by SE Hall
Once he’s had time to take in the pile of green in front of him, his bulging eyes telling me I’ve won this battle, I fire the kill shot. “How’s three months paid for today in cash sound? Will that buy me enough faith for you to let me move in now, while you wait for the background check?”
The short, balding man with a beer gut and holes in his yellowed, thread-barren t-shirt snags the wad from my hand and flips through it, way too fast to accurately count it, but is apparently satisfied. He twists one key off a large silver ring that looks to hold about fifty others and slaps it in the palm of my hand with a snaggle-toothed grin. “Sounds good. Need anything, I’m in the unit on the first floor, far left corner, apartment A11.” He starts to leave, then turns his cue ball head back, beady eyes narrowed. “Try not to need anything.”
And with that warm welcome, he closes the door, leaving me to my new pad—which, did I mention, does in fact smell like a litter box, has not a stitch of furniture, and gravely needs a cleaning. Truly, I’m inspired to invent Peni409, all-purpose Penicillin-based cleaner in an easy to use spray bottle.
Oh well, this rat-hole has one purpose, which it meets flawlessly. All windows give a crystal-clear, and each helpfully different, viewpoint of Devon’s old apartment. I can’t whip out the binoculars and camera just yet though; first, I’ll have to get some blinds and curtains. I might as well add some furniture and Glade Plugs-ins to the list while I’m at it.
I test the key he gave me once, twice, then rig the two, large-enough-for-entry windows and door with ‘alarms’—booby-traps another term I simply refuse to engage—and head out to town for some necessities and to go retrieve my handful of belongings from the hotel.
I WAKE AT SUNRISE, torn from the first peaceful sleep I’ve had in several nights by the rude glare of day’s new light, directly in my eyes. Sharing a bed with Hunter over the weekend took ‘yay, a long holiday break’ and dumped a bucket of cold water right on top of it. Silent, emotionless, and ungratifying sex—with the delightful bonus of waking up in the wee hours of the morning to frozen appendages—him having stolen all the covers…somehow left me short of heart a’ flutter.
By lunch on Monday afternoon, I’d had more than my fill of the charade, lest Alyssa, whom I felt bad for leaving there to suffer without me. Unable to get home fast enough, I used my newly acquired kitten’s, Stripe, need for food and water as an excuse and fled the scene like I was being chased.
No sense in rehashing it, bad enough the first time. Grumbling, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and shuffle over to my dresser, pulling out a sports bra and yoga pants. Minutes and quick inhaling of a granola bar and glass of juice later, I step into the guest bedroom turned home gym—pumped and ready to get my sweat on.
With the press of a button, the compelling opening chords of Arctic Monkeys’ Do I Wanna Know blare through the mounted speakers as I hop onto the elliptical and start my daily workout. Singing along with the music, my arms and legs begin to tingle with the increased blood flow coursing through them, and I suddenly find the lyrics overwhelmingly applicable to my life. I’ve heard the song hundreds of times before, but never once given any serious consideration to the words or the meaning behind them, until now…something changing inside of me a little more each day.
Never once have I questioned my parents, or even Hunter for that matter. Neither have I ever been allowed to peruse, edit, or make the slightest changes to my father’s ‘Jocelyn’s Life Manual’. However, recently—especially after the way everyone treated Devon Harrison’s suicide with such blasé disregard—I’m starting to wonder why. Why are they the way they are? Why do I tolerate it, nimbly moving the limbs to whichever string they pull? Why does a life that’s not really even my own finally feel like it’s actually going to suffocate me?
But, then again, do I want to know?
I push myself harder than ever in my hour-long sweat-fest, trying desperately to void my body of the growing uncertainty muddling my thoughts. But, the wilder my heart pounds in my chest, the more my pores weep with exhaustion, the more frustrated I become, conceding mid-set of my lunges and storming off to the shower.
Out and dried, makeup and hair done, I glide to my closet with a surge of empowerment. I dress with purpose in one of my favorite pantsuits—fitted, navy trousers that hug my curvaceous hips and a matching single-button blazer. In remembrance of cute Devon Harrison and his compliment, I wear a pale pink silk camisole under it, the perfect V-neck to hint at the full breasts perched directly beneath. Nude pumps slide easily onto my feet, and with one last glimpse in the mirror, I’m more than pleased with my appearance and head out, extra pep to my step.
Sixty tedious minutes in bumper-to-bumper traffic later, I finally pull my silver Tesla Model S into my assigned parking spot and breathe a sigh of relief, noticing neither my father nor Hunter have made it in yet. They’re both best dealt with after I’ve had a cup of coffee…or four.
I smile and say hello to the fellow JCC employees sharing the elevator with me. Unlike other high-ranking people in the company, I tend to think it’s important to be friendly and approachable to other staff, no matter their position or pay-scale. People who like and respect those they work for are a helluva lot more efficient and productive than their counterparts; I learned that imperative lesson on the first day of Business Management 101.
Plus, being a genuinely kind person isn’t as difficult as some would make it seem; I learned that on the first day of Kindergarten.
Half in the elevator empty onto the second floor, while the remaining exit on the third, leaving me alone for final ascent to the top—an eye-opening reminder that I’m not one of them. But, I’m beginning to think I’m not one of the others either. Maybe I’m just me—whoever that is.
“Jocelyn! You’re here early, thank heavens!” Alyssa’s flustered voice pierces the executive lobby the minute I step out of the elevator.
“Good morning to you too, Lys,” I reply with a half-groan. Her tone tells me I’m already walking into a shit storm and I haven’t even set my purse down yet. “What’s up?”
An already prepared cup of coffee is thrust into my hand as I approach her desk and she offers a weak smile. “After we all left on Friday to head out of town, Andrew from the Patenting Department submitted his two weeks’ notice. With the uh, intern being gone,” she takes a sullen breath, “and now Andrew, Grady is demanding we get someone hired immediately. He’s been reviewing resumes since like, six-thirty this morning, and setting up interviews for this afternoon.”
I sip the piping hot, sugary drink of the gods, allowing the caffeinated warmth to weave its magic through me while she rambles. “Okay, I agree with him that we need to find a replacement, but I’m missing why you’re freaking out?”
“You know all interviewees have to meet with your dad or Hunter after their initial screening from HR.” she begins.
“Yesss…” Sometimes her drawn out, over-dramatic segues annoy me, but I keep my tone tempered.
“Neither of them are coming in today or tomorrow. They decided to stay out at Stone Harbor with my dad to have some male bonding time or whatever.”
Heated anger bubbles up inside me. I don’t care they’re not going to be in the office—honestly, I actually prefer when they’re not—but the fact that Hunter didn’t even bother to call or text me to let me know what his plans were aggravates the hell out of me. He expects to know where I am, what I’m doing, and who I’m doing it with 24/7, but lacks the decency to return the favor. Ever. And the few times I’ve actually mustered up the energy to call him out on it, fueled solely by my low tolerance for hypocrisy, he’d had the audacity to get irritated with me!
“What, you don’t trust me?” he asked, doing a terrible job of faking baffled, appalled eyes.
“I’d say we trust each other equally,” I answered with all the sugary-sweetness I could stomach.
“Should I tell Grady to reschedule the interviews for later in the week?” Alyssa asks hesitantly,
drawing my attention back to the Hunter-based annoyance of present time.
Fuck them! They say I’ll be running the company one day; then I can sure as hell handle administering a few interviews for a mid-level position. “No, I’ll do the interviews. Get me a schedule of who Grady has lined up and what times. I’ll be ready,” I command, “and don’t you dare say a word about this to them until they get back. Let them bond. You and I will prove we’re perfectly capable of getting things accomplished without a man’s supervision.”
Many times before, Alyssa and I have complained to each other about the way the bullheaded men in our lives belittle our ability to do anything on our own. I know my words hit home for her and she’ll have my back. Her dark eyes light up with excitement as a mischievous smile spreads across her face, confirming that. “Consider it done.”
I’M A BIT SURPRISED WHEN the call comes first thing Tuesday morning. With it having been Memorial Day weekend, no work on Monday, I was anticipating a response later in the week at the very earliest. This is great, but also means I’m not as far along in other areas of reconnaissance as I’d have liked before starting work. I’ll have to switch it up, get faster…nothing I can’t fix.
The man on the phone—a Grady Bartholomew, HR Director at JCC—had done little to mask the necessity in his voice, basically begging me to come in for an interview today. No way they’d be that frantic to replace Devon, an intern, so after some pseudo-aloof questioning of my own, I’d discovered this was to replace an unexpected resignation in the Patenting Department. I agreed to an appointment, giving me plenty of time to get cleaned up and well-versed in Pharmaceutical Patents lingo.
They’d thrown me the ball; time to catch it and run it in for six.
“Mr. Bryce Griggs, it’s a pleasure,” a scattered, nervous man with a bad toupee, wrinkled suit, and cold, clammy handshake greets me by my new name in the main lobby of JCC Pharmaceuticals, Inc. “I’m Grady Bartholomew. Thank you for coming in on such short notice. Can I get you something to drink before we get started?”
“No, thank you, I’m fine.”
“Alright, then let’s head to my office,” he replies as he turns to lead the way. I take in as much as I can during the short jaunt, but nothing of importance strikes me, simply grandiose furnishings in a frivolous show of extravagance. “Right in here,” he stands with his back against the door, ushering me to enter first, “please, have a seat.” He motions to my choice of two chairs and then takes his own behind the large desk.
He shuffles through a disorganized heap of papers on his desk, sorting them into two piles, labeled with different colored post-it notes—no, really—stuck right there on the desktop, ‘no’ or ‘forward’.
I struggle fiercely to contain my shocked laughter. Elaborately lavish building, multi-million dollar drug peddling dynasty, and this is the filing system of their HR Director, as in, tells other people how to do shit?
I’d bang a quick U-turn outta here and tip-off the FDA to scope this place out under different circumstances, but I need this job for the greater good. Their lack of pristine personnel or organization may make my real job here easier than I expected.
“Here it is,” he finally speaks. “Sorry about that. Today’s been crazy. All right, Mr. Griggs, I see you work for Phillips Taylor?”
The saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth is plainly visible from my vantage point. I clear my throat and cross my right ankle over my left knee. “Worked. Mr. Bartholomew, I’ll be frank. My non-compete agreement with PT expired on the twentieth. I had sixteen days of unused vacation accrued, which I’m currently using to explore my other options before signing on for another term with them. I’m sure they’re aware of this on some level, but I’d like you apprised of the delicate specifics as to handle reference checks appropriately,” I stare at him pointedly, but professionally, hoping to deter him from snooping, pretty confident it’ll work, already seeing how standardized his methods... aren’t.
“Of course, of course.” His head bobs as though on springs.
“Luckily for us both, however,” I work up a facetious chuckle for him, “Phillips Taylor is as modest as they are willing to lose me. So, if you visit the company profile, which I provided for you on my resume,” I point to it in his eager, slightly trembling hands, “they’ve actually done the work for you. All my accreditations, recognitions, and service awards, along with a few colleague accolades, are publicly boasted by the company right there.”
“Oh, I saw.” He laughs extravagantly, delighting in ‘our inside joke’ on the competitor. “If you’ll excuse me.” He holds up a finger, picking up his desk phone and dialing a four-digit extension, grinning at me as he waits. “Alyssa, I have a gentleman here, Bryce Griggs, who I’d like Ms. Craig to interview now, if possible.”
He nods, throws in a few ‘yes’, and ‘absolutely’ responses, then ends the call. “Mr. Griggs, I’m going to take you up to Ms. Craig, our Director of Public Relations, for the second phase of your interview. Please, follow me.” He stands and heads for the door.
Second phase? Where the hell was the first one? And Ms. Craig? As in, the second C in JCC, Craig?
Well, here we go…
Meaningless, space-filling blabbering on the short ride up, we exit the elevator on the fourth floor, the very top, precisely where I’d expect a namesake’s office to be found. And if I thought they were putting on the Ritz downstairs, I have to stifle a whistle at the waste of money on display for the ‘power floor’ furnishings. I’m half-tempted to remove my shoes.
“If you’ll have a seat here in the lobby,” Mr. Bartholomew instructs, “I’ll let them know you’re here.”
“Thank you,” I offer my hand, “I appreciate your time and consideration.”
I have a seat, glancing around for perhaps five minutes or so, when he appears again from around the corner, this time accompanied by an attractive female with shiny black hair and a lovely smile.
“Mr. Griggs, this is Alyssa Pierce, Ms. Craig’s assistant. I’ll leave you in her hands now. Good luck.” He pats my shoulder with his left hand and again shakes my own with his right, then departs.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she smiles even wider at me, “right this way.” She turns and I follow, wondering if she’s the one who caught Devon’s eye. She’s cute, his age, and seemingly educated and hardworking, being a top floor employee.
We arrive at a closed door, bearing a gold nameplate labeled Jocelyn Craig, Director Public Relations. Ah, I see what they did there—James Craig, Jocelyn Craig, JCC Pharmaceuticals, Inc. Having researched the company thoroughly, I know full-well I’m about to meet the only child, set to be beneficiary of the company one day, Daddy’s Girl.
Well, this ought to be a bigger joke than the lame excuse for an interview I just sat through.
THREE INTERVIEWS BEFORE LUNCH and none of them impressed me. I realize the position we’re filling isn’t a top-level management gig, and we didn’t give a lot of notice, but surely we’d allowed time for changing into something besides jeans and/or spitting out your gum? I wouldn’t hire any of these people to be a mailroom clerk, much less work in our Patenting Department.
After breaking for lunch, I escape to the bathroom to brush my teeth and freshen up before the next four scheduled appointments. I only hope the afternoon brings along a little more promise than the morning did. I return to my office to see I’ve missed a text from Hunter.
Hunter: Fishing with the dads today. I’m expecting you to show me how much you missed me tomorrow night, doll face.
Doll face? Has he confused me with his favorite dancer at the local strip club he frequents with his buddies? The one he thinks I know nothing about? Yeah, I’m not nearly as naïve as I often let on, less trouble than arguing.
Jocelyn: Have a great time. Need to get back to work.
Hunter: I’m your boss. I say you can take a break for me. Tell me all the things you’ll do for me tomm night.
Has he always been th
is much of a pompous ass or am I just now noticing it? I don’t have time to ponder the thought long before Alyssa buzzes through that the next candidate is waiting.
“Send him in,” I reply, dropping my phone in my purse with a frustrated sigh.
I pull up the résumé of Mr. Bryce Griggs on my laptop, but before I get the chance to scan over it, the door swings open and in walks who I believe is supposed to be the next applicant for the Patenting position. However, I’m afraid this gentleman is lost—having wandered from the GQ shoot nearby perhaps? Unless he’s applying for the starring role of my most lewd and erotic dreams, in which case, he’s hired. In fact, I may give him a raise.
“Ms. Craig,” he says with a bright smile, offering his hand out to me as he strides across the room towards me, “I’m Bryce Griggs. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I blink hard as the sound of his rich, decadent voice yanks me back to reality, and I remember where I am and what I’m supposed to be doing. If he could read minds, he’d already be filing a sexual harassment lawsuit against me, and he’s not even on the payroll. Yet.
I say a silent little prayer that he’s half as intelligent as he is gorgeous, and extend my arm to place my hand in his. “Good afternoon, Mr. Griggs,” I finally reply, trying to ignore the flurry of energy jolting through my body when our skin meets, “I appreciate your ability to make it on such short notice.”
I motion for him to take a seat in the chair on the other side of my desk as I do the same. Forcing myself to tear my eyes from his painted aquamarine irises, I attempt to focus on the words staring back at me from the computer screen. “I’m sorry I haven’t had an opportunity to thoroughly review your work history and qualifications,” I apologize, a bit embarrassed at my unpreparedness, “but as you know, this vacancy in our company only popped up right before the holiday weekend, and I’ve been playing a bit of catch up today. Would you mind telling me a little about yourself, Mr. Griggs?”