Ex-Con Times Two

by Jay S. Wilder

  I look around the room and see everyone glancing at each other, not completely bought into my system, but no one is arguing either. “Everyone have their selection?” Nods all around. “Nice. On the count of three, toss it to the middle. One. Two. Three.”

  Being the boss might not be so bad after all, getting people to bend to my will. I feel a moment of triumph as the papers float to the middle, then I grab them up and turn them until they are in a neat pile.

  “One vote for Nelson.” I go to the next page and grind my teeth. “One vote for Anna.” I turn the page. “One vote for Samantha.” Damn, my system might fail after all. What are the chances that each of us have a different favorite? Turning the page, I grit my teeth again. “Another vote for Anna.” Next page, more teeth gritting. “Another for Anna.” What the hell? “Another for Anna.” I turn to the last page. No way in hell. I stand up, slam the papers on the table and say what I’m thinking, “No way in hell is that woman working here. Are you all crazy? Maybe I need to fire the lot of you and hire directors who aren’t insane.”

  Edward, the editorial director, simply smiles and says, “I assure you, I’m quite sane and very impressed with that young lady and all she could do for this magazine.”

  Laura pipes in. “Me too. Granted, she’s the least experienced of the bunch, but the most socially savvy. She also seems to have a very good head on her shoulders.”

  Kelly, Edward’s assistant, joins the argument. “I think she’d be perfect to have a role with our social media marketing too.” Kelly picked up her phone, touched a few buttons and held it up for all to see. “While we were on break, I looked Anna up and, as you see, she’s very active on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and Instagram. She also has Vine and participates in Reddit. Her comments are youthful and fresh, but not vulgar as you’d expect from most college girls.” Kelly passes her phone around and I grudgingly have to agree. The girl seems to be astute, funny in a mature sort of way and posts nearly ten times a day. As I look at her phone, a new Instagram picture appears. It’s a photo of what must be Anna’s shoes, her feet propped up on a leather ottoman.

  The caption: Biggest day of your life? Pay attention to your shoes. #interviewfail #thankgodfornicepeople #KellyfromTrendsetter #MyNewBestie.

  I throw my head back and laugh. I hadn’t even looked down at her shoes to see that they were mismatched, although the ones in the picture look pretty damn close to the same. Serves the woman right for thinking she needs more than one pair of shoes in the same color. I shudder, remembering my sisters’ closets and the sea of black shoes I’d find in there.

  Then, I remember why I hadn’t noticed her shoes, I hadn’t been able to look at anything besides those emerald green eyes. I’ve never seen eyes that bright and striking, and trust me, I’ve looked into many of them. Of course, I did notice her full lips too. Naturally full, not filled with that collagen shit. The woman was beautiful, tall and thin, elegant but also strong looking. Her arms were exposed in that dress she was wearing and they were well defined, almost to the point of muscular, but not quite. Didn’t she say her mother dragged her from the basketball court to go to fashion shows? I wonder if she still plays.

  Shit. What the hell am I thinking? No! No. No. No. No way are we hiring this woman, I don’t care if she’s Michael Jordon in high heels.

  “No,” I say aloud. “She’s too young, too inexperienced.”

  “I agree,” says Edward and I smile at him in relief. Finally, someone says something that makes sense. “I think she is exactly too young and inexperienced for us not to hire her. She’ll give us a fresh perspective, new energy and she clearly loves social media. Plus, her writing samples are excellent. In a few years, they will be as good as her father’s.”

  Laura blurts out, “Have you seen the social media posts from us over the past few years?” Edward hangs his head, but nods in agreement. Social media falls under his department. I notice Kelly grows bright pink. “We’re in the dark ages when it comes to the hottest platforms for reaching young people all across the world.” Laura pulls out her own phone and taps a few buttons. She thrusts the phone at me.

  Laura had chosen Trendsetter’s Twitter page. The latest tweet was four days ago and reads: Wow, pink is hot this season. There’s a picture of some sort of strappy sandal I don’t recognize.

  I cringe. Laura notices and says, “See, it’s horrible.” She glances over at Edward and Kelly and says, “I’m sorry you two, but it is.” Kelly sits in stone-faced silence, but Edward continues to nod.

  “It’s true,” he says. “Our department does its best, but as you know, we have been short-staffed for a long time. Social media has been on the back burner while Kelly and the rest of the crew push out print and online magazines every month.”

  Finally, Kelly raises her head and agrees. “I think it’s an excellent idea to hire Anna for social media. She’s got enough skill to help with editorials as well. If she knows the designers as she says she does, then she could get personal interviews with them, or even one-liners. Photos. Short videos. It would take a lot of pressure off of me.”

  As much as I loathe the idea of bringing that sexy little smart ass into the fold, I can’t disagree with the wisdom of what they are saying. Dad hired a company to do a SWOT analysis of the magazine a little over two weeks ago. The only strength the magazine had was its worldwide recognition. The weaknesses, opportunities and threats all surrounded its lack of technological advancement, its entrenchment in old world habits, and its failure to ride the social media bandwagon. Even if I did flunk out of business college, I have enough savvy to know the report is right. It had judged Trendsetter against the other magazines in the world and we’d come in dead last in every major category.

  Blowing out a long breath, I prepare to wave my white flag in the air. Getting the hell away from this magazine in a year is more important to me than my ego. Plus, I’ll probably never see the girl, she’ll be in her little cubical tweeting away day in and day out.

  Making my decision, I say to the group. “I see all of your points and agree.” I look at Laura and say, “Please draw up a contract with a ninety-day probationary period along with a detailed job description outlining her role as social media manager, making sure it’s clear she will also be responsible for assisting with editorial as needed. I’ll personally contact Ms. Nash and make her an offer.”

  “You will?” Laura looked at for clarification. “Normally—”

  “Yes, me,” I interrupt her and she clamps her mouth shut. “I have a few matters I’d like to clear up with Ms. Nash first.”

  Chapter 5

  Anna

  After my disaster of an interview, I hurry home and set about drowning my sorrows in an exquisite bottle of Pinot and a long indulgent bubble bath. Adam Gerome’s sculpted features keep interrupting my sulking and it’s really beginning to piss me off. I top up my glass of wine and try to push him to my mind’s equivalent of the Sahara Dessert.

  After mentally replaying the tape a dozen times, I remain convinced that I totally blew the interview and that come Friday, I would get the “sorry, but we’ve selected another candidate” speech and have to pound the pavement all over again.

  My bath has turned a tepid lukewarm and I start contemplating getting out when my phone starts buzzing from the counter, making the decision for me. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to bring myself to fully cut the electronic leash. I had carried the phone into the bathroom with me on autopilot, and set it to serenade me in a collection of melancholy nineties hits that seemed appropriate as I soaked and played the events from the disaster interview in my mind on repeat.

  I stand up and lean over the edge of the tub to grasp the phone, praying it won’t slip from my hand and join me in my sea salt stew. I don’t immediately recognize the number, but it was definitely local.

  “Hello?” I answer, squeezing the phone against my shoulder as I used my hands to wrap myself in a fluffy towel.

  “Is this Anna Nash?” A de
ep, masculine voice replies.

  I can’t place the voice or conjure up a face. “Yes. Anna speaking.”

  “Hello Ms. Nash, this is Adam Gerome.”

  My heart rate skyrockets at the introduction and I am suddenly struck mute as I stand there, dripping wet in my terrycloth, thinking about the man I had met hours earlier that had likely single handedly sunk my interview with Trendsetter magazine.

  “I hope it’s not too late to call, Ms. Nash,” he inquires.

  “No, no. It’s fine. How can I help you?” I skate across the marble floor and step into my bedroom. Something tells me this is not a conversation I will want to remember taking place in the middle of my bathroom.

  “Excellent. Well, as you know, we interviewed a lot of potential candidates for the position you interviewed for,” he continues.

  Oh, shit. The “thanks, but no thanks” call I had been expecting, is coming three days ahead of schedule. I press my eyes closed, waiting for the blow.

  “I am calling to notify you that you were selected by the panel.” He says it so flatly, that it takes me a moment to process his words. He sounds more like he is reading a particularly bland section of the Times, not offering someone the job of their dreams.

  My eyes popped open again. “You’re offering me the job?” I ask, wanting to make sure I’m not missing anything.

  He pauses. “I’m offering you a job, Ms. Nash.”

  “You can call me Anna,” I interject.

  “Right. Anna. There are some changes to the job description that you will need to be aware of before accepting.”

  My ear perk at his announcement, but then I brush it away. I hardly doubt that there would be anything that would make me turn the job down. I had been dreaming of this opportunity since the day I started my first journalism class at Columbia. Besides—if I had access to that chic closet Kelly had shown me, I would be willing to polish floors with a toothbrush.

  Adam continues, and I pry my mind away from the shelves and shelves of couture spinning in my mind. “Would you be able to come to the office tomorrow morning at seven? That way, we can cover all the nitty gritty stuff and if you accept, you can join the others in time for the morning staff meeting.”

  My night owl habits from university are still deeply ingrained, and the idea of getting up earlier than nine seriously makes me pause, but I shrug it off. I will just have to reprogram.

  Quickly.

  I nod, nearly dropping the phone as it still sat between my neck and shoulder. “Yes, that sounds perfect. Thank you so much, Mr. Gerome,” I say, trying to keep some sense of coolness to my tone, although it is hard to do given the circumstances. “I’ll be there at seven sharp.”

  “Looking forward to it,” Adam replies.

  We end the call and I do a quick happy dance before racing to my closet and ravaging my clothing options, assessing each piece with the fresh eyes of a soon-to-be Trendsetter employee.

  I am pleasantly surprised to find Kelly at the reception area to meet me when I step into the chic Trendsetter office the next morning at six forty-five. It had taken what seemed like a gallon of coffee and a very cold shower to get my ass in gear, but the extra early wakeup call turned out to be worth it as I caught more than a few heads turning as I entered the lobby and sashayed my way across the parquet floors.

  “Good morning, Anna,” Kelly greets me with a warm smile.

  “Morning!” We exchange an over-the-shoulder air kiss like we’re old friends, and then Kelly directs me to follow her lead.

  She takes me up one floor and gives me a brief tour of the office space. With each new space, she provides a brief rundown of how things work at Trendsetter and her informative tour helps to settle my nerves and enables me to start to picture myself as another addition to the team.

  However, all of her soothing words seem to fly right out of me, when she deposits me in front of Adam’s office door at seven on the dot.

  “Good luck,” she says, giving my upper arm a quick, reassuring pat before turning and disappearing.

  I watch her walk away and then raise my hand, stilling for just a fraction of a second before knocking on the solid door. I wait for a few moments, look both ways down the hall in a silent plea for help. I try knocking again but there is still no answer.

  In Kelly’s tour, she had shown me most of the office, however, she had left out the location of her own office. I didn’t know anyone else to turn to, and it didn’t seem that anyone was going to come to my rescue this time.

  “He’s not here yet.”

  I turn and see a small, gray haired woman in an impeccable suit wandering towards me. “I’m sorry?”

  “You’re here to see Adam, right?”

  I nod. “He told me to be here at seven.”

  I don’t have to check my platinum watch to know it’s well past.

  The woman tuts under her breath. “Well, you’ll probably be waiting awhile. I suggest you get comfortable.” She nods her head towards an alcove that has two plush-looking suede chairs. They’re the kind that seem to never get used and are there strictly to fill an empty space.

  Before I can ask her name, she’s gone. I sigh and make myself as comfortable as possible in the stiff chair on the right.

  Nearly half an hour passes before Adam makes his appearance. I spot his large frame as he walks down the hall. He is easily a head taller than everyone else, so it’s not too hard to pull him out of a crowd. That, and the fact that he seems to have his own atmosphere or something. Somehow, without a word, everyone makes a path for him and are far more aware of his presence than he is to any of theirs.

  He looks up as he nears his office and I stand to get into his line of sight. I know I shouldn’t pout or throw a fit, but his tardiness feels intentional, like some kind of snub. I knew from his reaction to me at the interview that he wasn’t a fan, but he was the one who had called and offered me the job. Surely he could have passed that off to some HR assistant.

  “Good morning, Mr. Gerome,” I say sweetly as he nears.

  He grunts in response and it becomes a whole lot harder to keep my peaches and cream approach going. He opens his office door and holds it open, ushering me in without so much as a response to my greeting.

  “You did say seven?” I ask as he closes the door behind us.

  “I’m not much of a morning’s person,” he grumbles as he sinks into the seat behind his large black desk.

  Neither am I, asshat. Yet, I was here on time.

  I watch him recline in his leather chair, half expecting him to kick his feet up on the desk.

  “I kind of figured morning person was a prerequisite of the whole CEO thing,” I say casually.

  For the first time, he looks up at me and I am instantly silenced. His blue eyes are steely this morning, although they have lost the sharp, focused edge they had yesterday during the panel interview.

  “When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it,” he fires back. “Understood?”

  I nod tersely at his words.

  “Now, to get to the reason I asked you in here at this ungodly hour.” He pauses and roots through some paperwork on his desk. “This is the contract that I’ve had Laura in HR draw up for you.”

  He passes the paperwork to me and our eyes lock for a moment before I drop my gaze and start studying the crisp pages in my hands. Everything seems standard. There’s a ninety-day probation period, salary, typical hours of work, standard vacation and sick time allowances, and a fair insurance program to opt into. I’m surprised by how straightforward it is. After Adam’s comments on the phone, it seemed as though there might be some big “if” or “but” attached to the deal.

  “Well?” He asks after I set the pages on the desk in front of me.

  “It all looks in order.”

  “Good. The panel was impressed with your youthful energy and social media savvy, so that is primarily what you will be in charge of. You will work closely with Kelly and her team. They are the ones who put the magazine
together each month. Along the way, you will attend all the fashion events we cover, meet with designers, network, and along the way you will tweet, hashtag, and blog Trendsetter out to the twenty-something year-old masses that we need to connect with.”

  My heart sank a little at the new twist on the job description. I had applied for a more editorial job. Adam was right, I was a bit of a social media addict, but that was for fun. It wasn’t what I pictured myself doing fifty hours a week. From what he was saying though, it sounded like I would get all the same networking and backstage access that I would as an actual editor, so there was something to smile about. My social media presence would actually be like putting out my own digital version of Trendsetter magazine, and that sounded pretty fucking amazing.

  “Any questions?” Adam asks, arching a brow at me and steepling his hands together.

  I couldn’t ignore the nagging voice in the back of my mind. “You said that the panel was impressed with me. Does that mean that you had another point of view on the interview?”

  “I have some reservations,” Adam answers.

  “May I ask what they are?”

  He shoots his eyebrows higher. “I think you’re too young, too inexperienced, and too mouthy. It was a majority vote however, and you won. Congratulations.”

  His joyless face cancels out the well wishes his full lips just delivered.

  Too young, inexperienced, and did he say, mouthy?

  “If that’s too honest for you, I would suggest applying with a different magazine. I am here to make things happen and I will only take on staff that will jump on board with my plans.” Adam’s eyes narrow slightly as he stares me down, seeing if I will pass or fail his test. “I don’t have time to candy coat things.”

  “No, no,” I say, forcing myself to bite back another snappy remark. I don’t know where all the sharpness is coming from. I’ve never been a particularly hostile or contemptuous person. Something about Adam just brings it out in me. For the time being, I need to reign it in if I want to land the job. “I do want this position, believe me. I’m on board.”