Breathe. The job is mine, and I deserve it.
The doors to the elevator open, and I step through. This is it—the top floor. Definitely nicer than my floor, but I don’t see anything giant yet. Hardwood flooring adds a touch of elegance, and the plants are real, unlike those fake things we have in our department. Even though there are several offices, all the doors are closed. People up here must like their privacy, or maybe Cooper makes them keep the doors shut so the place always looks neat and tidy. Looking at the nameplates until I find the correct office seems like the only option.
At the end of the hall, I finally locate Kent Cooper, but I can’t decide what to do. Should I knock and go in? That doesn’t seem like a good idea. I should check with his assistant, but where is that office? The door beside his is marked “Dina Barlow–Secretary,” so that seems like a safe bet. Knocking on the door, I wait patiently for a response.
“Yes?” comes the muffled reply, and I open the door.
“Excuse me, but I have a 2:00 appointment with Mr. Cooper. Should I wait outside?”
Dina looks a little skeptical about me, giving me the stink-eye over her reading glasses. She looks to be maybe fifty-five, with her blonde hair piled into an old-fashioned beehive hairdo. The dramatic red shade of her reading frames matches her lipstick perfectly, which I have to admit is mighty impressive.
“And you are?” she asks, pinching the corner of her glasses as she continues to look over them.
“My name is Madeline Heard.”
She nods and begins dialing the phone, holding it up gingerly as though she’s afraid it might burn the side of her head, or alternately get caught in the hive.
“Mr. Cooper, there’s a Madeline Heard here to see you.”
Dina’s office really isn’t that nice. It’s nicer than where I have to sit, for certain, but not nearly as nice as the hallway would suggest. She does have a window, though, which would be lovely on those long, dreary days when a person simply gets tired of staring at the blank walls.
“He will see you now,” she states as she places the phone in its cradle. Attempting to smile, I back out into the hallway and close the door. It certainly is quiet up here, and a little chilly. Back on my floor, there are people everywhere, coming out of the woodwork like ants.
Forcing a deep breath, I knock on Cooper’s door and carefully crack it open.
“Come in,” I hear a loud voice call. The large space is at least three times the size of Dina’s, with thick, dark blue plush carpet and light blue leather chairs. The desk is rather massive—someone was definitely right about that. It’s polished to a high shine, and behind it sits another tall blue leather chair. The other furniture is not really that big—I don’t know who started that rumor. Aside from the desk, everything looks fairly normal.
Cooper stands to the right of his desk as he awaits my entrance, probably about two inches taller than me, and in his late forties or early fifties by my guess. His skin is tan, most likely from visits to a tanning bed rather than natural coloring, and his dark brown hair is parted to one side and held there with quite a lot of hair product. When he smiles at my approach, it’s hard to miss the fact that his teeth are startling white—unnaturally, really, to the point that I find myself wanting to look away.
“So this is Madeline Heard,” he bellows, extending his hand. If this is his only volume level, it’s certainly going to take some getting used to.
“Yes, sir,” I say, taking his hand and forcing myself to look at his face despite the blinding smile. He squeezes my hand and then motions to a chair.
“Sit, sit. Make yourself comfortable. Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you.” I lower myself into one of the leather chairs, and suddenly I realize why people think the office is odd. The desk is built on a podium or something so Cooper towers over his guests. I am like a tiny bug in this chair.
“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting before now,” he says, continuing to grin. “I’m sure I would have remembered.”
“That’s correct, sir, we’ve never met.” I didn’t notice his cologne at first, but now it’s starting to become overwhelming. Is it possible for cologne to give you a buzz? I think my mind is starting to get fuzzy.
“So, Marketing Account Leader—you think that’s the right job for you?”
That’s certainly a strange way of posing a question.
The job is mine, and I deserve it.
“Yes, sir. I’ve been in the department for three years now, so I’m very knowledgeable about the policies and procedures that go into the daily responsibilities. I’ve also been performing in the position for the past several weeks, while we corrected the discrepancies caused by a former employee, and all of my coworkers have thrived in that time, going above and beyond what was expected.”
“I don’t like any of that ‘sir’ stuff. You can just call me Kent.”
Yeah, right.
“Thank you. With my work experience here and my educational background, I could easily be integrated into the position with practically no effort on behalf of any of the other staff members. I’m sure you’ve noticed the strides we’ve made in the past few weeks.”
“Yes, indeed I have,” he says, stroking his chin. His gold ring flashes every once in a while, when it catches the overhead light in just the right way.
“Perhaps you’d like to hear some of my ideas for the department?” I ask. He purses his lips for a second.
“In a moment. First I’d like to know a little more about you.”
“Absolutely. I have a B.S. in Marketing and Communications from—”
“No, no, no. I don’t want to hear about your education or job skills. I want to know about you.”
Okay, I’m completely confused. Doesn’t he want to hear my great ideas? I’ve been practicing them for my interview with Hamilton. What does he want me to say?
“I’m not sure what type of information you’re referencing,” I admit. My stomach churns and lets out a loud growl. Naturally, perfect timing for that.
“Are you hungry? I can have something sent up for you.”
“No, I’m fine. It was nothing.”
“Nonsense, I’ll get you something. What do you like? Salad? You look like a salad girl.” He picks up his receiver and pushes a button. “Dina, get Miss Heard one of those chef salads. Just have them send it up. Yes, right now.” He hangs up and looks at me again.
“Thank you,” I offer, not knowing how to respond. I certainly don’t want a salad right now. I want my job, and I deserve it.
“Now, for instance, tell me about your hobbies. What do you like to do after work?”
Hobbies? That isn’t a very interview-ish question. What does that have to do with anything?
“Oh, I exercise, and I cook. Sometimes I watch the baseball games on television, or read a book.” I admit, they’re not exactly hobbies, but they are things I do after work. It doesn’t matter if I particularly like doing them or not. I can’t very well tell him I like to watch makeover programs on television and go on dates.
“What type of exercise do you do?” He’s leaning over his desk, hands folded in front of him. He actually seems interested in this nonsense. Why isn’t he asking me about the department, or the job duties?
“Jogging, mostly, around my neighborhood. I find it very relaxing.”
Yeah, I know, I don’t really think there’s anything relaxing about it, but I can’t act like I find it to be a chore, now that I named it as one of my hobbies.
“Yes, I can see it. You look like the jogging type. I’m actually an athlete myself. I play tennis quite a bit. Do you like to play tennis?”
No. I feel like an ant and I just want to get out of here. Can’t you just ask me the questions you need for the interview and let me be on my way?
“Actually, I’ve never really played tennis properly, so I’m not sure whether I like it or not.”
He claps his hands together in front of his face
. “That is just not acceptable. We have to get you playing tennis. I’ll set you up with my trainer for lessons or something. You’ll be a pro in no time.”
“Thank you, but that’s not necessary.”
“Nonsense, you’re going to enjoy it, and I’m going to see to it.”
He scribbles a note on a paper beside his arm and then folds his hands together while he stares at me again.
“Tell me, Madeline, what do you think of those new tennis shoes with the tree frog on the side? They’re supposed to be excellent for running, I’ve heard.”
Tennis shoes with tree frogs? Wasn’t this supposed to be an interview?
“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with those.”
He starts scribbling again, his lips moving as he writes. “What size shoes does a woman like you wear, anyway?”
What size shoes? A woman like me? This has to be a joke.
“I don’t know about a ‘woman like me’, but I generally wear a seven.”
“Yes, that sounds about right. I can see that. Now, what kind of shoes do you use for running?” He reaches up and strokes his hair, and then puts his hand back on his desk. He needn’t have worried—I really doubt that hair is going anywhere.
“I don’t have any shoes that I would endorse. I purchased some that were highly recommended at the fitness store, but they don’t perform in the manner described.”
“You can’t run in them?” he asks, his dark green eyes boring into my skull. These questions are beginning to make me mega uncomfortable.
“Of course I can run in them, but it feels nothing like I would imagine running on air would feel, and that’s what the promise was…the manufacturer’s guarantee.”
He begins to laugh—a deep, bellowing laugh—and I just sit silently twirling my fingers around each other.
“That is false advertising, I guarantee it!” He laughs for another moment, and then clears his throat and gets back to business. “You’re very well spoken for a young lady your age.”
Great. He thinks I’m a child. Why can’t I be well spoken for any age, not just my age?
“Thank you,” I respond carefully.
Cooper sits silently and continues to stare at me, passing his pen back and forth between his hands. Am I supposed to say something? Speak, Cooper, speak! Please, just get to the point of the interview and put me out of my misery.
“You remind me of a girl I knew when I was in college,” he states. “Her name was Elise Harrill. Any relation?”
What?
“I don’t believe so.”
“She was a nice girl, and very smart. Didn’t date very much, but she did go out with me a couple times, of course.”
Of course, because who wouldn’t want to go out with a weirdo egomaniac who’s obsessed with his hair and peoples’ shoes?
“I saw her a few years ago, and she immediately knew who I was. It’s actually very strange, but I never seem to age. I look just like I did when I was in college.”
He must have looked fifty in college. That’s sad, really.
“Do you take vitamins?” he continues.
“Yes, I do.”
“That’s very good. Very good. I take my vitamins faithfully every day. It helps to keep me from becoming ill. Plus, it keeps me physically in tip-top shape, which I’m sure you can tell is very important to me.”
“Uh, yes.” What the blazes is he talking about? He doesn’t look to be in physically tip-top shape. He’s a little thick about the waistband—I noticed that when I walked into the office.
“Tell me, Madeline, are you much of a night owl?”
“No.”
“That’s good. It leads to an early grave. I personally try to get up at the crack of dawn, get an early start to the day. I usually have a couple raw eggs for breakfast. Have you ever eaten a raw egg?”
Somebody get me out of here. Set off the fire alarm or something. I can’t take it anymore. This guy is out of his mind.
“No, I’ve never eaten a raw egg.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing. It’s the best protein drink you can find, and gives you lots of energy.”
It could also give you salmonella.
He leans back in his chair and lifts his head slightly, as though he’s silently assessing my appearance. He begins drumming his fingers on the desk, still staring at me, tapping out a rhythm. After a moment he stops, makes some notes on his paper, and then leans back again.
“You have a big future at this company,” he suddenly bellows, arms spreading wide. “Big! Very big! Mark my words.”
“Thank you,” I say again. You got the job. Just tell me I got the job, and let me go.
“I guess that will be all for now.” He stands up and moves to the right, extending his hand again.
That’s it? We’re done, just like that? No particulars about the position or my qualifications?
Standing up, I shake his hand and head to the door, pulling it open and emerging into the hallway.
“I’m serious about the tennis!” he yells. “I’m calling my guy!”
The door closes behind me as I wonder if he’s crazy. That wasn’t an interview. That was more like a truly horrible blind date. He didn’t ask me about my ideas or suggestions for the department at all. I have to admit, I am very disappointed.
My goal is to slide past Dina’s office unnoticed, since she has the door open now. She looks up as I walk by and calls out to me.
“Miss Heard!” Stopping, I pause in her doorway. “Don’t forget your salad.” She hands me a green mound in a plastic container and swings the door to a close just inches from my face.
Wow, it is so nice to have received such a lovely reception on my first visit to the top floor. I don’t know about it being built for giants, but giant personalities…most definitely.
It’s impossible not to replay that awkward conversation in my mind as I stand in the elevator. Hamilton would have never asked me such bizarre questions. I would have been able to impress him with my ideas, and Cooper didn’t even seem to be interested. Why do things like this always happen to me?
The door opens and I walk slowly back to my desk, the plastic container full of salad swinging back and forth at the end of my arm like a pathetic souvenir from my trip to the top. “I interviewed with Cooper, and all I got was this stupid salad.” Not exactly a winning slogan.
Katie smiles when she sees me coming, her face bright with anticipation.
“Well? Did you get the job?” She hurries over to my desk, plopping her backside on its surface as she looks at me. “How did it go?”
“I have no idea,” I mutter, setting the salad down on the desktop.
“What’s that?”
“Parting gift. Chef salad. He decided I was hungry.”
“Why did he decide that?” she asks. It’s impossible for me to tell whether she’s about to laugh or simply anticipating good news.
“It probably has something to do with the fact that my stomach growled like a trapped bear.”
“No, it didn’t!” Okay, she’s definitely laughing now. “I told you to eat lunch!”
“You were right, I admit.”
When she’s finished laughing, she leans a little closer. “Do you feel like it went well? What sort of questions did he ask you?”
“Let’s see…he told me about tree frogs, shoes, vitamins, raw eggs, girls he knew in college. Pretty much just your basic interview questions.”
“That’s strange. What was going wrong?”
“He’s insane, that’s what. He needs a serious evaluation.”
Katie begins to laugh again. “He can’t be that bad! What’s that smell?”
“I think his cologne followed me into the elevator. It was a life form in itself. I really think it was giving me a buzz.”
“There you go,” Katie surmises. “The cologne has affected his brain.”
“You’re probably right,” I agree with a sigh. I can’t help feeling let down. I hope Hamilton calls me soo
n to give me the verdict. In the meantime, at least I can say that I’ve finally been to the top floor, and I think I know why everyone keeps their doors closed:
They’re all hiding from Cooper.
Chapter Nine
It’s the day after the interview, and I’m feeling much better about my chances. After all, he did say I had a big future with the company. What else could he have been referring to, if he wasn’t going to give me the job?
Besides, after talking to Josh about it last night, he convinced me that Cooper might have simply been trying to get to know me, to see if he wanted me on his team, so to speak. If he did have big plans for me, he might have been assessing my personality. I’m sure he’s right—Cooper seemed to like me, after all. If not, he probably would have made no mention about my future.
Of course, Josh also told me that if Cooper didn’t give me the job, it was his loss and I deserved better.
I sort of wish I could bottle Josh and take a shot of that optimism whenever I need a pick-me-up.
Anyway, the job is mine, and I deserve it. It’s only a matter of time.
Stepping out of the elevator onto my familiar floor, the people bustling about give me a renewed sense of normalcy as they retrieve coffee and talk about their prior evenings. I head toward my own desk, curiously eyeing a box sitting in my chair. When I get closer, I realize it’s a shoebox with tiny green tree frogs on the side.
Maybe it’s not what it looks like. Maybe it’s just a box, and there’s a stack of paperwork waiting for me on the inside. Yes, I’m sure that’s it.
Except I know that’s not it. They’re tree frog running shoes, size seven. There’s no note, but there’s only one person who could have done this.
Great, now what am I going to do? I can’t pay for these shoes. I just bought the other running shoes less than a month ago. Picking up the phone, I dial the number for the directory. Maybe if I explain the situation to Dina, she will tell me how to handle it. She didn’t seem like the friendliest person when we met yesterday, but she is human, after all.
Simply Mad (Girls of Wonder Lane Book 1) Page 7
