by M. S. Parker
“So-so.” I shrugged as I cracked the top of the beer and took a drink. I wasn’t huge on the taste, but tonight, it didn’t matter. “I had a second interview at one place and it sounds promising. Then there was an open interview at the Winter Corporation.”
“What’s that?” Molly asked as she pulled her feet up underneath her. “Never heard of it.”
“Me either,” I admitted. “Guess they own hotels and airlines or something like that.”
“So they’re interviewing for pilots?” Molly grinned. “You holding out on me, Aleena?”
I broke open the take-out box and breathed in the scent of Kung Pao chicken. My favorite. “You’re a real comedienne, Mol. Seriously. Why you wasting time serving tables anyway? You ought to be headlining somewhere.”
“Here every day at six,” she said, nodding soberly. Then she saluted me with her chopsticks.
As the two of us ate, I told her about my weird interview and how I’d found out about it to begin with. True to form, she was more interested in hearing about Dominic Snow than my job possibilities. I was willing to oblige, preferring to ogle him in memory as opposed to worrying about how I would make ends meet.
Before I knew it, it was nearing midnight and we’d drank our way through most of a twelve-pack. I’d also forgotten all about the weird day I’d had or the shit that had come before it. It was just another night, hanging out with Molly and talking about whatever happened to come to mind.
We were in the middle of a discussion about the most appropriate way for Gary to meet a painful death when the door opened and Emma came in. She stopped halfway into the room and looked around, taking in the cans and boxes we had scattered all around us. The expression on her face was more than eloquent.
“I’ll clean it up,” I said, holding a hand over my chest. “I promise.”
I could all but see the steam coming out of her ears.
“Well, I guess this is one way to deal with your shitty life.” Emma’s snide comment didn’t annoy me as much as it would have if I’d been sober.
Molly laughed, the loud raucous laugh of someone who was pretty well plastered. “Her shitty life? Why don’t you take a look in the mirror? Nah, I know what it is. You want everyone to be as fucking miserable as you are.” Molly stood up and she had to balance herself on the arm of the couch before she could take a step forward. With a snide grin in place, she pointed at Emma. “I get it. Really. You’re a miserable bitch whose life has gone down the toilet—but that doesn’t mean everyone else around you has to be that way too.”
I opened my mouth to tell Molly to lay off, but by the time my beer-soaked brain got the message, Emma had already stalked off towards her bedroom.
I looked at Molly and she shrugged.
“That was harsh,” I said.
“That was truth,” Molly pointed out.
“That doesn’t mean you need to say it,” I said, shaking my head. But I didn’t go after Emma.
I felt bad for her. Really. It had to be hard, coming to New York with a specific dream and never reaching it.
But Emma was so negative, about everything. Nothing was ever good enough and nobody ever did anything to her satisfaction.
You are late on the rent, a small voice pointed out. Guilt twisted in me. Yeah. There was that. She had a reason to be aggravated with me.
If I could get one of these jobs, I could get caught up on the money I owed her.
I really wanted something where I could make enough money and get my own place, but unless I was pulling in at least four grand a month, that wasn’t likely. Rent in New York City was obscene. This small place cost almost fourteen hundred a month.
Finding an affordable place while I worked as a server was slim to none. My good mood gone, I drained the rest of my beer and reached for the last can.
My life had gone from not that great to lousy in the blink of an eye. What was worse, I had no idea what to do about it.
This sucked.
Chapter 6
Aleena
The sound of the band Journey came blaring out of my phone. A few days ago, determined to boost my self-confidence, I’d programmed the song, “Don’t Stop Believing,” as my default ring tone, telling myself it would help rev up my moral. Who knows, the positive thinking might help when potential employers called.
Right now, the song made me want to gouge out my eyes—and plug my ears.
A shard of pain went straight through my temples and I slapped out a hand, thinking of nothing but the desire to silence the phone.
I was halfway through the motion of throwing it when I realized it might be someone calling about an interview.
Groaning, I stabbed at the button to answer.
“Hello?” My mouth felt like it was full of cotton balls and shit. Maybe cotton balls made of shit.
“May I speak to Aleena Davison, please?”
“This is she.” I sat up and rubbed at sleep-heavy eyes. Why had I drank so much last night?
“Good morning, Ms. Davison. This is Fawna Harris from the Winter Corporation.”
Shock propelled me upright, and I immediately wished I’d moved a little slower. The room swam around me and my stomach echoed the movement, nausea churning through me. I might not be ready to bow before the porcelain throne, but I wasn’t terribly far off.
“We’d like you to come in today for a second interview with the CEO.”
Shit. I so did not want to leave my bed today. But I needed the job.
Still… “Ah, an interview with the CEO?”
Had I understood that right?
“Yes.” I thought I heard a smile in the other woman’s voice. “For the position we have in mind, you might have a great deal of contact with him, so we need to make sure it’s a match, professionally speaking.”
I’d fallen into the twilight zone. There was no other explanation. “Don’t take this the wrong way, ma’am, but you did mean to call Aleena Davison, correct? I’m twenty-one, most of my experience is in the food service industry? We met briefly yesterday?”
Fawna chuckled. “Yes, Ms. Davison…may I call you Aleena?”
“Yes. Please do.” This was getting very weird.
“Very well, Aleena. Yes, I know precisely who I’m speaking to. Are you available to come in today?”
“Absolutely.” I checked the time on the clock hanging across the room. I needed at least forty-five minutes to be presentable and then another forty-five minutes to get to Manhattan.
“Excellent. I see that this number is listed as your mobile contact, so I’ll text you the address,” Fawna said. “Can you be there by eleven?”
“Yes.”
She said something else and I must have made the appropriate noise. She hung up and I sat there, staring dumbly at my phone. “That did not just happen.”
“I hope to hell that was a job interview.”
I looked up and saw Emma leaning against the counter of what could laughingly be called a kitchen. She held a cup of coffee. I would have sold my kidney to have a cup just then. “Excuse me?” I asked sourly.
“A job interview,” she said, speaking slowly, as if I was an idiot.
“Yes.” I tossed my phone down and got up off the sofa bed where I slept. I made a half-hearted attempt to straighten the bed while the pounding in my head increased. I was almost ready to puke by the time I had the frame tucked inside the sofa and the cushions back in place. Dismally, I looked at the small, cramped apartment. This was so not what I’d foreseen for my life here.
“Where?”
I frowned at Emma. “Where what?”
“Your interview,” she said, tapping one finger on the coffee cup she held. Then she snorted. “Probably some two-bit diner where you’ll pull in lousy tips. I’m not kidding, Aleena. You need to get your rent paid. You signed a contract, remember?”
“I know.” Unwilling to waste any more time arguing with her, I turned away and moved toward the small cabinet where I kept my things. I needed some ibuprofe
n and a hit of caffeine and then I could deal with the rest of the day.
***
I had only one dress that might possibly work.
Simple and black, it was a faux-wrap dress I’d picked up off the clearance rack at Target back home. Although it looked good on me, I had a feeling I’d stick out like a sore thumb in the elegant offices of the Winter Corporation.
It had taken me a few weeks to the hang of the subway system, but I was comfortable with it now. Well, mostly comfortable. I still didn’t know how to handle the whistles, the catcalls or the ruder crap.
You’d be a lot prettier if you smiled, sweetie.
Damn…come on, honey, why don’t you talk to me?
Don’t be so stand-offish, bitch.
It was the same sort of garbage women put up with all the time. I’d learned how to deal with it by watching how others handled it, but even though I ignored them, it didn’t make it any easier to tolerate.
Emerging from the subway, I blinked at the brilliance of the sunshine. My headache had retreated to tolerable levels and I’d chugged some tomato juice—a friend back home had always sworn by it. Something about the salt and the electrolytes and how alcohol robbed your body of those things, but tomato juice helped restore it.
I didn’t feel normal, but I was a little steadier than I had been.
I had to walk a few blocks to get to the address I’d been given and that walk gave me a few minutes to clear my head and look around. I was so out of my league. People who lived around didn’t live paycheck to paycheck. They didn’t even look at their paycheck. They would have accountants, I imagined, people who juggled the numbers and invested and advised.
They wore silk, Chanel and Dolce and Gabbana. They didn’t wear clearance specials from Target.
Wrapping my coat more tightly around myself, I checked the discreetly marked houses. They all spoke of old money.
A woman strode down the sideway and caught sight of me then sniffed. As though I’d somehow changed the way the air smelled.
I didn’t belong here.
Fake it until you make it, I told myself. I’d been doing that most of my life. Shoulders back, I gave her a brilliant smile and then turned up the next sidewalk.
The doorman smiled at me. “May I help you?”
“Hello, I’m Aleena Davison.”
His eyes brightened. “Ms. Davison, you’re expected.” He opened the door and gestured for me to enter.
“Thank you,” I said as I passed. My stomach was in knots. As I slid into the elevator, I pressed one palm against it. Nerves and a hangover are not a good mix.
“Floor, madam?” I jerked in surprise and then looked up. A uniformed man smiled at me.
“Ah…penthouse?”
He gave a polite nod and pushed a button.
Where was I? A place with guys whose only job was to punch buttons on an elevator all day?
Wonderland?
When I arrived at the top floor, the doors opened and I stepped out into a small lobby. There was only one door. My heart lurched as I moved toward it. Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward and knocked.
“Coming!”
I frowned at the sound of the man’s voice, muffled by the door. Why did it sound familiar? As the doorknob turned, I fixed a professional expression on my face, just in time...
Holy shit. Just in time to see Dominic, standing there. He wore nothing but a towel.
Wow…heavy shoulders, sculptured chest, flat belly…and for the first time ever, I could understand why they called it a happy trail. I managed not to lick my lips, but it was a close call. Interview, girl. You are here for an interview.
And what in the world was Dominic Snow doing at the door?
“Dominic,” I said.
“Aleena,” he said. To say he looked puzzled was an understatement.
Glad to know I wasn’t the only one.
“How did you know where I lived?”
Had I come to the wrong place? What were the odds?
Of course, if my brain hadn’t been slightly alcohol-logged, maybe I would have been quicker on the uptake. Dominic Snow. The Winter Corporation. Clever. Dominic was the frickin’ CEO—I’d bet my ass on it.
He took a step towards me and it took all my willpower not to put some distance between us. He smelled far too good, but if I moved, it’d be an admission.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, a faint smile kicking up the corners of his mouth. “And, don’t take this wrong, but how did you find me?”
Self-preservation made me take a step back. “I’m here for a job interview.”
The frown returned to his face. “I don’t understand.”
“I was told to come here for a second interview with the CEO of the Winter Corporation.” I forced myself to keep my eyes on his face. I also told myself I wasn’t at all curious about what lie under that towel. I was a big fat liar.
“An interview with me?”
“Which you would have known about had you answered your phone this morning.” A woman’s voice came from somewhere inside the vast space behind Dominic.
Dominic and I followed the sound of the voice.
I recognized Fawna right away. She stood framed in the wide, arched doorway of what looked to be a gorgeous kitchen. She nodded at me and then said, “Dominic, let the young lady inside, please.”
He rolled his eyes and stepped aside, waving me in. Then he glanced at Fawna. “I would’ve answered my phone if you would’ve called.” Dominic shut the door as he spoke.
Fawna held up a phone. “And you would’ve heard my call if you’d remembered to turn on your ringer.”
Dominic winced, but it faded quickly, replaced by an engaging grin. “Aleena Davison, meet Fawna Harris, my...what did we decide your official title was?”
“Babysitter?” Fawna folded her arms across her chest and turned to me. “I apologize for the miscommunication, Ms. Davison. If I’d known Dominic was going to be parading around half-naked, I would’ve tried to get here earlier.”
“I…” I started to make the typical Oh, it’s fine, that’s okay, I understand prattle, but in the end, honestly won out. “I don’t understand.”
“The position I want to hire you for is mine,” Fawna said. “I’m not part of the Winter Corporation. Not exactly. I work directly for Dominic. I run his personal life. Basically, I’m his personal assistant.” She ignored the sound of protest Dominic made and I kept my eyes on her. “I also coordinate with the household managers both here and at his house in the Hamptons to keep things running smoothly, for both day to day events and the occasional party.”
“Your job?” I hoped I sounded professionally confused rather than completely clueless about life in general.
“I need to retire soon.” Her expression was tight and I didn’t even consider asking for a reason. “And I need someone to take over who can handle him.”
“I don’t need to be handled.” Dominic’s tone was mild.
At the same time, I was stuck on the words ‘handle him’. Was it terribly wrong that I wanted to take over the job of handling him? Just not the way she most likely intended. A blush heated my face and I shifted my gaze between the two of them. Clearing my throat, I said, “I’m not entirely sure I’m the right person for this job.”
“Ten minutes ago, I would probably have agreed with you,” Dominic said. He still stood there wearing nothing more than a towel—and he didn’t seem at all concerned by that fact, either. “But you didn’t bat an eyelash when I opened the door. For the way you’re acting, I might as well be dressed in a three piece suit—or in rags. You don’t seem to care one way or the other.”
Oh, I care. I lifted a brow. “Is there a point to this, Mr. Snow?”
“You called me Dominic just a few minutes ago,” he said, eying me closely. Then he shrugged. “The point is…Fawna’s job doesn’t deal only with the business side of my life. Let’s just say this isn’t the first time she’s walked in on me wearing a towel.”
<
br /> “What exactly are you saying?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice calm.
It was hard, though. Something close to hope beat to life inside me, but I kept it under control.
Dominic looked at Fawna. She smiled and then looked at me. “I liked you for this almost from the first, Aleena. If you’re interested in the job, I think you’d be a good fit. There will be some…well, let’s call it on the job training, but if you’re as sharp as I think you are, you’ll catch on fast. For…unexpected reasons, I’m retiring at the end of the month. That’s three weeks from now. That can be your probationary period and I’ll be on hand to train you and help out with any questions, although I’m only on hand six hours a day—Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.” She paused and then asked softly, “Are you interested?”
I swallowed and reached up to touch the necklace I wore.
Dominic’s gaze followed my fingers.
“Are you interested?” Dominic asked when I stayed quiet.
“Ah…”
“Dominic, why don’t you go get dressed?” Fawna suggested softly.
He opened his mouth as though to argue and then sighed, pushing a hand through his still-damp hair.
As he left us alone, Fawna took my arm and guided me over to the low, plush couch. At that moment, it looked as long and as wide as a river. We sat and she reached for a folder that had been sitting on the table. “Here’s the job description,” she said. “I understand you’ve never worked as a personal assistant before, but you’ve already made it clear that you have broad interests and you’re organized. Organization is the most important thing for this job. The second…well, as Dominic noted, you didn’t just gape at him when he opened the door.”
I licked my lips and slid her a quick glance. “Ever heard the phrase fake it until you make it?”
“I have.” She pursed her lips as she studied me. “You faked it very well then.”
She placed the job description in my hand and I looked down to read it over.
“As you can see, you’ll help handle his day to day activities, dealing with his travel plans, his correspondence—and he gets a lot of it. Some of it will be confidential and you’ll be required to sign a non-disclosure agreement.” Her voice became firm and I glanced up at her. Once she was sure she had my attention, she continued. “If you disclose any of his personal information, Aleena, there will be consequences. I’m certain you’re discreet, but it’s very important you understand this.”
