"And good morning to you too! I hope you had a good rest before your new work day? Yesterday I could not sleep for a long time, nightmares tormented me, you know. Either I was constantly abandoned by the bride at the altar, then someone crashed into my car, and at the end, I was robbed and left naked in the middle of the forest!

Can you imagine me," he squared his shoulders and waved his hand, as if saying, look-I'm-damn-amazing, "naked? In the middle of the forest? It was so scary," the man widened his eyes, which were filled with fake horror.

"Mister, I have no desire either to imagine you dressed, or even more so, to imagine you naked," Emily grabbed him by the elbow and began to push him back to the car, "I start to get the feeling that you are following me! The fact that I owe you money does not mean that you can ruin my life, or call me at night, and moreover, you dare come here too!"

And he also said that he was not a maniac? Huh, way off the mark! Emily has heard stories of men like this. Grandmother told her such stories at bedtime, and the girl knew that princes are only in fairy tales. In life, rich boys prefer entertainment of a different level.

"Ouch, Ms. Hayes, you squeeze my elbow so hard that I could sue you for workplace harassment."

"This is my workplace! And I don't want you to ruin my first day at work!" a girl shouted in her hearts.

"Hello Mrs. Parkinson."

Who the hell is Mrs... God damn it! Does he know the general manager?

"Hello Mr. Evans," came the manager's voice from somewhere behind Emily. "What's going on here?"

"I'm trying to figure it out too," the stranger looked suddenly unusually serious, "This girl won't let me into the building."

"This is our new employee..."

Emily felt a red dot appear on the back of her head and a control shot was about to follow. At that moment, she should have turned around and assumed the most apologetic look, but she was scared. Even the first visit to the dentist did not seem so scary as having to meet Mrs. Parkinson face to face.

"Today is only the first day, she hasn't even received a pass yet," the manager continued.

Yeah, and probably won't get it, Emily thought. Mrs. Parkinson spoke in such a cold tone that the northerly winds would have seemed equatorial breezes by comparison.

The girl understood one thing: she was trying to drive away a man who had as many rights here as she had. Maybe even more.

Mr. Evans, as the general manager called him, was standing like a stone giant, without a shadow of a smile on his face. Either this person had a split personality, or...

"Hmm, I see," he said, taking an appraising look at the new employee, "I see. A good girl, very initiative. Apparently, she is concerned about safety. Mrs. Parkinson, please instruct her that it is not customary for us to pounce on the publisher's visitors. You never know what an important author or journalist this person can be. Then you won't get around problems."

"It will be done, Mr. Evans," the manager bowed.

Emily looked up uncertainly at the man. Their gazes clashed.

What a bastard! Split personality?!

There was an open grin in the man's eyes. He was clearly pleased with the performance. For a second, the corners of his lips twitched upward, and his eyes narrowed as if he had a brilliant idea.

"Although you know what?" Mr. Evans returned a stern look and the same stern tone, "Send her directly to my office in ten minutes. I will instruct her myself."

Emily silently followed her gaze as her failed groom walked by, gave the car keys to the guard who went out into the street and disappeared behind the glass doors.

"And what the heck has just happened here?" Mrs. Parkinson asked dryly.

The woman looked even scarier than when she first met. The golden rim of the glasses inspired not admiration, but horror, since now there was a very unambiguous look behind it: if the general manager could, she would have fired Emily right now.

"I am sorry. I did not mean it. I confused this man with another person. This will never happen again," the confused muttering of the girl did not suit Mrs. Parkinson.

"I would have fired you right away if Mr. Evans hadn't given the order for the briefing, Miss Hayes," she replied and grunted in displeasure, "If you came here using your connections, it does not mean that you are free to behave that way. The department in which you will work has very high requirements and expectations. Do business ethics, please."

"I understand you, I'm very sorry," Emily nodded, showing the maximum regret she was capable of. And all because of this Evans, and his luxury car, blast it to hell!

Mrs. Parkinson said nothing. Apparently, analyzing the degree of sincerity of the new employee, and then sighed, "Okay. This is none of my business. Now let Mister Evans figure it out. Come on, you need to get a pass, otherwise you won't even be able to get into his office."

The woman turned and walked confidently back to the main building. Emily tried to keep up. But against the background of this Madame, she felt like a cow on ice. She has completely lost the habit of walking in heels if she ever knew how!

"Um, Mrs. Parkinson, about this Mr. Evans, who is he?"

The manager stopped so abruptly that Emily nearly bumped into her. The woman turned around and looked at the girl with such a surprised look as if she had asked, is the earth really round?

No, seriously? Everyone in the world knows who he is, only Emily does not know? She's been here for less than an hour!

"Lead editor?" Emily suggested, and Mrs. Parkinson's eyebrows rose above the rim of her spectacles.

Judging by the reaction, it is not true.

"Chief Editor?" the girl's voice sounded less and less confident. The manager pursed her lips in disdain.

Damn, by again. It was worse than Emily had expected.

"Head of Sales?" she voiced the last thought that she could grasp in the midst of the panic-infuriated stream in her head. The sales department would be well suited to this eccentric stalker. This one will roll anybody.

"Mr. Evans is the deputy manager of the Pharaoh publishing house and the owner of the magazine you intend to work for," Mrs. Parkinson said solemnly.

Ouch.

"Clear."