Shaft

by Krista Gold

  “If I were you, I’d ask for his number before you go.”

  I jump a mile, and turn to see Jeff grinning mischievously behind me. “Jeff!” I gasp. “You’re not helping bring that blood pressure down, you know!”

  “What have you got to lose? If he says no, you never have to see him again. If he says yes...who knows? I might be buying hats for me and Vince this time next year.” He winks, and I roll my eyes.

  “I don’t think so, somehow. But thanks for the advice.” I smile at him. “And thanks for taking care of me.”

  “Any time.” He gives me a gentle nudge with his shoulder.

  Nate is still frowning down at his phone. I hover, not sure what to do. There’s no way I’m going to ask for his number, but I’m not sure of the etiquette here – what’s the polite thing to do when you’ve had sex with a stranger in an elevator and then been rescued? Do I say goodbye? Or just slip away with a steamy memory to keep, and the ghost of his stubble on my breasts?

  Eventually, I opt for the latter. I don’t think I can bear a dismissive goodbye from Nate. Or worse, an awkward See you around.

  I take a deep breath, and then head for the stairs. I’ve got an interview to salvage.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Nate

  My phone buzzes in my pocket like an angry hornet. I slip it out, groaning when I see the text message on the screen.

  WHERE ARE YOU? YOU WERE MEANT TO BE IN MY OFFICE AT 11.30.

  Great. All caps invariably means he’s in a shitty mood. That’s all I need.

  I type back quickly. Power outage: stuck in lift. Just got out. Are you back in your office? I’ll come up.

  The three dots appear, signifying that he’s typing.

  ARE YOU OK??

  I smile, and relax. The old man’s all front; he’s a softie underneath.

  Fine, I type. Where are you?

  The three dots appear again, then another message. No caps this time. Sorry for assuming. Stressful morning. In lobby with Linda. Come down.

  My fingers fly over the keys. Be there in two.

  I lock my phone screen and slip it back into my pocket, then stand up, scanning the hallway for Allie. The fire-fighters are clustered at one end; the two paramedics are chatting as they re-pack their medical bags at the other. Of Allie there is no sign.

  I walk over to the paramedics and address the male, whose name tag identifies him as Jeff.

  “Hi. Excuse me,” I start, and Jeff looks up. “I saw you treating Allie earlier – I was just wondering if you knew where she went?”

  Jeff looks me up and down, and then his face breaks into a grin. “I thought you were going to miss your chance there, bud,” he says, and I frown. Jeff rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Oh, come on. I saw the way you two were making goo-goo eyes at each other.”

  I stare at him. “Goo-goo...what?”

  Jeff grins even wider. “She left,” he says, nodding to the stairwell. “A few minutes ago. You should be able to catch her if you hurry.” I make to leave, but before I can go, he catches my arm. “Do me a favour, bud? Tell her to make sure she lets Jeff and Vince know about those hats, ok?”

  “Uh, sure.” I eye him warily. The man’s clearly unhinged. He’s grinning like a loon and talking about....hats? I’d thought he was coming on to Allie, all that grinning and twinkling, but it seems he’s like that with everyone, me included. He’s what my dad would call ‘a few cans short of a six-pack’.

  “Well go on!” Jeff enthuses. “What are you waiting for?”

  I don’t need telling twice. I take a deep breath, and head for the stairwell.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Allie

  The lobby is heaving.

  Everywhere I look there are people standing in clusters, talking into phones or to each other so that the buzz of animated conversation fills the space. Everyone looks damp and slightly dishevelled from their foray out into the rain, which makes me feel a little better about my own appearance.

  I cast my eyes over the reception desk; the immaculate receptionists are looking slightly more frazzled than they were an hour ago. I make my way through the crowds, excusing myself repeatedly, but there’s already a bank of visitors waiting to be dealt with, presumably in the same position as me: here for an interview or a meeting, and now completely at a loss regarding where to go.

  I join the crowd of people waiting to be seen, thinking longingly again of that hot bath. It seems like forever ago that I was hunting for a parking space; was that really only this morning? God. I allow myself a rueful smile. Little did I know then what surprises Hart Enterprises had in store for me, and never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined meting someone like Nate.

  I let my eyes drift over the lobby, where they come to rest on an older gentleman who looks vaguely familiar. He must have been evacuated with everyone else, but he doesn’t look in the least bit bedraggled. Far from it: he’s immaculately dressed in a crisp white shirt and navy pin-striped suit, with a red silk cravat adding a splash of color at his throat. His hair is a brilliant white, but it doesn’t make him look old. Instead, it gives him an air of sophistication. His eyes are keen, and a piercing blue, and they’re currently trained on a woman with a clipboard who is talking animatedly.

  My eyes widen as I suddenly realize who he is. Holy shit. That’s Lionel Hart; the owner of Hart Enterprises, and the man I’ve come here to see. It was the hair that threw me – in every photo I’ve seen of him, his hair has been dark grey with a lighter sprinkle of salt and pepper at the temples. He actually suits the white hair better, in my opinion. It makes him look...distinguished.

  I glance at the crowd jostling at the reception desk, and then back at Lionel Hart. It seems silly to wait in this line to speak to someone about rescheduling my interview with Lionel Hart when he’s standing fifteen feet away from me.

  Before I can chicken out, I pick my way across to where Lionel Hart is standing. The efficient looking woman he’s talking to– his assistant? – eyes me up and down as I approach , and I give her a warm smile; it can’t hurt to have her on side.

  “Excuse me?” I say with a confidence I don’t feel. “Mr. Hart? My name is Allie. Allie Sinclair. I was meant to be meeting with you this morning to interview for the Executive Assistant position?”

  Lionel Hart frowns. “I’m afraid you must be mistaken, Ms. Sinclair. I only had one interview scheduled this morning, and the candidate was male.”

  My own brow furrows. “I hope I haven’t got the dates mixed up.” I pull up my emails on my cell-phone. “No – it was definitely today, at 11.30am. I have the email from your assistant, Linda Stevens.”

  “I’m Linda Stevens,” says the efficient looking woman crisply. She holds out a hand for my phone, and startled, I give it to her. Her eyes quickly the scan the information, and then she cross-references it with whatever she has on her clipboard.

  “It seems there’s been a mix-up,” she says at last. “I’m sorry for any inconvenience, Ms. Sinclair. I sent your details over to Mr Hart as Alexander Sinclair; I’m guessing it should be Alexandra, yes?”

  “Yes,” I tell her, with a relieved smile. Phew – for a second there, I thought I’d got my interview time and date completely wrong, and that wouldn’t have looked good for me, not when attention to detail and organisational skills were listed as the two most important requirements of the job. Mr. Hart clears his throat, and he and Linda share a glance loaded with meaning. I look from one to the other, confused.

  “Is there a problem?” I ask, and Mr. Hart lets out a sigh, then looks at me for a long moment, almost as if he’s deciding whether or not he can trust me. What’s going on?

  “Look,” Mr. Hart says at last. “I’m going to be honest with you here, Ms. Sinclair. For several reasons - reasons I can’t go into too much detail about - I am looking specifically to employ a male Executive Assistant. I’m very sorry to have wasted your time. You are, of course, exceptionally qualified, and I don’t doubt that you will sec
ure an enviable position elsewhere. Thank you for coming, Ms. Sinclair, and I do hope that we haven’t inconvenienced you too much. Good luck.” With that, he turns back to Linda.

  For a moment, I simply stand there with my mouth agape. Has Lionel Hart really just informed me that I can’t interview for this job – a job that he himself has admitted I’m exceptionally qualified for –because…I’m a woman? It’s not like I can have misunderstood what he was trying to say: he was crystal clear. As I stare at the back of his head, my astonishment begins to give way to anger.

  I reach out to tap Mr. Hart on the shoulder. He looks surprised to see me still standing there, as if he’s already forgotten who I am and what I might be doing in his foyer.

  “I’m sorry,” I say in tightly. “But this morning has not been a mere inconvenience to me, Mr. Hart. This morning – if you’ll excuse me for saying so – has been a goddamn nightmare.”

  From the corner of my eye, I see Linda’s jaw drop. Lionel Hart, on the other hand, is poker faced. His lack of reaction only further fuels my rage.

  “First, I couldn’t find a parking space, because apparently you only provide parking for maybe a third of your workforce, which meant that I had to run through the rain – in heels, I might add – to get here on time.

  Secondly, when I did get here, your elevator broke down with me inside it, and I was trapped there for over an hour, having to be rescued by the goddamn Fire Department.”

  My voice rises as my anger boils over. “Thirdly, when I see the CEO of the company in the reception area of his building and introduce myself so that I can explain why I was late and hopefully rearrange my interview, he tells me that actually I needn’t have bothered coming in today at all. Not because I’m not perfect for the position – a job I actually wanted , and would be goddamn brilliant at, in case you were wondering, Mr. Hart – a job that you yourself said I was, what was it? Oh yes, exceptionally qualified for.”

  I’ve picked up both pace and volume now and am practically shouting. “No: he tells me thanks but no thanks on the basis that I have a fucking vagina.”

  My voice rings in the now hushed lobby, but I’m past the point of caring. I am incandescent with rage, and I will let Mr. Hart know how unacceptable this is. It’s the twenty-first century for Christ’s sake, and we live in New York, not some goddamn backwater where a little held-over chauvinism might be understandable, if equally inexcusable.

  “So excuse me if I don’t accept your apology, Mr. Hart. I will, however, say thank you. Thank you for making it quite clear what a chauvinistic prick you are before I made the grave mistake of interviewing for this job.”

  My heart is pounding, and I can feel the heat in my cheeks, but I feel strangely exhilarated. I’m not the kind of girl who generally loses her temper, but what do you know? Looks like today’s the day for acting out of character.

  Before Lionel Hart can respond, I spin triumphantly to make my exit – and crash directly into the person standing behind me.

  I look up, the apology dying on my lips as I realize the person I’ve crashed into is Nate. Who is now staring down at me with such intensity that all the strength runs out of my legs like water; if he wasn’t holding me by the shoulders I’d fall.

  “Nate,” I manage. My hands are on his chest, and they might as well be glued there; I can’t move a muscle. I stare back at him, hypnotized, like a mouse in the gaze of a snake.

  I hear a throat clear behind me.

  “Jonathan – do you know this woman?”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Nate

  I race down the stairwell after Allie, praying that I’m not too late, that she hasn’t already handed in her visitor’s pass and disappeared back into the city. Over one and a half million people live in Manhattan alone; the chances of me finding her again if she’s left the building are so slim as to be almost impossible.

  It turns out I needn’t have worried. I arrive in the lobby and spot her fiery curls immediately. I also spot the person she’s talking to, or rather yelling at – it’s the Big Man himself. My stomach drops to my boots.

  I’m in for it now. There’s no time to wonder how Allie found him so quickly, or what she might have told him. I make a beeline for the two of them, excruciatingly aware of the hush that settles over the crowds in the lobby as Allie’s voice rises into a shout.

  I groan internally. Why couldn’t I have just obeyed the fucking Ground Rules?

  I plough grimly through the crowds of people keenly observing the spat, and they part around me like water round a rock. I’m intent only on exercising whatever damage control I can before I lose everything that means anything to me.

  I arrive behind Allie just in time to hear her spit out the words, “Thank you for making it quite clear what a chauvinistic prick you are before I made the grave mistake of interviewing for this job.”

  My eyes widen in shock, and then before I can step back, Allie is spinning on her heel, colliding with my chest. I catch her by the shoulders to prevent her from falling, and she looks up, freezing as she sees the identity of her rescuer.

  She looks beyond fucking glorious. The color is high in her cheeks, and her red hair blazes in the light. I’d heard that redheads were a force to be reckoned with, and it seems that this redhead in particular is a goddamn firecracker.

  Words fail me, so I simply gaze down into her lovely face. I’m exquisitely conscious of the warmth of her hands on my chest, and I don’t want her to let go. This might be the last time I see her; asking for her phone number, or a date, is impossible now.

  “Nate,” she breathes, and the sound of my name on her lips sends a white-hot current of electricity crackling through my body.

  I’m close enough to see every delicate freckle on her nose; every eyelash; close enough for my breathing to stir her coppery curls.

  I open my mouth, but before I can say a word, I hear a throat clearing, and a familiar voice asks incredulously, “Jonathan – do you know this woman?”

  My heart, which had lifted when I saw Allie, plummets back down to my feet. I look up.

  “Hi, Dad,” I say mildly.

  Allie whips her head round so fast I fear she might have given herself whiplash. Then just as quickly, she whips back to me. Her face, already pale, drains of color, so that she is milk-white, her freckles standing out as though they’ve been pencilled on. Her eyebrows are raised so high, they’ve disappeared beneath her curls.

  “Dad?” she says hoarsely, her expression horror struck. Her hands, still splayed flat on my chest, push me backwards, and she takes a step away from me. “Lionel Hart is your father?”

  “Guilty as charged,” my Dad says in a level voice, and I groan internally; I can only imagine the conversation that’s going to ensue later when the two of us are behind closed doors.

  “Can I assume the two of you are already acquainted?” He raises one white eyebrow archly and throws me a glance loaded with meaning.

  Allie’s white face floods with color. “No. I mean, yes, but...well, we don’t actually know each other. I was...we were...”

  I take pity on her and step in. “I met Ms. Sinclair an hour ago, Dad. We were stuck in the elevator together. So I wouldn’t say we know each other, but we’re certainly acquainted.”

  Allie shoots me a grateful look, then trains her gaze on the floor. If I hadn’t seen her spewing fire at my father just moments before, I would never have believed her capable of it. She looks like a chastened teenager.

  “I see.” My father looks from Allie to me as if he’s trying to work something out. I hear a few murmurs from the crowds in the hushed lobby; this is going to be water-cooler fodder for the rest of the year.

  After a silence that seems to last forever, but is probably only a few seconds, my father lets out a bark of laughter. I frown, and Allie looks up, startled.

  “You do have a way of attracting trouble, Jonathan,” he says, and I’m taken aback to see that he has a twinkle in his eye. “And I have a feeling
that Ms. Sinclair here is trouble with a capital T.”

  Allie opens her mouth to speak, presumably in her own defence, but my father raises his hand and she falls silent. “However, I must admit that it’s been a long time since I was challenged with quite so much passion, and I find it...quite refreshing.”

  Allie is gaping at my Dad, and I can only assume it mirrors the expression on my own face; I’m astounded.

  My father continues. “I had my reasons for wanting a male employee, Ms. Sinclair. But I can assure you that it’s not because I’m a chauvinist. And I don’t think I’m a prick. What do you think, Linda?” He turns to Linda Stevens, his Executive Assistant. “Would you say I was a prick?”

  Linda tried and fails to hide a smile. “No, Sir,” she says, her lips quirking. “I’m sure I’ve called you a few things over the last twenty years, but I’m pretty sure that prick is not one of them.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Not only have I just seen Linda smile, I’ve also heard her utter the word ‘prick’. And as for my father, he’s being downright playful. What’s going on here? What’s his game?

  I watch as he takes a step closer to Allie, who is visibly disconcerted.

  “Ms. Sinclair, I’d like to offer my apologies for our...misunderstanding. If you still want the job – and I hope you do – then it’s yours. We could do with someone with a little spunk around here.”

  I almost choke on my Dad’s use of the word spunk, but manage to keep it together. My brain is whirring. What job? Allie never said anything about a job. I thought she was here for a meeting?

  I look across to where Allie looks – understandably – shell-shocked, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, her cheeks sunrise-pink.

  “Mr Hart, I – I don’t know what to say. I mean, about what I said earlier...I ...”

  My father interrupts. “What do you say, Ms. Sinclair? Will you join us at Hart Enterprises?” He holds out his hand, and Allie stares at it for a long moment. At last, she reaches out and takes his hand in a firm grip, and I watch, incredulous, as they seal Allie’s employment with a handshake.