feel any calmer, she forced herself to step out of the car and close and lock the door.

She bent to peer into the wing mirror of the vehicle and checked her hair and make-up. Satisfied, she straightened, then turned on her heel and walked quickly across the driveway to the great house before her nerve failed her.

Davenport Manor was currently open for visitors, so she walked in through the front door and was met by a smiling elderly lady.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked kindly.

“Yes, please.” Alice twisted her hands together nervously. “I’m here to see Mr Davenport. I’m here for an interview for the property manager’s role.”

“Yes, of course,” the woman replied, “that’s today, isn’t it? Follow me; I’ll take you to Mr Davenport’s office. But just hang on one second.”

She ducked through the doorway into the next room and spoke with her colleague. Alice guessed she was letting her co-worker know she’d be gone for a few minutes. A few seconds later, she was back. “Okay, follow me, Miss…”

“Brown,” Alice said, then fell in behind the other woman as she led her to Mr Davenport’s office, and the interview that could change her life forever. It was hardly surprising that she was shaking like a leaf.

Alice quickly became disorientated as their journey took several twists and turns along dim corridors—their blinds drawn to protect paintings, tapestries, and furniture from the sunlight—and up a flight of stairs. She had a few seconds to worry about finding her way if she was lucky enough to get the job, then her guide stopped outside a door and turned around.

“Here you go, Miss Brown. Mr Davenport’s office. Good luck with your interview.”

Alice smiled and thanked the elderly woman, then smoothed down her skirt, which also conveniently wiped the nervous sweat off her hands. She stood up straight, gave herself a mental pep talk about being more than qualified for the role, and knocked on the door.

“Enter.”

Alice knew that voice could only belong to Jeremy Davenport. The posh accent, and the fact he’d said “enter” instead of “come in”, screamed money and an upper-class upbringing. Alice was suddenly desperately aware of her broad Midlands accent and lowly background, despite the fact she’d worked her backside off to get into a decent university in order to gain a Bachelor of Arts degree and then a Master’s degree. No matter what she sounded like, or what her past was, she had all the skills necessary to do the job she was about to be interviewed for.

She realised she’d left rather a long pause before opening the door, and turned the handle before the occupants of the room thought they were about to interview some kind of simpleton who couldn’t follow a simple instruction.

Fixing a polite—but hopefully not inane—smile onto her face, Alice stepped into Jeremy Davenport’s office. Her first thought—which certainly did nothing to help her nerves—was good God, he’s hot.