by Jolie Day
While the guys are talking shit, I stare out the window and start to feel almost too optimistic. It seems like it’s all falling in place too easily. The stock options will help us hire on new management that can bring fresh ideas and motivation to the team, and I’ve got my heart set on all the potential new growth I’ve envisioned for so long.
“And the hunt for the new Procurement Manager?” I turn to Eric. “How’s that going?”
He finishes his bourbon. “The last of the interviews should be taking place today.”
There are still too many loose ends for me to completely be at ease, and I’ll probably feel that way until each new position’s filled and every last stock is sold.
Eric clasps my shoulder. “You okay?”
I jump like a little bitch and shake my head, realizing I hadn’t even noticed that Clay left. “Yeah, sure. I’m fine.”
He doesn’t seem convinced and pulls up a seat in front of my desk. “Seems like something’s on your mind. It’s not like you to buckle under pressure.”
“No, definitely not buckling.” I give him a dismissive chuckle. “It just…brings up a lot of shit for me.” I try my best not to sound like an oversensitive asshole.
Eric’s face softens. He knows me too well. “Your dad?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “Turning out like him.”
“And you also know that’ll never happen. He fucked you up, but you’re already ten times the man he was. You actually wanted to run this company, unlike him who was happier hitting the open road. And you’re doing a hell of a job. At least you’re honest about what you do and don’t want.”
I listen and try to see it from his point of view, but as much as I’m disappointed in my father, the fake bastard, even all these years after his death, sometimes I still wonder about him. Why he changed his mind. Everybody—including me—thinks if he didn’t want to step up in the company, or settle down with a wife and family, he should’ve just been open about it instead of half-assing everything. Commitment and integrity are part of the territory when you’re in a motorcycle club, which means being honest about what you can do. And then fucking following through with what you take on—not chickening out, not running away, not giving up like a little bitch.
“It’d be better if he’d just said he didn’t want to do any of it,” Eric continues. “Instead of half-ass it all. He should’ve known it wasn’t gonna cut it. You’re nothing like him.”
I sigh and refill our glasses, knowing he’s right. I’ve stepped up to the plate for this company. As for the wife and kids part, I know better than to risk messing it up the way he did.
“Here’s to being single.” I lift my glass, looking forward to a night out on the town later.
“You know it, my man!”
He tips his glass to mine again, and we settle back to bask in our excitement for all the things to come.
5
Charlie
On top of my car breaking down, I kid you not—I hit several traffic jams and every red light on the way. I was so flustered, I missed my exit because I was still thinking of him (talk about desperate), and then, when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I couldn’t find parking. It’s as if the whole universe is conspiring against me. But finally, finally, I arrive at my interview.
The headquarters for Embry Gear is a massive building, bigger than I’d imagined and the website promised. Considering it was one of the leading manufacturers for denim back in the day, I didn’t expect it to be so lustrous and contemporary looking. I guess I was expecting something a little more down to earth. The décor is bold and sparse—every square inch immaculate and minimalist. Although, I don’t know if you can consider a full-sized gym, spa, and Starbucks kiosk all that minimal.
The grandeur of it all only makes me more self-conscious and nervous. I attempt to smooth the wrinkles from my sweaty skirt and blouse, checking for any unnoticed grease stains and attempting to adjust stray strands of my hair in my reflection on the elevator ride. The moment the door dings open I scramble towards the front desk, noting the giant gold clock hanging behind it.
Almost an hour late. What a brilliant first impression.
Another few minutes pass by as the secretary cuts her eyes up to me in a blank but cold stare, not bothering to greet me in between calls. After placing at least ten people on hold, she finally asks what I want with a rather rude and disinterested heavy sigh.
“Good morning…yes, I’m here to see the hiring manager, Mr. Frank. I have an appointment with him, scheduled for ten. Charlotte Walker.”
She slowly turns and looks to the clock before whipping back around to me with her brows raised. “It’s ten-fifty-five.”
“Yes, I’m well aware. Thank you. Could you please send an apology for my tardiness when you let him know I’m here?”
She smirks with a huff—as if to say, “the nerve of this woman.”
“Mr. Frank’s gone for the day.”
My heart sinks as she jumps right back into taking calls. Not only am I terrified I’ve missed my chance, but I’ve officially lost my patience with her discourtesy.
“Gone?” I ignore the fact that she’s deep into another stream of placing people on hold. “Do you know when he’ll be back? I can wait. Or if I could reschedule…Please, I just really need this interview.”
“As I said, he’s gone for the day.” She presses a button on the receiver again. “Embry Gear, how may I direct your call? Hold please.”
“Well, another day then,” I insist in determination. “Any day this week—whenever he’s available. I’ll work around his schedule.”
“Oh, how kind of you,” she snips. “Today’s the last day for interviews. They’ll be making a decision this afternoon.”
I bite down on my trembling lip, fighting back tears that are dangerously close to welling up. All the while kicking myself for daring to depend on Mrs. Loughty’s banged-up old green Toyota from the nineties.
I try to keep my composure. “There has to be something you can do.”
“Embry Gear, how may I direct your call? Hold please,” she repeats over and over again, not even bothering to look at me anymore. It’s as if I no longer exist.
Feeling desperate, I try to plead with her again. “Please, ma’am, there has to be something we can work out here. I really need this job, and I know I was late. I’m sorry, but if you could just give me a chance…Or you could give me Mr. Frank’s office number so I can reach him directly to apologize.”
With her eyes glued to me, she reaches behind her and opens a drawer. There’s an intercom system inside, and she presses a button. I soar with the hope that Mr. Frank or some other hiring manager is here after all, and she’s calling them to meet with me.
“Security, I have an issue on Mr. Embry’s floor. Thank you.” She interlocks her fingers and rests her chin on them, staring up at me with a pleased smile.
What a bitch, I think to myself.
I don’t know if it’s exhaustion from the whole hopeless job search finally pushing me over the edge, or the harsh realization that I’ll soon have to say goodbye to this city and Nora, but it takes everything in me not to fly over the desk and call her out for being so cold and rude.
I hate myself for feeling so utterly powerless in the middle of the Embry lobby, but I figure it’s useless to beat myself up too much. She made it clear I didn’t stand a chance, and soon I’d be back on my side of the globe anyway.
“What seems to be the problem here?” a man’s voice, calm and steady, asks from behind.
I spin on my heels, expecting to come face-to-face with a big, burly security guard in a black shirt. But instead, I find myself planted in the gaze of a tall, dark, handsome man in a nice suit who appears remarkably untroubled, despite my obvious distress with his secretary. Not only is he oddly serene, but a strange expression washes over his face.
“Good to see you again,” he states plainly, just as a warm but curious smile dances across his lips (rather scrumptious l
ips, in fact).
Damn. Two impossibly hot men in one morning. The universe definitely wants me to be in love—but broke as a bottle of wine. Then again, the old saying goes, “When you’re going broke, it’s best to have a great time.” Get your head out of the gutter, Charlie!
“I…I’m sorry?”
“Joel Embry.” He extends his hand to mine. “I believe we met earlier this morning. On the side of the road.”
“You are…?” My hand flies to my face to hide my embarrassment while I blindly shake his in the other. He looks completely different in his suit. “That was you. Oh, my god. Hi.”
“Hi.”
It makes sense now: his tall muscular build and the tan glow of his skin. Before, his piercing blue eyes were hidden under his sunglasses. Now they’re impossible to miss, and they’re peering back at me with amusement. But I definitely recognize that small but intriguing scar on his chin. Can this day get any worse?
“So, this is the interview you were running late for?” He crosses his arms, seeming quite tickled by all of this.
“It would have been.” My eyes gloss over, dangerously close to tears. “It appears I blew my chance. My work visa expires in six months. It’s extremely imperative that I find something right away, or else I’ll have to leave the states early and go running back to London with my tail between my legs. In other words, I do need a job…this job.”
I swear I think I catch his eyes drift over my body at the mention of anything between my legs, but I can’t be sure.
“You know, typically the rule of a good interview is letting the employer know what you’ll do for them,” he shoots back challengingly. “Not what they’ll do for you.”
I swallow down my desperation and match his professional energy, raising a brow. “Well, then maybe you should get me an interview so I can have the chance to do that.”
He laughs a little, not seeming the least bit put off by my boldness. I’m certain he’s about to tell me to get out, but instead, he turns to the awful scowling secretary who’s watching us like a hawk.
“Cancel my lunch appointment,” he orders before turning back to me. “Right this way.”
“Really?” I blurt out. “I mean, yes. Of course. Thank you.”
I assume he’s taking me back to introduce me to a Hiring Manager, but my throat closes up when he leads me into his office and takes a seat behind his desk, staring at me expectantly.
I’m certain my eyebrows have hiked themselves to my hairline in surprise. “You’re interviewing me?”
“I’ve got a strong interest in this Procurement Manager position. You can write this off as me being too controlling.” He’s no longer the breathtaking biker from the roadside or the friendly guy with roaming eyes he was in the lobby just moments ago. I see the change in his expression as he transforms into Joel Embry, CEO of a billion-dollar company.
I do my best to hide the way my hand trembles as I pass over my résumé and portfolio. Taking a seat, I compose myself.
I clear my throat and gear up for the pitch, doing my best not to be thrown by his ruggedly handsome features as he looks over my documents.
“As you’ll see in my résumé, I attended a very prestigious design school in London, focusing my studies on the business side of the industry. I interned at a leading design house in Paris, have worked for a number of high-end boutiques, which included some firsthand training in record keeping and purchasing, and I’m highly recommended and endorsed by all of my previous employers.”
“These are impeccable references,” he mutters as he flips through the pages. But soon he tosses the whole portfolio down to his desk, seeming unimpressed. “And what about America?”
“Come again?”
He gives me a pointed expression. “That was all overseas. What have you done in your time here in America?”
I lean forward to reference back to the disregarded papers, wishing he would just get on with talking about my pertinent experience. “As you’ll see there, I’ve worked at—”
“No, I saw all of that.” He cuts me off with a brash tone. “That’s where you worked, but what did you accomplish?”
As I do my best to prattle off some fluff answers about my so-far disastrous venture here in the states, I slip into a daze that makes the rest of the interview a blur. I’m so focused on trying to hide my nervousness that I’m barely present during the whole exchange, as if something else takes over and speaks through me.
By the end of it, I’m positive I’ve blown the whole thing. I should not have told him the real reason why my former boss fired me, namely because I walked in on him making out with his business partner’s ex-wife. And the only thing worse than bombing an interview is to do so in front of an incredibly hot man who previously seemed to be interested in you. Well, not really, I remind myself. If he were interested, he would have asked for my number.
“Very well then.” He brushes his hands across his face, looking bored and in a hurry for this to be over with. Frankly, so am I.
I’m already preparing to grab my things and go when he asks, “Anything else you’d like me to know?”
I’d like you to know my number so you can ask me out, since you obviously won’t be my boss now.
“Well, actually, yes.” I settle back in, feeling calmer now that I’m certain I don’t stand a chance in hell. “This company was integral in the revolutionary shifts in fashion and professional-wear trends of the fifties and sixties. Those are the building blocks that brought the company where it is today, but as Procurement Manager, I feel I could help you lead the industry into the next revolution. The fashion world and the professional clothing industries are both aching for something new and refreshing to liven things up. I believe I have the right eye to put Embry on the map once again for doing just that. In fact, I’m certain I could accomplish it.”
“And just how would you do that?” He crosses his arms, a skeptical expression on his face.
“By nodding to international trends,” I explain confidently. “So far, Embry has focused on the basics of American aesthetic. But to get an edge on competitors, I think it’s time to turn that time-tested lens to other parts of the world. Specifically, I have connections to some of the finest Khadi markets in India. Imagine Embry releasing its own line of handwoven natural fibers.”
I know I could ramble on forever about the cost-efficiency of such a venture or how popular it would be for its environmentally friendly production, but it’s meant to be the end of the interview. Between nearly crying in front of the secretary and then coming in here to babble on like a knob-head, I figure I better quit while I’m ahead.
Joel’s quiet and thoughtful for a few moments before calling his assistant in to show me out. He gives no hint as to whether or not I can expect to hear from him.
“Oh, and Charlie?” He stops me before I head for the door. “Try not to yell at my assistant on your way out.”
“Okay, I’ll try my best.”
“She’s filling in for Willette, our usual desk manager, who called in sick this morning until a replacement arrives. In other words, she’s got a lot on her plate.”
A smug grin flashes across his face with a wink that makes me want to slap him and ravage him all at once. I smile tightly in return and follow his assistant out—the same assistant who was so rude before. But now she’s giving me the sweetest smile, practically dripping with honey, as if she hadn’t just tried kicking me out before the interview.
Nora’s consoling me at my apartment later that afternoon, insisting we go out for drinks that night. I keep telling her I’m not in the mood. But, she swears it will cheer me up. I know she wants to “accidentally on purpose” run into Mr. Spank Me. Okay, fine. After I’ve reluctantly agreed, sending her shooting into my bathroom to freshen up, I hear the ping of my inbox.
I barely lift my head from the kitchen table as I flip it open, expecting another rejection letter. As the actual words register in my brain, it takes me a full minute of staring
and blinking before I finally get it.
“Nora!” I scream out, doing a happy dance around my living room while keeping my eyes glued to the e-mail. “You’ll never believe this! I got the job! Ahhhh!”
She peeks her head out from the bathroom. “Oh, I believe it. I knew something would come through.”
“I’m chuffed to bits!”
“All the more reason to go out! We have to celebrate!”
My spirits are immediately lifted, but I’m still somewhat in disbelief. Down at the bottom of the e-mail, I notice a short note from Joel that makes me blush.
Try not to be late on your first day. Take a cab, maybe?
6
Charlie
Nora and I are blissfully drunk, celebrating my new job. We’re settled at the bar with a line of empty cocktail glasses as I giggle and slur my way through ordering us another round.
“Life’s sooo funny!” I muse too loudly, making Nora burst out in laughter.
“So you’ve said, girl. About a hundred times tonight.”
“Really, though! Think about it. Earlier today I was convinced I’d have to pack my bags. And now I’m somehow the Procurement Manager at fucking Embry Gear.”
The bartender shoots me a harsh look as he brings our drinks, which I nearly knock over when I reach for them.
“Cheers, mate!”
Nora pats me on the back and glances at the bartender. “You’ll have to excuse her. She cusses like a sailor when she’s drunk.”
“All because my car broke down! I’ll have to thank Mrs. Loughty for that one after all.”
“Oh, come on, Char. I’m sure this Joel Embry hired you for your brains—not because he rescued you from the side of the road.”
I’m not so sure. I try to imagine how things would have played out if he didn’t have that first impression of me as his damsel in distress. But it’s hard to think that deep through my drunken haze, and I’m quickly distracted by Nora’s wide eyes and slack jaw at something over my shoulder.