He Refused Her Hand, Not Knowing She Held His Company’s Future

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Stand by.

Then she walked into the building.

The receptionist looked up with the bright, automatic smile of someone trained to greet money before she recognized what she thought she saw.

Her smile dimmed.

“Good morning,” Olivia said. “I’m here for my ten o’clock with Leonard Harrison.”

The receptionist’s eyes flicked over Olivia’s face, her clothes, her bag, then back to her screen.

“Are you here for an HR interview?” she asked. “Administrative candidates check in on the third floor.”

Olivia held her gaze.

“I’m here for Mr. Harrison.”

A tiny pause.

“Name?”

“Olivia Johnson.”

The receptionist typed. Her brows rose just a little.

Olivia knew that look.

Oh.

You are on the list.

Then came the second look.

But that can’t be right.

“Oh,” the receptionist said again, softer this time. “Please have a seat over there.”

Not in the plush waiting lounge where two white men in expensive suits were being offered coffee from ceramic cups.

Not in the glass-walled executive alcove.

Over there.