Then there was an e-mail ding, and Rodney’s reply appeared in my in-box. It took me two tries to open it, for my hands were shaking so much that I couldn’t hold the mouse steady. “I’m glad you decided to hear us out, Katie,” the message read. “Five fifteen today, the coffee shop on Broadway near Rector. You won’t regret it.”
I wrote the information in my planner, replied that I would meet him at the designated place and time, then deleted the e-mail. Out of sheer paranoia, I went into my sent items folder and deleted both my initial response and my confirmation. I knew Mimi wasn’t nearly computer literate enough to know there even was a sent items folder, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I wanted the next job firmly lined up before I left this one, willingly or otherwise.
After her outburst earlier in the afternoon, Mimi was strangely quiet the rest of the day. That only made me nervous, for it was likely just the calm before the storm. She was probably in her office plotting ways to make me look bad without making herself look stupid. I kept my fingers crossed most of the day, hoping she didn’t pull one of her “Oh, before you leave today” routines of dropping something on my desk at five minutes to five.
At four thirty I took a casual stroll to the bathroom to touch up my hair and makeup. I wasn’t dressed quite the way I’d like to be for a job interview, but this didn’t sound like it would be a conventional job interview. It wasn’t like I was begging Rod to hire me. Instead, I was asking him why I should even listen to him. He should be the one dressing up.
When I’d put a call through to Mimi that I knew would keep her occupied for a while, I printed out my résumé, then sprinted to the printer room to collect it the moment it came off the printer. I got it into my briefcase just as Mimi hung up the phone, but she still didn’t come into my cube, which was a relief.
The second my computer clock said it was five, I shut it down, then gathered my purse and briefcase. I didn’t change into my walking shoes, but that wasn’t unusual, as I most often changed in the lobby. I liked to look professional the entire time I was in the office, ever since the day Mimi caught me with an assignment as I came through the door and I had to spend most of the morning in the wrong shoes.
My heart beat faster as I neared the coffee shop. Why was I doing this? Oh yeah, I was stuck in a dead-end job working for a complete psycho. The city sanitation workers had a more pleasant working environment than I did.
Rodney was waiting at a table by the window, just inside the doorway. With him was Mr. Right, the cute guy I’d seen on the subway. I hadn’t been imagining that they knew each other. They both stood as I entered. “Katie!” Rodney greeted me, his tone warm and friendly, with none of the smarmy oil he’d had in our previous encounters. “Good to see you. And I’d like you to meet Owen Palmer, one of my colleagues.”
Owen, who was just as cute as I’d remembered, actually blushed as he shook my hand. He didn’t quite meet my eyes, ducking his head a little bit instead. Most guys who look that good are pretty confident about it, but his shyness was absolutely adorable. If he was part of this company, this job was looking better and better.
“Please have a seat,” Rodney said. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“A cappuccino, please,” I said. I normally didn’t let myself buy the pricier coffee beverages, but it looked like he was paying, so I might as well indulge myself.
He headed off to the counter, which left me alone with Owen. It looked like conversation was up to me, for he seemed to be trying to read his fortune in the nutmeg sprinkles on the top of his own cappuccino. “So, do you live around Union Square?” I asked. “I noticed you yesterday at the subway station.”
He blushed again, then looked up at me with a shy smile, almost meeting my eyes this time. “Yes, I do,” he said, the first words I’d heard him speak. He had a pleasant voice.
“It’s a great area, isn’t it? I’ve lived around there a year, and I don’t think I’ve even begun to explore it.” I laughed. “Boy, I sound like a tourist, don’t I? No native would gush this much.”
Still blushing, he smiled. In spite of his dark, almost black, hair, his skin was fair, so the blushes really showed. Poor guy. I wondered how he survived in business. Maybe he was a real demon in writing. He couldn’t cope with meetings, but his memos were killers.
Rodney returned to the table and placed a small swimming pool of cappuccino in front of me. Seriously, I could have used it as a hot tub. I promised myself I wouldn’t drink all of it, not if I wanted to sleep that week.
He took his seat, waited for me to take a sip, then said, “I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”
“Yeah, about a zillion. All of them, in fact. Your e-mails weren’t very informative. You didn’t even tell me what kind of company you’re with.”
The two men exchanged a look I couldn’t read, then Rod turned back to me and said, “It’s hard to fit that kind of information into an e-mail.”
“It’s also difficult to describe our business in a way that doesn’t sound alarming,” Owen added, in the first full sentence I’d heard him speak. It seemed he did okay when he was on a business footing. Maybe he just didn’t know how to talk to women.
Then I realized what he’d said about the business sounding alarming. Sex slavery, I knew it. I cleared my throat so my voice wouldn’t crack and said, “Um, what business are you in?”
They looked at each other again. Owen said, still in business mode, “We research and develop products that facilitate convenience for a specific population, as well as monitor and supervise the use of our products in the public marketplace.”
That didn’t tell me much, other than that it didn’t sound like I was going to be shipped off to some South Seas isle to be a tribal ruler’s love slave, unless that was the population they provided convenience for. A sex slave could be a convenience. But I didn’t get that vibe here. No one would use business buzzwords to describe sex slavery. “Like software?” I asked, hoping I was in the right ballpark.
Owen smiled and blushed. “Yes, very much like software, but our business predates the computer industry by many decades.”
“I see,” I said, even though I didn’t, not really. But I didn’t care much what business they were in as long as it wasn’t immoral, illegal, or dangerous to me. I barely knew what the company I currently worked for did. “And what would my role in all this be?”
Rod leaned forward, made eye contact with me and held it for a second before he said, “You’d be more in the administration end of things. You wouldn’t have to concern yourself with the actual products, just the running of the business itself. You’d function in an advisory capacity to our executives.”
I wasn’t sure what I could advise anyone about, unless it was which fertilizer to use on which kind of plant, how to know just when to pay the bills to maximize bank interest while not making a late payment, or where to put commas in a memo, but I knew the business code phrases as well as anyone did. “In other words, I’d be an administrative assistant, like I am now.”
Owen looked down at the table and shredded his paper napkin with his fingers. “Sort of, but not really,” he said.
“This particular position is unique to our company,” Rod said smoothly as he flashed a smile at a tall blonde entering the coffee shop. She eyed him appreciatively in return. I suspected he’d have her phone number before she left. He returned his attention to me. “It’s difficult to describe this position, although it does involve some of the usual administrative functions. But believe me, this is a job you were born for. You’ll never find another job that so uniquely suits your abilities.”
“But how do you even know what my abilities are?” Only then did I remember the résumé in my briefcase. This wasn’t going like any other job interview I’d ever been on. “I do have a résumé with me,” I said as I bent to retrieve it. “Sorry, but I only made one copy.”
Rod took it from me, skimmed over it absently, then handed it to Owen, who studied it more intently. �
�You certainly have an impressive record,” Rod said, “but that’s not why we want you. We’ve already thoroughly screened you and determined that you have the attributes we need for this position.”
“Oh, so that’s why you’ve been stalking me.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Owen grin, a totally unself-conscious grin that said, “You are so busted.” If he was adorable with his blushes and shy smiles, now he was downright gorgeous. I would have been willing to scrub toilets to work in the same building with this man, but I tried to get my libido under check. That was no way to go about finding a job, even if men had been using that method to hire secretaries for ages.
“Testing you,” Rod corrected.
I pondered that. Maybe it had been an emperor’s new clothes deal, where the fact that I didn’t join the crowds to swoon over Rod counted as something. I’d proven that I wasn’t easily swayed by peer pressure, but I’d also proven that appearances did apparently count with me—although it was more Rod’s smugness and oily manner that had turned me off.
“But why me?” I asked after a while. “I’m just so . . . so ordinary. There are probably hundreds—thousands, even—of people in this city with exactly the same qualifications. Okay, maybe not who have worked in a feed-and-seed store, but you see what I mean.”
“You’d be surprised how rare the truly ordinary is,” Owen said softly. It was the kind of thing Yogi Berra would have said, but Owen made it sound profound and mysterious. I squinted at him in confusion, and he continued. “You have a unique perspective, a way of looking at things, that we find valuable.”
“Oh, I get it,” I said with great relief. “You’re looking for a reality check.”
His face lit up, and I fell just the least bit in love with him. “Yes! Exactly.”
Now everything made a lot more sense. Some big corporation actually wanted my small-town honesty and common sense, instead of looking down on me because I grew up west of the Hudson River. I still wasn’t sure how they’d found me in the first place, but I was sure big companies had all the resources they needed to find the right people.
“So, would you like to pursue this further?” Rod asked. “Things can get a little complicated from this point. Our executive team would have to interview you, and of course we’d tell you more about who we are. We would expect some discretion on your part, in return. We operate out of the public spotlight, so we’d ask that you not discuss our business matters with anyone else.”
There was still something just the least bit odd about all of this, but by now I was intrigued. I wanted to know who these people were, and I couldn’t resist the idea of working for someone who might actually respect me a little bit, who had made such an effort to recruit me, out of all the people in New York. The more cautious part of my brain warned me that they could be playing to my ego, but curiosity overruled caution. “Sure,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t shake quite as much as it felt like it did.
He smiled, a real smile instead of a fake one calculated to charm, and for a second he actually looked good, proving that I’d been right about him. A less oily personality and a little effort made a big difference. “Great! If you’ll excuse me for a second, I can try to line up the next step.”
He got up and went outside, which left me alone with Owen, and the moment the situation turned from business to social, he got shy again and clammed up. We both sipped our cappuccinos in silence, darting little glances at each other. I’d have to get advice from Gemma on how to get a shy guy to relax and speak.
Rod came back inside, and I dabbed at my lips with a napkin, hoping I didn’t have a foam mustache. “Is there any way you can get away during the day on Thursday?” he asked. “That’s about the only time I can get together the people who need to meet you.”
I didn’t want to risk losing this. I wasn’t quite sure if I was desperate to escape from Mimi or excited about this job, but I knew I’d do just about anything to pursue the opportunity. “I can take a sick day,” I said, then I suddenly worried that being so willing to admit that would dim my image of small-town honesty. “I haven’t taken one yet,” I hurried to explain. “And if you knew my boss, you’d know they owe me a mental health day or two.” Oops, I’d just committed another job interview sin, complaining about my current boss. But they didn’t seem to care.
“Great. We’re set, then. We’ll see you at ten Thursday morning.” He handed me a business card that had MSI, Inc. printed on it in Gothic lettering, along with his name and the usual contact information. “The address is on here, but it can be a little hard to find, so let me draw you a map.” He took the card back, turned it over, and sketched in a few streets and landmarks. “Just ask for me at the front desk,” he said as he handed the card back to me.
I tucked it carefully into my purse as we all stood to leave. Rod was the first to shake my hand. “I’m glad you finally decided to meet with us,” he said.
“I figured it was either that or you would have driven me crazy.”
“You’re not wrong about that,” he said, and he wasn’t laughing or smiling. “You have no idea how much my bosses want me to get you on board.”
Owen came around the table and shook my hand. “I look forward to having you on the team,” he said softly, meeting my eyes for the first time, and then immediately blushing from his collar to the roots of his hair. He had the prettiest dark blue eyes, but they didn’t do him any good if he didn’t let anyone see them. He and Rod made quite a team. Rod acted like he looked like Owen, and Owen acted like he looked like Rod. Maybe there had been a science experiment gone wrong somewhere in their past.
“I’ll see y’all on Thursday,” I said, so flustered that I forgot not to talk Texan. Then, with my head still spinning, I turned to walk up Broadway toward home, pausing to change into my walking shoes when I was well out of sight of the coffee shop.
This was another occasion when I was glad of the nearly hour-long walk home. I needed to think. For one thing, I needed to find a way to explain to my roommates that I was pursuing that job offer after all, but I figured I’d wait until I had the job sewn up. In the meantime I needed a reason I was getting home so late, but in New York that was easy.
Even Marcia, the workaholic, was home by the time I got there. She and Gemma looked up at me from where they sat on the sofa eating Chinese takeout. “You’re home late,” Marcia commented. “Bad Mimi day?”
“The worst,” I said, kicking off my shoes and dropping my purse and briefcase. “I did some window shopping on the way home to help me recover.”
“And you didn’t buy anything?” Gemma asked with a raised eyebrow. “I admire your restraint.” I refrained from telling her that it was easy to be restrained when you had no money to spend. She patted the sofa cushion next to her. “Take a load off. We’ve got plenty of kung pao.”
The next person I had to fool was Mimi, but I knew that shouldn’t be too difficult. I didn’t wear any makeup the next morning, so I’d look pale and sickly. As I walked into lower Manhattan, I kept an eye out for the building that supposedly housed MSI, Inc. According to Rod’s map, it was across from City Hall Park and down a side street.
I tripped over my own feet and had to steady myself against the side of a building when I saw it. It looked like a turreted medieval castle looming over the more Victorian storefronts. Why hadn’t I seen that before? I was usually too busy trying to look into the lobby of the Woolworth Building when I walked that stretch of sidewalk, now that I thought about of it.
That whole day at work, I played the “I’m coming down with something” game. I looked as listless as possible, coughed every so often, and made my voice hoarser as the day progressed. By the time the day ended, most of my coworkers were telling me I should stay home the next day. Even Mimi had commented on my illness, but without much sympathy. She seemed more worried that I’d spread the germs to her.
That meant no one would be the least bit suspicious when I called in sick the next morning. As I walked home that evening
I wondered if I’d managed to convince myself that I was sick. I had a headache, my legs felt heavy, and every time I heard a subway train pass beneath a sidewalk grating I envied the people who weren’t walking. It would be so nice not to have to worry about every little dollar, to be able to ride whenever I felt like it. I reminded myself that they were crammed up close to one another, while I was aboveground, enjoying fresh air and exercise, but this time the mind games weren’t very effective. It wasn’t that I wanted to have a ride to and from work every day. I just wanted the option without feeling guilty about it. I wanted not to have to keep a running cash register tape in my head so I’d know where every penny went. Rod and Owen hadn’t discussed money when talking to me about the job, but if they were recruiting that heavily, there had to be some perks involved. Even a few hundred extra a month would be nice. It would make the difference between getting by and really living.
I didn’t have to explain anything to my roommates to keep them from getting suspicious. I just declared that evening that I was going to take a mental health day, and they cheered, saying it was about time. Gemma even commented that I looked tired and needed a break to keep from getting sick. That gave me an excuse to go to bed early.
While Gemma and Marcia watched TV in the living room, I tried to compare the little map on the back of Rod’s business card to my stash of New York guidebooks. You’d think a building as striking as the one I’d seen would be listed, but there was no mention of it. The street it was on didn’t appear on any maps I could find. I knew there were all sorts of twisty little side streets in that part of town, mostly from having been lost on them, but I would have thought that all of them would be on the map. That just made this whole situation even more interesting.
Enchanted, Inc. (Enchanted Inc #1) Page 4