The Call Boy I Met in Paris — Episode 22
The interview room was bright with morning sun and lined with models of Swift Architecture’s past projects. Justin recognized several designs from industry journals, including work completed under Sophie’s mother. Sitting there as an applicant felt more intimate than attending any board presentation, because every drawing revealed the legacy Sophie was trying to defend.
Across the desk, the director offered him a reassuring smile. “No need to be nervous, okay? We’re just going to chat a bit.” Sophie had clearly warned the man that her candidate might need patience. Justin almost smiled at the irony; he had interviewed executives who controlled budgets larger than Swift Architecture’s annual revenue.
“Sounds good to me,” Justin replied. He settled into the chair without the stiffness expected from a nervous applicant. Years of negotiations made composure instinctive, but he softened his posture so he would not appear to be the person in command.
The director opened a folder. “Do you have your résumé with you?” Justin placed the document on the desk before he could reconsider. He had removed references to his ownership of Lake Enterprises, but erasing his education and architectural work would have required inventing a different man entirely.
“I sure do,” he said. “I’ve done a little bit of this, a little bit of that. Nothing special.” The understatement was so extreme that it nearly became another lie. Outside the glass wall, Sophie gave him an encouraging nod.
“Don’t worry,” the director said as he scanned the first lines. “Sophie has already chosen you as her prince charming. I’m pretty sure you’ve done something.” His light teasing made Sophie’s eyes widen beyond the door, but Justin focused on the résumé as the man’s smile slowly disappeared.
Silence spread across the room. The director reread the education section, then turned the page as if expecting to find a correction. Justin knew the exact moment professional courtesy gave way to disbelief.
“This is incredible,” the director said. He looked up sharply. “You went to LISAA in Paris?” The respected design school was not a credential anyone could casually fabricate, and Justin had graduated with honors while quietly preparing to inherit his family’s empire.
“That’s correct.” Justin kept his answer modest. Memories of Paris stirred anyway: unfamiliar streets, a stolen wallet, and a young woman named Sophie pressing taxi money into his hand before disappearing into the city.
The director traced another line with one finger. “You were the chief designer of the reconstruction of Shangri-La Paris?” His voice rose enough that Sophie could hear through the glass. Her encouraging expression changed to surprise.
“You got that right, too.” Justin had taken the project before retreating from day-to-day design into executive leadership. It had been exhausting, exhilarating work, and one of the few achievements he valued independently of the Lake fortune.
The director turned the page faster. “And you designed Philharmoné de Perri as well?” Whether the transcript, translation, or project name had been recorded imperfectly, the accomplishment was clearly one the interviewer recognized. He stared at Justin as though an industry legend had wandered in to apply for an internship.
Justin nodded. “I was part of the design leadership.” He gave the simplest truthful answer available. Sophie’s mouth parted outside the room, and he wondered how many questions she was already storing for later.
“Why are you applying to be an assistant architect?” the director asked. Skepticism replaced amazement, because credentials that strong created their own kind of suspicion. “Someone with this background could lead major projects anywhere in the city.”
Justin glanced toward Sophie. She was trying not to look anxious, but hope and concern moved openly across her face. “The position matters because of the person and the company I’d be supporting,” he said. It was not the conventional answer, yet it was the only honest one.
The director followed his gaze and understood enough to stop pressing. Swift Architecture needed talent, and refusing a candidate of Justin’s caliber would be professional madness. Still, he studied the résumé once more, searching for the trap hidden inside such improbable good fortune.
“Your recent employment history is unusually vague,” he observed. Justin had described strategic work, project supervision, and construction consulting without naming Lake Enterprises. Each phrase was accurate, but together they concealed an empire.
“My current obligations are flexible,” Justin said. “They won’t interfere with anything Sophie assigns me.” Somewhere across the city, Patrick was probably staring at a calendar crowded with obligations that were not flexible at all.
The director closed the folder. His decision carried an almost comic finality. “You’re hired.” Beyond the glass, Sophie broke into a triumphant smile, while Justin felt both victory and the tightening of a net he had helped weave.
Minutes later, Justin stepped into the hallway with an employee badge in his hand. Sophie hurried toward him, demanding to know the result, and he lifted the badge with a grin. “I just got hired at Swift Architecture. I start today.” As she celebrated, Justin’s phone began vibrating with Patrick’s name—an urgent reminder that the company he truly ran was waiting for its missing CEO.
