“I was hoping you’d say that.” His seductive tone vibrated through me and caused me to quiver. All I knew was that I was being seduced by this man’s position and where it could take me.
Another nugget of truth I learned from Mom was, It’s not what you know; it’s who you know. If I played it right, I’d get my degree and meet the right people to help me get ahead.
“When can I start?”
“How about tomorrow? We can get started on your training at nine.”
“Perfect.” I wanted to dance around my apartment—I had walked into his office without a hope, a prayer, or a plan, and it turned out I’d walked out with his attention and a job. “Is there a dress code?”
“What you wore today was perfect.”
Oh, I bet it was, I thought smugly, remembering the short slit skirt and low-cut blouse. Perfect indeed.
“Okay, what about pay? Or can I trade for tuition?”
“Minimum wage for the hours you work—bonuses for extra projects. We can talk about tuition tomorrow.”
Extra projects? Bonuses? My life was getting better by the minute. He could have looked at me and laughed his ever-loving ass off. I had no experience and little to offer. Instead, he’d hired me.
“See you tomorrow, Dean Hollings.”
“That you will, Sandra. Looking forward to it.”
I hung up the phone and stared at the coiled cord hanging from the receiver. It was how I viewed my life—an endless circle of ups and downs and ins and outs—but my life was about to change. Tomorrow was the day I would stretch to my potential, and if things didn’t work out, I’d spring back and start again.
I danced to my bedroom and fell onto my bed. I had no idea what I’d be doing for Dean Hollings. I didn’t care. A door had been opened, and I’d walked through it.
I stared at the ceiling and imagined taking a black pen across the plain white surface. I scribbled words in my mind.
Power.
Success.
Money.
Penthouse.
Chanel.
I put away my imaginary pen and prepped for tomorrow. I set out my clothes, colored the white scuff marks on my shoes with a black Sharpie, and loaded my purse with a notepad and a pen. I showered and shaved and painted my toenails. Maybe I was a girl who grew up with tie-dyed shirts and daisy chains for hair accessories, but inside I was couture. Diamonds studded my bones, and liquid gold ran through my veins.
Tomorrow, my training would begin.
Chapter 3
Dean Hollings walked past Greta and me without saying hello. He marched into his office and slammed the door.
“Is he always so unfriendly in the morning?”
Greta looked up from the Mr. Coffee machine and shrugged. “Is he here already?”
I took three coffee cups from the shelf in the corner and set them on the counter. “Didn’t you see him whiz by us?” Not only was the woman bent like a candy cane, she was deaf and blind, too.
“He’s early. He doesn’t normally come in until around ten.” She scooped powdered creamer into two mugs and paused over the third. “Cream?”
“No, I’ll take mine black.” Cream wasn’t cream if it came in powdered form. That was like saying Spam was ham or Cheez Whiz was cheese. They were substitutes, and some substitutes never measured up.
She stirred her coffee and handed me the other nonblack brew. “Your first duty is to serve the king his coffee, then come back out here. I have a mountain of papers for you to file.”
I picked up his cup and walked to the oversized wooden door decorated with carved thistles, thorns, and a coat-of-arms that represented the school. Greta had referred to him as the king, and this office—with its ornate and heavy door—certainly reminded me of a castle.
I knocked and waited. A muffled “come in” sounded through the door. With a twist of the brass knob, I opened the door and entered his kingdom.
“Good morning, Mark.” My heels clicked across the tile floor all the way to his desk. “Here’s your coffee. Is there anything you need from me this morning?”
He took the coffee from my hand and leaned back in his leather chair. His expression was grim. He stared at me for an endless moment. “Call me Dean Hollings. I’d hate for anyone to get the wrong idea about our relationship.” He sipped his coffee and set it on the desk.
“What is our relationship?” I took a seat in the chair in front of his desk. It was a dwarf of a chair compared to where he sat—mine was a chair of submission. I sat with my legs crossed to the side and my hands folded in my lap.
“You’re an intern who makes minimum wage. Greta will teach you to file and answer phones. Do whatever she wants you to do. Learn what you can before she leaves at the end of the week. Fetch coffee and lunch. In exchange for the hours you work, I’m willing to add the bonus of a partial scholarship. For every hour you work, you get an hour of classroom time.”
Yesterday, there was innuendo and sexual tension. Today, he was all business. Maybe I’d misinterpreted his actions as something more than they were. On some level, I was relieved that I was hired without expectation.
“Perfect,” I said with as much enthusiasm as any minimum-wage worker could muster.
“You can start by leaving my office. I’m sure Greta has a list as long as Route 66 that she wants you to complete.”
“Yes, sir.” I headed for the door.
“Sandra?”
When I turned around, he was scribbling something on a piece of paper.
“Yes?”
“I’d like this for lunch.” He continued to write something, then stopped. “After lunch, we can do oral—” he wrote a little more, then handed me the paper, “—dictation.” A sly smile picked up the corners of his lips. The damn man was mocking me.
I swiped the paper from his hand. “How should I pay for this?”
He dug into his back pocket for his wallet and handed me a twenty-dollar bill. “Get yourself something to eat as well.” He gave me one last look and turned his chair around to face the bookshelf.
I left his office, and Greta put me straight to work. Who would’ve guessed this diminutive woman could be such a tyrant? She had me alphabetize all the incoming memos and file them in her own version of a Dewey Decimal System. Each benefactor had an identification number. Never would Dean Hollings be in the dark about any correspondence that flowed through his office. It was CIA-like in the way every person of influence had a dossier.
At noon, I walked out the door to Checker’s Diner to get Dean Hollings his lunch. He wanted baked ziti and meatballs. I looked at the twenty and ordered two, one minus the meatballs. Greta the Grinch was on her own for lunch. I wasn’t bringing her anything back but my attitude, and I needed to tone that down before I went back to the office.
I found the dean at his desk, reading the newspaper. “Your lunch,” I said as I set it in front of him the way a waiter would at a high-end restaurant. I straightened his plastic cutlery and folded his paper napkin into a neat triangle.
“Care to join me?” He set the paper aside and placed his napkin on his lap.
“No, thank you. We wouldn’t want anyone to misunderstand our relationship.” I gripped the paper bag and marched out of the room.
Was that his laughter following me?
By the end of the day, my knees were bruised from being on them for hours—but sadly, not for the reason I’d hoped. Greta thought it was a good idea for me to start my filing duties with the lowest cabinets, then work my way up. At the rate I was going, it would be at least a week before I could graduate to stooping over the next-highest row of drawers.
I surveyed the damage done to my creamy skin and grimaced. I won’t survive this without cushioning, I thought sourly, then smirked. Imagine the dean’s face when I show up for dictation in a pencil skirt and kneepads!
The dean left at four, but Greta didn’t let me go until five. By then I was exhausted, and all I could think about was Jennie and the blue-plate special that would soothe my ac
hing ego.
* * *
“Did the world end? It’s meatloaf night, and you never come in for meatloaf.” Jennie slapped a menu on the table and took the seat across from me. The place wasn’t busy. I guess the masses shared my lack of enthusiasm for meatloaf.
I never liked eating mystery meat. Spam, potted meat, and sausage were all a no-go for me. I had to be desperate to eat hamburger, which was why I’d passed on the meatballs at lunch.
“I’ll have the chicken sandwich, skinless, on a whole wheat bun with aioli instead of plain mayo. Make sure the lettuce is romaine.” I held in my laughter for as long as I could.
“Chicken fingers and fries coming right up.” She scribbled my order on the pad. “When I come back, I want answers.”
“To what?”
She shoved her pen into her apron pocket and leaned forward so her face was directly in front of mine.
“To why you look like a homeless librarian.” She poked the marinara stain on my white blouse. Then she tugged at the strands of hair that had come loose from my bun.
“I worked all day.”
“You worked? I’ve got to hear this.” She raced to the kitchen to place my order and was back before I could roll the kinks from my neck.
She sat across from me with a look that said tell me everything. And I did because Jennie and I didn’t have any secrets … except for that one about me sleeping with her brother, but I was never telling, and neither was he. I had Polaroid pictures of his unimpressive parts, and that had kept him silent all these years. Never let anyone take pictures of you naked. That should be taught in a Sex 101 class.
“You seduced him for a job?” Her words echoed through the empty diner.
“If that were true, I wouldn’t have been kneeling in front of a filing cabinet.” I reached under the table and rubbed at the sore skin.
“Did you think he hired you to keep you naked on his leather couch?” She turned her head in time to see my dinner slide through the kitchen window.
I reached for the ketchup in anticipation of the fries. This time when she returned, she sat next to me. We took turns eating my plate of food.
“Why do they call them chicken fingers?” It was ridiculous because chickens didn’t have fingers.
“No one would order them if they were called chicken asses.”
I crunched through the crispy coating, delighting in it even as I knew each bite added to my evening run. “At least I have a summer job.”
“Sounds like a good deal to me. You get paid, and you get free classes. It’s what you wanted, right?”
It was what I’d wanted until I found myself alone in the room with him. He oozed sex appeal, and I soaked it up. I liked the way he looked at me. I felt powerful in those moments.
And then I realized, to my dismay, that he held all the power like men always do. I found my smile and spread it wide. “Of course. I got everything I wanted.”
“You’re the luckiest bitch I know.”
The bell above the door rang, and an old couple shuffled into the restaurant. Not everyone hated meatloaf, it seemed.
Chapter 4
I fell into a routine by the third day. Mornings were spent filing, copying, and transcribing for Greta while she drank her coffee and read Good Housekeeping. She took long lunches while I manned the phone. I sat in Dean Hollings’s office in the afternoons and took oral dictation. Boring letters to colleagues. Meeting memos. Policy changes and stuff like that. By the second week, Greta was gone, and I was running her office like a pro.
“Sandra, come in here, please.”
His door remained open while I was on the job. Was it because he didn’t trust me to do the right thing, or because he liked to look at me? His desk sat in the perfect place to stare at me all day, which is what he seemed to do. Each time I looked in his direction, he was looking in mine. Although I dressed in office-worthy clothes, I always felt naked under his gaze.
I picked up my steno pad and walked into his office, taking a seat in front of his desk. Silence filled the air, making me look at Dean Hollings. He wore my favorite tie today. It was light lavender, which popped against his crisp white shirt and charcoal gray suit.
“There is a fundraising banquet on Friday for alumni. I’d like you to attend.”
I looked up from my paper. “Is there a specific reason you’d like me there?”
“I need your excellent administrative skills to keep notes.” He leaned forward and rested his chin on steepled fingers. “Can you come up with something to wear?”
“Is it formal?” I had nothing in my closet that fit that bill, but I could figure it out. I had a friend who worked at Macy’s. She’d let me buy and return an outfit once before. She could do that again.
“Black tie.” He leaned back and hoisted his feet to the desktop. His argyle socks matched his clothes.
“Perfect.”
“‘Perfect’ as in you have something appropriate to wear, or ‘perfect’ as in a sarcastic comment meant to irritate me?”
I mimicked his body language and leaned back, propping my black heels on the edge of his desk. His eyes widened and ran up the length of my legs to where my skirt bunched around my thighs. He was always looking at my legs.
“Perfect as in I have it covered.” I’d have to get in touch with my inner Houdini to pull this off, but I wasn’t letting Mark Hollings know this was my first rodeo. “What would you have done if I’d said no?”
His feet dropped to the floor. He reached for his wallet and pulled out a handful of twenty-dollar bills. “I would have given you money and told you to leave early to go shopping.”
I kicked my feet off the desk and leaned forward to pluck the bills from his palm. “I need my hair and nails done.” I folded the twenties in half and tucked them into my bra. “Is there anything else you need?” I stood and started for the door.
He chuckled while shaking his head. “You make me laugh.”
I turned and looked over my shoulder. “Glad I could entertain you.”
“Sandra, you’re good at entertaining me. I’m not sure what I enjoy more, seeing you bent over a filing cabinet or seeing you with your feet up on my desk. Are those pink panties you’re wearing today?” He stood and walked to where I was. “Pink is my favorite.” He pressed his hand to the small of my back and ushered me forward. He was torturing me again.
He was propriety and manners until he wasn’t, and until now those moments had been so subtle, I wasn’t sure they had occurred. But the pink panties comment? There was nothing subtle about that.
* * *
The girl looking back at me in the mirror was nothing short of amazing. Was that really me? I touched up my red lipstick and tucked the tube into my purse next to the notepad and pen.
My hair hung in ringlets to my bare shoulders. A rhinestone barrette pulled it off my face and sparkled under the flickering fluorescent lights.
I took one last turn in front of the mirror to make sure the white price tag from the black dress didn’t show. I’d taped it inside. Leaving it intact made it easier to return. The damn thing was over three hundred dollars and maxed out my credit card, but it was gorgeous in its simplicity and elegance.
I left the bathroom and walked through the ballroom of The Ritz Carlton in search of Dean Hollings. It was hard to find him in the sea of penguin suits. As I made the rounds, my confidence grew. The men looked at me with appreciation; the women, with contempt. I had almost come full circle when a hand rested on my shoulder. I wasn’t sure whether it was the smell of his cologne or his touch that gave him away, but the moment he touched me, I knew it was him.
“Stunning,” he said as he walked around me. His eyes lingered on the neckline of my dress. The built-in push-up bra shoved my breasts toward the ceiling. “You’re perfect.”
“So happy it pleases you.” I reached into my purse and pulled out my paper and pen, but he placed his hand over mine and shook his head.
“Pleasure before business tonight. L
et’s have a drink.” A waiter with a tray of champagne glasses passed, and Dean Hollings snagged two before he disappeared. He placed one in my hand. “To an eventful night.”
“Yes, to an eventful evening.” I tapped the edge of his glass and sipped the bubbly drink. I watched him over the rim and noticed his amber eyes were turning dark chocolate brown. His lips were crimson red and moist; his hair, slicked back like some James Bond lookalike. Combine all that with the black tuxedo, and he was a recipe for pounding hearts and wet panties.
“Are you hungry?” He looked ravenous.
“Not for food.” I gave him the same look he gave me. It was hungry and predatory. A surge of happiness zipped through me when he squirmed under my gaze, which happened to linger at the zipper of his perfectly tailored trousers.
“Is that how you want to play this tonight? You want to tease me some more?”
He gripped my elbow and walked me toward a group of men. They saw us coming. Well, they saw me coming because they never looked anywhere beyond my breasts. Men …
Dean Hollings had no idea what teasing was, but he would. I’d give him a firsthand glance at how charming I could be. When your only asset is your looks, you learn how to use them to your advantage. “Do you hold these fundraisers often?” Women dressed in Dior and diamonds held the arms of men with influence, not the other way around. I pulled loose of his grip, wove my arm through his, and let him lead me.
“We hold them twice a year. More often when the budget is low. This is a special event.”
“So the coffers are low?”
“We could always use more money, Sandra. Would you like to meet the mayor?”
He pressed his warm hand to the small of my back and guided me through the throng of people toward the mayor.
“Hollings, it’s good to see you,” the mayor said. He looked from the dean to me. “Who do we have here?”
“I’d like to introduce you to Sandra Tierney.” The dean said my name like I was a specialty drink or handmade truffle. “I’m mentoring her.”
The Learning Curve Page 2