Finally he clears his throat and stares down at the papers in front of him.
“Ladies,” he says evenly, “Thank you for your time today. Gerard will escort you out. You will be hearing from us within two business days. Goodbye.”
Wow, that was fast.
Carrot-top, or Gerard I guess, waves for us to follow him out the door. Walker and Peterson both murmur thank-you and scuttle out. As I follow, I turn for one parting glance at our beautiful, weird interviewer. I find those piercing baby blues following me and a sort of a pleasant chill washes down my spine. He winks. I redden and run.
Gerard leads us through the white labyrinth back to the elevator.
“Good luck,” he says crisply before disappearing again.
The same secretary is at the desk and doesn’t glance up when the elevator door opens for us. I rush into the elevator, determined not to look out the window. Peterson, Walker and I squeeze together uncomfortably close. The door slides closed and the elevator shoots downward.
“Well,” I quip as my stomach lurches several floors above me, “That wasn’t the weirdest interview I’ve ever had or anything.”
Peterson pulls out her phone without responding. Walker tries to smile while avoiding eye contact with me, and accidentally makes eye contact with the elevator attendant, who almost hits his face on the wall in his rush to look away.
Awkward.
My phone rings. I had forgotten to silence it! Thank goodness it didn’t ring until now. It must be Rachel. I dig in my purse for about four rings, drawing an annoyed glance from Peterson. Finally, I find the dang thing and see that it’s a number I don’t recognize.
“Hello?”
“Miss Clark.”
My spine tingles at that low, cool voice.
“Mr. King!” My voice almost cracks. Now Peterson and Walker are staring at me, open-mouthed. “Hi. What can I do for you?”
“It’s more what I can do for you, Miss Clark.” There’s an almost-smile in his voice. It’s tantalizing. “I was impressed with your originality and think we’d have good working chemistry together. In fact, you had me at painting the walls. The whiskey just sealed the deal. I’m rather a fan of Scotch myself.”
“Right, me too, big, big Scotch fan,” I stammer. “Who isn’t?”
“I could use a person with a spine and personality, Miss Clark. You think outside the box.”
“And color outside the lines.”
He chuckles, a low and rich sound that makes me feel good. “I often find that you creative types are a welcome and refreshing addition, a revitalizing square-peg in the round-hole corporate world. I’d like to extend you an official offer for the position of my Personal and Executive Assistant.”
“Oh, wow, thank you sir. That was fast.”
“I don’t like to waste time once I know what I want.”
I check my watch. It’s only 9:15am. “I can see that.”
“Miss Johnson has emailed you the paperwork detailing our financial contract and, most importantly, our confidentiality clause. Look them over in detail, please. If you can agree to the terms and would like to accept the position, please let us know within 24 hours. I’d like to start you Monday.”
You can start me anytime, I think.
I clear my throat and summon every ounce of professionalism I have. “Yes sir, I will absolutely take a good hard look and get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you very much for the offer, I very much appreciate it.”
“Well done, Clark. Speak soon.”
Click. He’s gone.
I accidentally let out a “Whoop!” into the close confines of the elevator. But then I groan and bite my lip, thinking. Do I want this job? It all feels…fast—Odd.
I nervously swipe through some buttons on my phone screen and see he wasn’t kidding; there’s already an email from Amanda Johnson. Shocked, I reach trembling fingers to massage my temples and open the attachments, briefly scanning over the massive confidentiality clause and chuckling to myself. It’s intimidating.
This Mr. King guy sure is a sexy, thoroughly paranoid son of a gun.
Part of my brain feels like taking a full-time job is giving up on music, and yet, the boss is hot and the money is so great. Besides, I am desperate. Those student loans won’t pay off themselves, and Rachel is right; I might like having a salary.
Like a real person.
I shove my phone back in my purse, brain whirring, and remember that I am in an elevator. Looking around, I see Peterson, Walker and the elevator attendant are staring at me. Peterson looks like she might cry.
Yeah. Not awkward. Not awkward at all.
Chapter Four
On Monday I enter the lobby of 2211 Wall Street with my head held high. I’ve borrowed Rachel’s light gray Daine Von Fastenberg pantsuit and Cole Haan pumps. My hair is piled in a neat bun, and I even straightened my bangs. To celebrate the new job and placate my quirky artsy side, I’m wearing the bright teal J-Crew necklace I bought with my credit card, just for a pop of color in an otherwise monochrome world.
I almost look like I belong here.
Gerard is waiting to greet me next to the security station. I even catch a ghost of a grin on his thin freckled face.
“Good morning, Miss Clark. Since we have received and filed your signed contract and confidentiality agreement, I can officially welcome you to Skollz Corp.”
“Thank you and good morning, mister…?”
“Jones. Gerard Jones, Administrative Coordinator.” We shake hands. “I will be overseeing your training today. We’ll try to make it as quick and painless as possible.”
“That seems to be a theme.”
He definitely smiles this time. “Yes. We always strive for efficiency in pursuit of change, creating the future. You’ll find we are a lean, mean corporate machine.”
“My favorite kind.”
“Mine too.”
I follow him into the elevator bank, but this time we go down. The basement level is white and expansive, like an underground warehouse. I could see a high-fashion photo-shoot going on down here, or a black market. Gerard leads me to the far side of the wide, open space and swipes a security pass over an automated lock, opening a door to a short hallway. Inside, people wearing bluetooths and tasers are bustling between rooms packed with video monitors and radio noise.
It’s like the goddamn Matrix.
In one of the rooms we pass I glimpse a pair of German Shepherds sniffing a large stack of boxes and can’t help smiling. I love dogs. One of them sees me and comes over, sniffing, and lets me pet its ears.