Irresistibly Undeniable

by Zoey Derrick

  “I’m not trying to sound bitchy or pushy, but you’ve got to go. They’re being overly generous with this when they don’t have to be.”

  I sigh. She’s right, like always. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I tell her, but I can’t meet her eyes. I know what I will see there and I can’t look at her and still hold it together.

  “Now you are being ridiculous. It’s only an interview,” she says in a way that makes her sound like my mother. I want to cry.

  “But it’s thee interview,” I retort. The nerves that I’d managed to tamp down when I came to sit on my bed come roaring back. My leg starts to bounce. A nervous habit I’ve had since I was a kid.

  She laughs at me a little then says, “It is, and you’re going to kick some major corporate big-wig balls. Now come on, let’s get you freshened up and on your way.” She stands, then grabs my hands and pulls me up. My sadness is too much for her happy-go-lucky self and she finds the right words to kick me into action, only it’s not the kind of action I needed to hear. “You know she’d kick your ass right now if she saw you like this.”

  Her voice is so matter of fact that I give her a humorless laugh. “Well, she can’t, so…” The thought trails off and her eyes instantly water. “Don’t, dammit, don’t start,” I scold, but it’s too late. I feel the first wet, hot tear slide down my cheek.

  Seven days ago, my world fell apart.

  The one person who knew me better than I knew myself is gone.

  Three days ago, I buried my mother.

  I stand in front of the mirror in my bathroom, taking in my hollowed cheeks, my lifeless stare and the fiery red hair that surrounds my face in tight spiral curls. As if being blessed with naturally curly hair wasn’t a curse by itself, the natural fire engine red color is enough to make a girl stand out in a crowd. I prefer to hold up the wall.

  I did the best I could to hide my sadness behind a few layers of makeup, but it’s really no use. I look like complete and total shit and I’m going to blow the one, well, technically second, chance I’ve got at my dream job.

  I slowly close my eyes, pull in a deep, cleansing breath and silently count to ten. By the time I’m there, I’m ready to open my eyes again, but before I do, I turn, so I don’t catch myself in the mirror. It works and I head out of the bathroom. I grab my bag off the hallway credenza and head straight for the front door. I don’t stop to look for Becca. I’ve managed to compose myself, but if I see her red-rimmed, freshly cried out eyes, it’s going to unravel me once more. I need to get out of here before I let that happen.

  “Knock ‘em dead, sista,” Becca hollers as I walk out. Shutting the door behind me makes me feel like I’m locking myself out of my own little safe haven.

  I walk the half a block to the train station. It’s unseasonably warm for an early February day in Phoenix, but I don’t mind. I’m leaving with plenty of time to get downtown. This will give me plenty of time to cool off before my interview, plus compose myself enough to walk into the reception area of Wellington Ad Management for the second time. Most people would be glad to get a second interview and I truly wish that were the case here. Instead, it is my first official interview and unfortunately, my second impression on those who may or may not wish to hire me. Reese, a dear friend of mine, had informed me that last week was Wellington’s last week of interviews, yet somehow they’re making an exception for me. I can’t help wondering if they’re placating me because of what happened the last time I was there.

  The train is packed, which is odd considering it’s early afternoon and I’m heading downtown, not uptown. I manage to find a rear-facing seat in the first car, which is good, it will put me closer to my favorite coffee shop when I get off the train.

  I went to school a few blocks away from one of Wellington’s head offices. A company like Wellington belongs in New York, or Los Angeles, but instead it has made its home here in Phoenix. Ever since we had ‘career day’ at Arizona State University, I’ve wanted to work for Wellington Ad Management. Their client list is extensive and ever growing, which is exactly what I want in a career. If you can put Wellington Ad Management on your resume, you’re doing something right. Not to mention the wide variety of advancement opportunities they have available. Needless to say, if I somehow manage to impress them enough to offer me a job, they could pay me a dollar per hour and I would still say yes.

  I use the knowledge as fuel for my interview. I have nothing to lose because I have everything to gain.

  During my college education, I had to spend time interning as part of my degree so I spent three summers working for Stauffer, Inc., which is another advertising company here in Phoenix. I loved working for them, despite their much smaller client base; it afforded me a great learning opportunity and a wonderful stepping stone into Wellington or any other company for that matter. Kerrigan, my old boss at Stauffer, offered me a job in their midst, but I told her I had to try first for a job at Wellington. Thank god she was my friend, most people would have told me to take a hike after that. Not Kerrigan, she’s known for years that working for Wellington is where my heart truly lies. Her respect for that is what got me last week’s interview.

  A shiver rocks through me at the memory of last Tuesday. Fighting the tears, I take another deep breath and focus my attention on some notes I’d made before last week’s interview about Wellington, some of their clients – the publicly available ones – and the history of the company. I wanted to sound smart and well-researched without sounding pompous. I’m not sure I can do that anymore.

  The train comes to a screeching halt as the overhead voice informs me that this is my stop. I quickly toss my notepad into my purse and stand up. I’m just a shade too soon and I get tossed back into my seat when I can’t hold my balance. With embarrassment flooding my cheeks, I bashfully look around. Relief washes over me when I realize no one seems to be paying attention. Or if they are, they’ve hidden it well.

  Now that I’ve gathered my composure, and the train has stopped completely, I stand up again, this time on more solid ground before hopping down the two steps to the floor of the train. I dart through the doors just as they start to close.

  That was close.

  Though the next stop isn’t all that far down the road and I have some time, I don’t have that much time.

  I adjust my skirt, making sure I’m not flashing any bits that shouldn’t be seen, and check my blouse, before I run a hand through my crazy curls and I pull the ear buds from my ears – tossing them into my bag for the ride home. Looking around and straightening up, I find my favorite Starbucks and head for the entrance.

  Once inside, I order my comfort drink- white chocolate mocha, extra shot, with whip and extra hot. Despite the low ninety-degree temperature outside, I need the caffeine boost to get me through what’s coming.

  With my coffee cup in hand, my confidence starts to return. Reminding myself that this is what I’ve been studying and preparing for over the last six years while pursuing my Master’s degree in Business Administration & Marketing.

  I need this job.

  I need this distraction from the hollow shell my life has become.

  Reaching the building, I look up. It’s no New York City sky rise, but in Phoenix you can see it from most anywhere. I reach for the door with my free hand as someone exits. He’s a dickwad and walks away without holding it open for me. “Jerkoff,” I grumble under my breath and reach for the door again. What the hell is it with banker types? They’ve got to be the biggest asshats on the planet.

  The building Wellington Ad Management is located in the same building as one of the big five banks. I had to double check the address last time to make sure I was in the right spot because when I step into the lobby, the bank’s branding is everywhere.

  I found the directory last time after some confusion. There is a security desk in the middle of the wide lower level, but they don’t seem to do much other than watch the monitors. The directory had listed the bank, then the various floors th
at housed different departments, then there were still a few floors left over. Wellington occupied twenty-two through twenty-four and another company, Tigress, occupied the top five floors.

  Tigress? What an odd name for a company.

  Thinking about Tigress and where my thoughts had gone after seeing the name, the memories of last week flood back in with a vengeance. I shake my head, not now and not again. I’m not about to let what happened last week affect what happens today. I simply can’t do that to myself. There is too much at stake right now.

  I need a job and I desperately want it to be this one.

  Today I will dig down deep, down past all the pain, the hurt, and the nausea I feel at being back in this very building, and pull on my big girl panties to do what needs to be done to land this job.

  I breathe in deep.

  My chest tightens.

  God, I miss her.

  Without meaning to, my thoughts drift toward my mother. With little warning I am caught up in the last time I saw her here in Phoenix. She’d come down for my graduation and spent a week here with me and Becca. I showed her around town, we laughed and had a good time. That was six months ago.

  I can’t stop thinking about her gorgeous smile, the way she looked at me with such love and devotion. She was an amazing woman. She put up with all my wild, harebrained ideas and the things I wanted to do with my life, but most importantly, she never let me fall.

  The phone call she made a week ago, wishing me all the luck in the world at my interview was the last time I would hear her voice. She’d called just before she left work for the day. She was so sure of the job interview going my way that I had two dozen white and purple roses waiting on my kitchen counter when I returned to the apartment. They wilted and died before I had a chance to read the card.

  My thoughts have me completely distracted when I walk around the corner to the elevator area of the building.

  Without warning I slam my coffee-holding hand into a hard, muscle-clad, delicious smelling body. Slow motion takes over as I watch my coffee become a lost cause at the moment of impact. My hand instinctively tightens around it, squeezing it hard and popping off the lid, sending coffee flying everywhere. All over my hand, my outfit, the floor, my shoes- but also all over the man I collided with.

  “What the ever lovin’ fuck, lady?”

  The voice sends an unwanted thrill through me, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. Instead of feeling a chill of pissed off, I get the warmth of lust spreading through my body. My nipples pucker and a flood of embarrassment races visibly to my cheeks.

  Survival instincts kick in and I should argue with him that I was walking on the right hand side of the hallway, where normal people walk, but that’s lost the moment the pain in my hand registers as it shoots up my arm. It takes only a moment to realize that the coffee was scalding hot and is now splashed all over my hand. I drop the cup completely, sending more coffee flying on me and him. “Ow, ow, oww,” I groan.

  I want to shake my hand, shake off the coffee sitting there, but the last thing I need is more coffee flying everywhere.

  I’ve made enough of a mess.

  “This is a three-thousand dollar suit.” His voice is hard, ice-cold, hateful.

  My heart sinks, my eyes go wide and panic quickly overtakes the pain in my hand. He’s going to make me pay for it, I just fucking know it. Despite the fact that he rounded the corner and slammed into me, I get the impression this is going to be all my fault.

  “I’m sorry, I…” My eyes trail a path up his chest to meet his eyes. They’re angry and not looking at me at all. No, they are looking through me as if I don’t exist. As if I’m nothing more than an inconvenience to his day. There is something oddly familiar about the violet hue, but I can’t even begin to think about where I know them from because I’m too shaken up over the coffee being spilled everywhere.

  In fact, I don’t do anything but stand there, dumbstruck.

  Unsure of what to do, how to make it better, I blurt, “I’ll pay for the suit.” What the fuck is wrong with me? I can barely afford my rent, and that’s a quarter of what his suit is worth.

  The tears I’d been fighting all day well up in my eyes. My hand burns, my outfit is a complete and total mess and I’ve just ruined this man’s three thousand-dollar suit.

  “Excuse me,” I stammer while holding back the sob that’s ready to rip from my throat. I head for the bathroom, a place to hide and a safe haven to calm down.

  I’m so distracted that I nearly walk into the men’s restroom at first, but I find the right door and step in. A moment of relief rolls through me when I realize no one is inside. I debate for a minute about locking the door before deciding against it when I see that the handicap stall has a sink and mirror in it. Thank god.

  I lock the makeshift door behind me and head straight for the sink. I toss my purse on the edge of the counter as I do everything I can to will the tears from my eyes.

  It doesn’t work and I watch as the mirror turns blurry, and I come completely unglued.

  This is a huge mistake. I shouldn’t be here. I’m not ready for this. I can’t even make it to the elevator without completely falling apart. How am I supposed to make it through the most important interview of my life?

  Chapter 2

  DYSON

  “Blue Ain’t Your Color” - Keith Urban

  My eyes follow her as she makes her way to the bathroom; she’s a complete and total mess over some spilled coffee. Because you snapped at her, asshole. The visual of her bouncing red curls brings back visions of a girl I once knew. A girl I would give anything to see again.

  “Mr. Cole, are you all right?” I roll my eyes in irritation at the security guard interrupting my visual of her walking away. Of course the idiot would come after me rather than the girl who burned her hand. Fucking prick, and here I thought I was the asshole. I just shake my head.

  “I’m fine,” I grumble as I pull my eyes away from the redheaded tigress who just stomped off. “I’m not sure if she is or not.” I gesture in the direction of the bathroom. He looks toward the bathroom and then shrugs it off. I was severely irritated before and now I’m bordering on irate at the moron security guard. I make a note of his name, Effrin, and vow to have words with his supervisor about his ability to handle a situation like this. Just because I own half the fucking building doesn’t give him the right to ignore what really matters. My eyes drift to the bathroom again before I brush the coffee droplets off my suit as best I can and Effrin hands me a towel.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” I snap as I snatch the towel out of his hand. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m headed toward the restroom. “Get your supervisor down here, now,” I growl.

  It’s rather unfortunate that she noticed she was headed for the wrong bathroom because going into the women’s restroom was hardly on my list of things to do today. I smile at the idea of her going into the men’s restroom and how I would have loved to rib her about it. What the fuck is wrong with you? This chick just poured hot coffee all over you and you want to pick on her? I snort at my own thoughts.

  I carefully push open the door, unsure of what I’m going to find on the other side of it. I don’t know if there is anyone else in here and it’s one thing to barge in on her, she did just dump coffee all over me, but to have someone else in here would just… I shudder. It only takes me a minute to realize that there isn’t anyone in here but her when I’m met with sniffles and a sob of emotion.

  I really don’t fucking need this right now.

  I glance at my watch. I’m already running late, at best, I’ll be ten minutes behind, fuck. I war with whether or not this is worth it and I nearly turn to walk out of the room, I don’t need this right now. I’m already fucking late and now I have to change my goddamn clothes. That’s when I hear her gentle yet scolding voice. “Get it together, Vy, come on, you got this.” I hear her sniffle a few more times. Vy? Who calls themselves Vy? And why in the hell is that ringing alarm bells in m
y head?

  I stop the thought in its tracks. I’ve already imagined it enough for today. My daily dose has been delivered and I know that I can’t go down that path again, ever. I shake my head, shaking away the thoughts I have no business having and a place I can’t venture. Besides, she’s in Missouri, not in Phoenix fucking Arizona. Dammit, the thoughts won’t stop. She’s probably married to someone who doesn’t deserve her– I growl internally at the thought and I don’t finish it.

  “Here,” I say, though my voice comes out as more asshole than the gesture suggests. Thinking about Ireland has me even more irritated than I was over the whole coffee incident.

  I hear her gasp. I’ve startled her and she squeaks out what sounds more like a hiccup than a scream. Then the chaos erupts as I hear something slam against tile floor and then I hear the bouncing of various items as they hit the bathroom floor. “Mother fucker,” she growls. Ahh, so the hair matches the attitude. She’s truly a tigress. Stop it. The whole thing is just comical and I can’t stop the laughter that bubbles up from somewhere deep down inside.

  “I have a towel for you.” I raise it up over the top of the stall door. “Might help you clean up.”

  “What’s the point? I’m completely ruined as it is.” I hear a smack and for some strange reason I imagine her smacking her hand over her mouth and it brings a wicked grin to my lips.

  “I’m pretty sure your boss will understand. Take some time, get cleaned up.”

  She gives me a humorless laugh as she takes the towel from me. “I’m pretty sure I’ve already gotten one pass, I don’t think they’ll give me another.” Her cryptic statement makes me curious as to whether or not she’s always this discombobulated. Poor thing. I hear a sound, then the water comes on and then I hear the sound again. She must be trying to wash off the coffee from her top. Something rolls into my foot and I look down. It’s a tube of chapstick and I can see the red label has two small cherries on it. Just like…Stop it, Cole, she’s not who you want her to be, so forget it.