“He was. Tall, dark, and handsome to the tenth degree. Blue-green eyes. Body to die for. This really sexy stubble on his face. And he was kind. Maybe that’s what really did me in. He seemed like a sweet guy. Generally, the two don’t go together. Is there a disconnect there, or is it just me?”
“Maybe he was being kind because he got a look at your ass.”
“Leave my butt out of this.”
“I just wish I was packing what you’re packing. I’m as flat as my mother is, and you know what that looks like.” She looked at me. “You know, I wasn’t joking. You never talk about men. I know the reasons why, but this is unusual.”
“What can I say? I’ve never felt like that before. He was amazing. Totally my type. And obviously wealthy, which means we’re on opposite ends of the financial spectrum, and thus not compatible. But, God, what a stud. Well dressed. This beautiful, masculine watch on his wrist. Great shoes. Groomed to perfection. And there I was, turning back to look at him with my stupid smiling face, only to collide with some fat old fart who nearly flattened me right then and there on the sidewalk. I’m such a class act, someone should write a paper about me. You just don’t see class like this every day.”
“So, how did you end it?”
“I walked home.”
“You didn’t exchange numbers?”
“Are you serious? Lisa, I need to focus and get myself out of this mess. He was a hunk with nice manners, but that’s where it ends.”
“At some point, you’re going to have to trust someone enough to let it begin.”
I looked at her but said nothing, even though I knew she was right. At some point, I needed to let it all go.
“Go take a shower,” she said. “I’m worried about infection setting in, especially in this heat. You know I write about zombies. If your feet get infected, it might lead to the wrong kind of infection. And then what are we going to do?” She winked at me. “Seriously, your feet are swollen and they don’t look good. Please go and take care of them, or I will.”
“Will do. And thanks for the cab fare. I have a story to tell you about that later.”
“I told you not to worry about it.”
“But I do. When I get out of the shower, I’m going to start researching restaurants online to find out which are the best and whether they are hiring.”
“You’ve got the experience. Lord knows you’ve got the looks. I think after your feet are better, your best marketing campaign is going to be your appearance in person. You present well. In this profession, your looks will matter to them. That, and your ability to serve their clients. This line of work will be profitable for you, and it’s a good option until you find what you’re looking for.”
To my surprise, when Lisa said that, it wasn’t a job that flashed before her eyes, but Alex’s face.
CHA
PTER SIX
In the morning, after an overnight treatment of antibiotic ointments that Lisa bought for me at the pharmacy down the street, my feet looked better. Much better, which was a relief. The blisters were still in full bloody bloom and they looked like a horror show, but the swelling was way down, and that meant that any infection was in check.
So, no hospitals for me. I couldn’t afford to visit one anyway, and I also couldn’t afford to lose time. I needed to get up, make a pot of coffee for each of us, and give Lisa a hug for helping to apply the ointment and wrap my foot with gauze. Then, I needed to start searching the Web for the best restaurants in the city. I certainly wasn’t going to shuck food at something like Tubby’s Diner. I needed a top restaurant where I could pull in enough cash to replenish my anemic bank account, which now had the distinct whiff of the pathetic.
And I was willing to work my ass off for that.
If I was going to survive in this city—and not go home, where my parents would either ridicule or reject me—I needed money. Quick money, as in tip money. If I could get into the best place possible, I knew things would turn around for me because it would give me a chance to find the job I wanted during the day. It wouldn’t be easy, but it sure as hell would keep me here, which is where I wanted to stay.
And thank you again, Lisa, for the idea.
I wanted to treat her. I slid out of bed and stepped quietly into the kitchen. My feet hurt like hell, but not as bad as they had yesterday. I found her sleeping on the pullout, and I felt guilty about it. Here she was making the most money between us, and she didn’t have the bedroom. Looking at her sleeping, her blonde hair swept like a net across her pretty face, I decided that I’d give her the bedroom. She deserved it. When we first arrived in Manhattan, she just assumed that I was the one who’d get the well-paying job, and that she’d hope for the best with her book.
“You take the bedroom,” she had said. “I don’t know how this book will do. You’ll be making more money than me in no time. It’s only fair.”
Only, that wasn’t the case now. As far as I was concerned, the bedroom was hers, and I’d sleep on the pullout. And frankly, who cared? What mattered was our friendship. One day, we’d be beyond this ridiculousness, and would laugh about it over martinis at the Ritz.
You keep dreaming, girl.
I’m going to.
Then dream big.
I plan to. I didn’t save up for years to come here for nothing. I came here to make it.
When the coffee started to brew, the aroma was enough to wake Lisa.
“That smells amazing,” she said.
“And it’s only Folgers. Imagine if it was Starbucks.”
A dreamy look came over her face. “Starbucks,” she said. “If I were a zombie—which I might be after the chapter I wrote last night—that’s the first place I’d go. I’d have a Java Chip Frappuccino, a cookie, and obviously a side of brains, because, you know, I’d be a zombie. So, let’s imagine that it’s Starbucks.”
“You’re the creative one,” I said. “It’ll be a snap for you. For me, not so much. But, hey, at least we have coffee!”
She started to get up.
“No,” I said. “Stay there. I’ll bring you a cup. You’ve been a lifesaver these past couple of weeks. Or months. Mostly months. Enjoy your last few moments on the pullout, because tonight the bedroom is yours.”
She sat up in bed and looked at me. “What are you talking about?”
“The bedroom is yours. It’s only right. I’ll move my stuff into your closet, and you can move everything of yours into the bedroom closet. Decorate the room, enjoy a real bed for once, and sleep like the princess you are.”
“Jennifer, you don’t have to do that. I don’t mind sleeping here. Actually, because of the bar that cuts across the mattress, it actually makes me get up and start writing earlier than I would have otherwise. That bar is pure motivation.”
I nodded toward the bedroom. “I believe there’s an alarm clock in there.”
“With a snooze button.”
I rolled my eyes, poured us two cups of coffee, and added some sugar and then some creamer. After a brisk stir, I brought her a cup, and kissed her on the forehead. “Seriously. I’ve been a handful lately. More than usual, which means you’ve had a mountain on your hands. I appreciate all you’ve done for me—more than you know—and I especially appreciate your patience. I’ve been a mess.”
She screwed up her face at me. “You don’t have to thank me. I think you listened to me for weeks when Kevin dumped me. Remember what that was like? Let me remind you, because it was epic. ‘Why would he ever want to leave a hot piece of ass like this? What a fool. What an idiot. Who is he kidding? I mean, right? Right? This is bullshit. Ughhhh. Why do I still love him? Why do I wish he’d call me right now? I’m going to kill him. Help me slash the tires on that fucking car of his. I’ll get a knife.’ And on and on. I was a drunk psycho bitch without a filter that night. This friendship isn’t exactly one-sided, and you know it never has been.”
I sat down on the chair at the end of her bed. “When you’re ready to switch rooms, let me know, OK? But
it has to be today. It’s my turn on the sofa.” She was about to speak, but I raised a hand. “Please don’t. You deserve it. I insist. That’s the end of it. Now, let me tell you about my day.” I told her about my plans to narrow down the best restaurants in the city and—when my feet were able to handle a pair of shoes—to start visiting them ASAP for a job.
“I think you’re making the right move.”
“It was your idea. And it is the right move. Hell, I’ll probably make more waitressing than I would have if I wound up working for the evil Ms. Blackwell. And if I do get a job, I’m buying the air conditioner. Can you believe this heat? Even this early in the morning? I should open some windows. Get some air moving.”
“Maybe for an hour.”
“Cool it off before it becomes too much.”
“It’s supposed to be over ninety again today.”
I smiled at her. “Then I suggest we both double up on the deodorant. Otherwise, we’re both screwed.”
My cell phone rang as I was opening the living room window.
“Who’s calling me at this hour?”
“Maybe it’s for a job. Maybe you’re getting a call back.”
I got up and crossed into the kitchen where my phone was on the counter. “Don’t make me nervous.”
“Who is it?”
I just stared at the screen. “Wenn Enterprises,” I said. “Holy shit, you’re right. It’s Blackwell.”
CHAPT
ER SEVEN
“Hello?”
“Jennifer Kent?”
I looked over at Lisa and nodded. It was Blackwell, all right. The clipped tone of her voice was immediately recognizable. “This is she.”
“This is Ms. Blackwell.”
“Who?”
“Ms. Blackwell.”
“I’m sorry, I’m drawing a blank.”
“Really? I can’t imagine.” She cleared her throat, likely out of anger and frustration. “A position has recently opened. I was asked to call to see if you were interested in coming in for an interview.”
“I’m sorry. Where is this interview?”
“Wenn Enterprises.”
“Oh, you’re that Ms. Blackwell.”
“That’s right.”
“How could I forget? The one who threatened me? The one who used her divorce against me? I’m afraid I’m busy, Ms. Blackwell.”
“I’d think twice about that, Ms. Kent.”
“And why is that?”
“Because this job is special. It’s a high-paying job. It’s the sort of job that will help you get noticed at Wenn Enterprises, which I believe you said you wanted when we first met.”
“You mean, when we first exchanged words?”
“Ms. Kent, I apologize for the way I treated you.” It was as if she was reading a script. Her voice was cold and tight. Nothing in her tone suggested that she was sorry at all, but damned if she wasn’t going through the motions. Why? “It was an unfortunate exchange that we had the other day. That’s all. I’ve been under some pressure lately.”
“So, I noted. And that affects me how?”
“It shouldn’t have affected you at all, thus my apology.”
Whatever. “Why are you calling me about this job again?”
“I was asked to.”
“By whom?”
“By Mr. Wenn himself. He saw your resume. He’d like you to come in for an interview.”
“How did Mr. Wenn, of all people, see my resume?”
“I can’t disclose that.”
“Is this for the secretarial position?”
“No. He’s in need of an executive assistant.”
“Doesn’t he already have one?”
“He did, but he promoted her this morning.”
“To what?”
“Senior director of something or other.”
“That’s specific.”
“Ms. Kent, I didn’t order the promotion. Mr. Wenn did. I was recently told about it, and then I was instructed to call you. That’s all I know.”
“But why didn’t you warn him against me? This doesn’t make sense. You cast me out of your office. You said I wasn’t worth your time. You must have told Mr. Wenn that. You said—I believe—‘toodles’ to me.”
“And I’ve apologized. I’m hoping we can get beyond that. I’m calling to ask you if you’d like to interview for the job.”
“Before I come in, Ms. Blackwell, I need to know what the position entails.”
“You’ll serve Mr. Wenn. This isn’t just about keeping his calendar. Though you’ll do that, in a way. Probably the best way to describe this position is that you’ll be his confidante. You’ll be that one indispensable person he can’t live without. In this particular case, that’s what Mr. Wenn needs. You’ll literally be his right arm. As you’d imagine, he’s a busy man. He needs someone bright to step in and help him keep sense of things. He needs someone he can bounce ideas off of. After seeing your resume, he was intrigued because he needs someone who is as well educated as you are. You’ll work long hours together. Late hours. You need to be prepared for that.”
“How many hours?”
“At least twelve. Likely up to fifteen per day. And you’ll work most weekends. Mr. Wenn works very hard.”
He’s a billionaire. Why wouldn’t he? “That seems excessive.”
“In New York, it isn’t, Ms. Kent. Though I imagine that it is in Maine.”
I ignored the slight. Mainers often worked three jobs to pay the bills, and some still were at the poverty level. This woman didn’t know what she was talking about. “What is the pay?”
“Two hundred fifty thousand per year.”
My mouth dropped open. Was she joking? Of course, she was. This was a joke. A cruel one. When I didn’t say anything, she said, “I assume you’re surprised by the pay?”
I collected myself. “Actually, no. It’s Wenn Enterprises, after all. I’d expect the pay to be at that level for an executive position.”
“Right. Well, Ms. Kent, I need to ask if you’re willing to come in for an interview. You’ll be meeting directly with Mr. Wenn. The interview will last an hour. Are you interested?”
I decided to go for it. “Is the pay negotiable?”
“Everything is negotiable, especially if he feels that you’re the right person for the job. But I wouldn’t push it. You have no real-world experience.”
“Apparently, I have enough experience to command two hundred fifty thousand dollars a year.”
Lisa’s mouth fell open and I looked away before she could throw me off my game.
“Perhaps. May I schedule an appointment?”
With my feet in such terrible condition, I could barely walk. I needed to put this off for a few days so they could have time to heal. Otherwise, I’d come off like an idiot. “How does Thursday sound?”
“We were hoping that you’d come in this afternoon.”
“I have a funeral to attend this afternoon. The burial is tomorrow. It will need to be Thursday.”
“I’ll let Mr. Wenn know about the funeral and the burial, and I’ll call you back.”
Before I could say another word, the line went dead.
I turned to Lisa and was about to scream when the line rang again. “You’ve got to be kidding me?” I said.
“Answer it!”
“That quick?”
“Just answer it!”
I took a breath. “This is Jennifer.”
“Thursday at noon, Ms. Kent. Mr. Wenn would like to send flowers to the deceased. Can you please give me the name of the funeral home?”
Was he standing right next to her? Only moments had lapsed between calls. “That’s unnecessary.”
“But he insists.”
Shit. “Please tell him that I appreciate the gesture, but this isn’t a relative of mine. I’m going to the funeral to support a friend. I’ll see Mr. Wenn at noon on Thursday. I assume I come to you first?”
“You do.”
“Thank you, Ms. Blackwe
ll.”
The woman paused, and I could sense the temperature in the room dropping twenty degrees.
“Good luck, Ms. Kent.”
CH
APTER EIGHT
“Jennifer, just hear me out, OK? Just listen to me. No talking. I need you to be focused. Are you focused? Oh, shit, you’re not focused. Why would you be? Put down the phone. Step away from it. And listen to me. Can you do that? Apparently, not. Why are you looking so pale? Jesus, don’t faint.”
I was in a haze. From potential waitress to potential cash cow in a matter of minutes. I blinked into a room in which the edges were oddly blurred. I felt light headed, as if I’d had a drink. The world seemed to be turning on its axis. I could hear the sound of something rushing in my ears. “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. A year. Oh my God.”
Lisa gripped my arm in an effort to steady me. “You don’t have the job yet.”
“I need to get this job.”
She pressed me back against the counter and held me there for support. “Then listen to me. You have a credit card. You haven’t used it since we got here. You saved it for an emergency. Well, this is an emergency. Do you hear me? This is a full-on, five-alarm-fire emergency. You need to have your hair cut and colored. You need to buy a new suit and shoes—and nothing cheap. If it doesn’t work out, you can pay off the clothes and the haircut with the waitressing gig you’ll land. Are you listening to me? What’s wrong with your eyes? Why are you smiling at me like that? Jennifer? Jennifer!”
“I can’t believe it.”
“Snap out of it.”
“I don’t even know what that kind of money looks like. My parents are poor. I’ve always been poor. What the hell does it feel like to make that much money?”
“You won’t know if you don’t listen to me.”
“Why would they pay me so much right off the bat?”
“Who cares? Maybe that’s what they pay in New York. What’s the job, anyway?”
Annihilate Me (Vol. 1) (The Annihilate Me Series) Page 3