She Was Stranded During Snowstorm, Not Knowing Her Rescuer Was a Millionaire Who’d Love Her Always
The Stormy Encounter and the High-Stakes Interview
The rain came without warning, transforming Manhattan’s busy streets into a treacherous labyrinth of puddles and slick pavement. Violet Evans clutched her portfolio closer to her chest, cursing herself for trusting the morning forecast that had promised clear skies.
Her interview clothes, a carefully selected blouse and pencil skirt she’d saved three paychecks to afford, were quickly becoming soaked as the downpour intensified.
“Just perfect,” she muttered, scanning the street for shelter.
The interview at Meridian Publishing was in 20 minutes, and she’d spent weeks preparing for this opportunity to finally break into editorial work. Now she’d arrive looking like a drowned rat. The wind picked up, turning her umbrella inside out with a violent snap.
Violet let out a frustrated cry as the useless contraption was nearly wrenched from her grasp.
“Here,” a deep voice called from behind her.
Violet turned to see a tall man in an impeccably tailored suit, holding an enormous black umbrella over her head. His eyes, a startling shade of blue, locked with hers for a moment as raindrops pelted his broad shoulders.
“You’re getting soaked,” he said, stepping closer to shield her completely.
“So are you,” Violet replied, noticing how the rain had already darkened the shoulders of his expensive-looking jacket.
“I’ll survive. You look like you’re headed somewhere important.” He nodded at her portfolio.
“Job interview,” she explained, attempting to smooth her dampened hair.
“20 minutes from now. Where?”
“Meridian Publishing on 54th.”
A hint of recognition flashed across his face. “That’s where I’m going. My car’s just down the block. Let me give you a ride.”
Violet hesitated; getting into cars with strangers wasn’t exactly safe behavior, even if they were well-dressed strangers with kind eyes.
“I’m Yates Mitchell,” he offered, seeming to sense her uncertainty. “And I promise I’m not an axe murderer, just someone who knows what it’s like to have an important meeting ruined by bad weather.”
There was something disarmingly sincere about his smile that made Violet relax slightly. Plus, the rain was coming down even harder now, and she was desperate.
“Violet Evans,” she replied. “And if you do turn out to be an axe murderer, I’ll be very disappointed.”
He laughed, a warm sound that somehow cut through the noise of the storm. “Fair enough. My car’s this way.”
They walked together under his umbrella, navigating the puddled sidewalk as thunder rumbled overhead. His car turned out to be a sleek black Bentley with a driver who jumped out immediately to open the doors for them.
“Miss Evans needs to get to Meridian Publishing,” Yates told the driver as they settled into the plush leather seats, “as quickly as possible, Frank.”
“Right away, sir.”
Violet tried not to gawk at the luxury surrounding her. The interior of the car probably cost more than her annual salary at the coffee shop where she currently worked.
“Thank you for this,” she said, carefully placing her portfolio on her lap. “You really saved me back there.”
“Happy to help,” Yates replied, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket and offering it to her. “For your face,” he explained.
Violet accepted it gratefully, dabbing at her rain-streaked cheeks.
“So you have a meeting at Meridian too?”
“Something like that,” he said with a slight smile.
The car moved smoothly through the rain-slick streets, the storm growing more intense around them. Lightning flashed, illuminating Yates’s profile for a brief moment. He was handsome in a distinguished way, probably in his early 30s with dark hair.
The hair curled slightly at his temples, and a strong jaw complemented his tailored appearance.
“What position are you interviewing for?” he asked, interrupting her assessment.
“Junior editor. I’ve been trying to break into publishing for years.”
“What stopped you?”
Violet gave a small laugh. “Life. Money. The fact that entry-level publishing jobs pay next to nothing and I’ve had bills to pay since I was 19.”
Yates studied her with interest. “What made you choose publishing?”
“Books were my escape growing up,” she explained, warming to the subject. “My mom worked two jobs so I spent a lot of time alone with stories. I’ve always wanted to help create that experience for others.”
She paused, suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry, that probably sounds ridiculous.”
“Not at all,” he replied. “Passion is never ridiculous.”
There was something in his tone that made Violet look at him more closely. Unlike most people who asked about her career aspirations, he seemed genuinely interested in her answer.
The car pulled up in front of an imposing glass building, and Frank appeared with the umbrella again.
“Good luck with your interview,” Yates said as they entered the lobby together.
“Thank you again for the rescue,” Violet replied, extending her hand. “It was nice meeting you, Yates.”
His hand was warm and firm around hers. “The pleasure was mine, Violet.”
She watched as he walked confidently toward the executive elevators, wondering what kind of business someone like him had at a publishing house. But she had no time to speculate; she had 15 minutes.
She needed to find a bathroom and make herself presentable before her interview. The bathroom mirror confirmed her fears: her carefully applied makeup had smudged and her hair hung in damp strands around her face.
Violet did what she could with paper towels and the emergency makeup kit in her purse. Then, she took a deep breath and headed to the HR office on the 12th floor.
The receptionist greeted her with a professional smile. “Miss Evans, Mr. Peterson is running a bit behind. Would you mind waiting for about 20 minutes?”
Violet nodded, relief and nervousness mingling in her stomach as she took a seat in the waiting area. At least she had time to calm her racing heart and organize her thoughts.
She flipped through her portfolio one more time, ensuring everything was in order. When she was finally called in, Mr. Peterson, a balding man with thick glasses, greeted her warmly.
“Miss Evans, sorry for the delay. Please have a seat.”
The interview began smoothly enough, with standard questions about her experience and qualifications. Violet felt herself relaxing as she spoke about her passion for storytelling and her editorial philosophy.
“Your sample edits are quite impressive,” Mr. Peterson commented, looking through her portfolio. “You have a natural eye.”
“Thank you,” Violet replied, her confidence growing. “I’ve been freelancing and taking courses to develop my skills.”
The door opened suddenly, and Violet turned to see Yates Mitchell entering the room. Her eyes widened in surprise.
“Ah, Mr. Mitchell,” Mr. Peterson said, standing quickly. “I didn’t realize you’d be joining us.”
“I wanted to sit in on a few of today’s interviews,” Yates replied casually, nodding at Violet. “Miss Evans and I actually met earlier. Please continue as if I’m not here.”
Mr. Peterson looked slightly flustered but nodded. “Of course.”
Violet struggled to regain her train of thought as Yates took a seat in the corner of the office. Who exactly was he?
The interview continued, but she found herself acutely aware of his presence, of his eyes watching her as she spoke.
