by M. E. Carter
Buttoning my suit jacket, I stroll to the door, take a deep breath, and open it.
“Rian.” I make an extra effort to not smile like a creeper as she stands and walks toward me. She’s dressed in plain black dress pants and a plain white shirt. She looks professional and confident. Already, she fits right in.
She also surprises me when she puts her hand out to shake mine. “Carlos. Nice to see you this morning. Thanks for the interview.”
Waving her in, I shut the door behind us and gesture toward the leather office chair in front of my desk. “I’ll be honest, I’ve been stressing about how I’d be able to fill this position with the right person, so the timing of our dinner was impeccable.”
She stops settling on her chair briefly and furrows her brow. “You were considering me for this job after dinner?”
“Of course. Although it took me way longer than normal to ask you for it, which was my fault.” I don’t admit to my own struggles to wrap my brain around my attraction to her. Instead, I make a show of unbuttoning my jacket, and lowering myself into my own chair. It makes me feel more in control. “Obviously, I had more questions for you, but your skill set is what I’m looking for.”
“There are a lot of people out there with my skill set.”
“True. But there’s a difference between being able to do the job and being able to do it well. We hire the best of the best here. The nature of this business demands it.”
I may be misreading her, but she seems to blush a little bit. Does that mean she’s pleased or embarrassed? Nervous? I’m not sure but now is not the time to figure it out. I need to stay focused on the task at hand.
“I’m… flattered.”
Ah. So that was a pleased blush.
“You should be.” Leaning back, I do my best to go into interviewer mode but I’m failing. Really, I want to know more about her, and this is a convenient excuse to do it. Effective and serves a dual-purpose, but convenient, nonetheless. “What do you know about the position here?”
She clasps her hands together and takes a deep breath. “Not much, really. Just what we talked about.”
“Wait. You applied for the job without knowing what all it entails?”
She looks at me incredulously. “I’ve been a customer service rep for a really long time, and I’m good at what I do. I applied because I’m interested in finding out more. That doesn’t mean I’m going to take it.”
I can’t help the grin that crosses my face. Feisty. I like it. She’ll fit in well here. “Touché. And my apologies. How about this—after so many years of working for Sandeke Telecom, why are you interested in coming here?”
Rian licks her lips, and I watch as she chooses her words. It doesn’t take long, but it’s long enough for me to be really curious about what she’s thinking.
“The day of the fire.” I nod, encouraging her to continue. “I was standing there in your shirt—” There’s that blush again. Completely warranted this time, of course. “—and you started talking to me about my job. A weird conversation in even weirder circumstances, but it got me thinking about how safe it is there.”
I quirk an eyebrow. Safe is hardly the word I would put in any sentence about the Sandekes.
“There’s no challenge for me. It’s routine. And there’s not really any room for growth, or at least none that I’m being considered for, so there’s no concern about failure either.”
For just a split second, she stares at the floor, looking really angry about that. It’s quickly covered up by resolve as she expands her answer.
“But I realized how I want to get out of that safe box. This could be a great opportunity for me. It might be exactly what I’ve been waiting for.”
It takes a few seconds of staring at her to pull my own thoughts together. I’m not sure what happened in that parking lot, but it sounds like she’s tired of putting up with a misogynistic workplace that likes herding their employees like sheep. It also makes me wonder how many people as smart and skilled as Rian got sucked into the hamster wheel over there.
“Here’s the deal.” I drop my foot from the opposite knee and grab a packet off my desk to hand to her. “I’ve seen what you’ve already accomplished, and that’s just on your resume and what’s posted online. That tells me there’s way more to your skill set than you know and certainly way more than the Sandekes are giving you credit for.”
“To be fair, the Sandekes don’t usually come to my office. They own the business, but that’s like saying the president of this company hangs out with the little people.”
“He does.”
Her eyes widen just slightly. “He does?”
I respond with a nod. “He does. He’s extremely hands on and it’s part of the reason we have such a fantastic reputation. This isn’t some securities firm started by a bunch of investors to make money. There is a vision to have the most secure product out there. Because there are two truths none of us can get away from:” I tick them off on my fingers. “One, most of us can’t keep up with how fast technology is being developed; and two, that makes some people dangerously greedy. People need a company that cares about the product as much as the bottom line, if not more so. And we don’t care if you are a man, woman, transgender, white, black, purple with pink polka dots, have all your limbs, or have no limbs at all. If you are the best at your job, we want you, and we’ll take good care of you financially or otherwise. I believe you are one of those people.”
Welp. Cat’s out of the bag now. I wasn’t planning on saying all that to her, especially not so early in the interview, but the idea of her going back to that hell hole makes me ragey. Labor laws and proper treatment of employees is something I take very, very seriously. Even in school, some of the stories in my labor law and EEOC classes pissed me off. I truly believe there is a special place in hell for people who want all the money and all the power, to hell with anyone else.
That’s part of the reason I like working for Quinn so much. Well, when he’s not being a raging lunatic. He makes a point to take care of his people. Hell, most of his security team has an apartment provided as part of their contract. It eliminates one stressor out of their lives. And a stress-free employee is a happy employee.
So maybe it’s not a bad thing I’m showing Rian all my cards. She needs to know this isn’t your typical Fortune 500 company. This is a family, of sorts. We don’t hire just anyone.
“You think I’m the person you’re looking for?”
“You wouldn’t be sitting in this room if I didn’t.”
She doesn’t say anything. Just keeps looking at me. I can practically hear the cogs turning in her brain as she goes over my words.
“Let me ask you another question.” Her eyes snap up to mine. “In your current position, how do you know what the customer wants? How do you know what package will really meet their needs?”
She blinks a few times and shrugs slightly like it’s not something she thinks about. It’s just something she does. This is good. That’s exactly the instincts that make the difference between a good employee and a great one.
“Well, I guess it’s just the little things they say and do while we’re on the phone.”
“Give me an example.”
She thinks for a moment. “Okay. The other day a woman called and while I was looking up her account, she apologized for the noise in the background and said she has four kids under the age of ten.”
“So, what did you do?”
“We ended up finding her a package that included all the kids’ channels she could ever want and On the Spot Viewing for every TV in her house.”
Leaning back, I toss out another scenario. “Let’s say you work here and a bank calls. They’re needing security across the board. What would you say?”
Her eyes move back and forth as she thinks. “Well, first I’d find out what kind of security they’re needing. Is most of their banking online and how secure is it? Do they have a vault on the premises that needs monitoring? What about in-ho
use security? Are they located in a suburban area or more of a downtown? What’s worked so far for them and where have they had breakdowns in the past?”
She looks up and sees me smiling at her. She’s got a lot of our process wrong, but for an on the spot solution, it’s a great start. Instincts can’t be taught and hers are bang on.
Looks like mine are, too.
I open my mouth to tell her all that in different words, of course, but I’m thwarted when my door suddenly opens, and Quinn comes barreling in.
Oh, good. Now he’s given up knocking, too.
“Sorry to barge in like this.” His disheveled appearance says otherwise. He’s got circles under his eyes and his hair looks like he’s been running his fingers through it. Plus, his shirt is wrinkled. Yeah, he’s definitely at his wit’s end again. “Janie has a doctor’s appointment, so I need to make sure that insurance glitch has been taken care of.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Just the regular weekly checkup and subsequent stop for Funyuns and Chunky Monkey. The glitch?”
“Should be fixed and all denied claims being pushed through. Turns out they upgraded one of their systems and it wasn’t talking to ours. Their IT department had to fix it, but I haven’t had anymore complaints. Karen was going to follow up today.”
He clutches the doorknob tightly like it’s either holding him up or holding him back. These aren’t abnormal stressors, but he’s not been handling them well. I have a bad feeling the next step is helicopter parenting for at least eighteen years. God help us all.
“I swear the insurance companies do shit like this on purpose so they can deny coverage until we catch it. We need to look at a new company next year,” he grumbles.
I nod in agreement, even though I don’t agree at all. We sorted through dozens of policies and dozens of agencies. This is the best deal all the way around, with a company that has the best reputation, even with this nightmare. I don’t say all that, though. Instead, I stick with avoidance. “Well, we’ve got a few months before we can even start pursuing anything because we’re under contract. But I’ll definitely take it into consideration.” No, I really won’t. But Janie won’t be pregnant then, God willing, so I’m banking on him forgetting.
“Good. The last thing I need right now is this bullshit. I’m trying to track down some yarn from a rare goat in Russia and no one has it. What, does this goat only shed when he wants to? Does he think he’s a rock star and will only let himself be sheered when there is a total lunar eclipse which means everyone wants his wool at the same time?”
Okay, so he’s officially lost it. I make a mental note to double check Xanax is an approved medication since Quinn is about two balls of yarn away from needing a dose.
Before I can respond, Rian jumps in.
“Have you tried Preda Depot?”
Quinn startles, as if he just realized someone else is in the room. But that doesn’t stop him from immediately focusing on the important part. “What’s that?”
“It’s an online yarn store. Deals specifically in very rare wools like qiviut.”
“You knit?” I don’t know her that well, but I didn’t peg her as the crafty type.
She laughs. “Uh, no. I tried to make a potholder once and ended up with a triangle. No idea how that happened.”
Sounds about right.
“No, my sister likes to knit and crochet. I try to get her something interesting for Christmas every year. That’s my go-to place. Although if she doesn’t get married soon, I’m going to go back to Plain Jane’s Fabrics,” she mumbles under her breath, and I know there’s a story there. Unfortunately, now is not the time or place.
Quinn nods his head, and I know he’s absorbing her every word. “I’m not sure who you are, and I apologize for that since I haven’t been around lately. But, Carlos, you need to give this woman a raise.”
“I don’t work here. This is my interview.”
“Huh.” He gets that look on his face when he has an idea. Usually they’re pretty good, but I don’t trust his thought process these days. “You ever think of being a personal yarn shopper? Always searching for deals on rare and exotic wools?”
It’s official. My boss has lost his mind.
“Sorry,” Rian says with a smile. “That’s not really in my career plan.”
“Bummer.” Quinn is still holding onto the doorknob, but at least his knuckles aren’t white now. “I know a whole group of women, well, and a man, who would pay good money for your services.”
Rian’s smile brightens even more. Looks like Quinn has charmed his way into her good graces. “If I change my mind, you’ll be the first person I call.”
Quinn nods and, as if suddenly remembering he has something to do, he hightails it out of my office, slamming the door behind him. I’ll be happy when Baby-Brain Quinn leaves, but I have a bad feeling this is his new normal.
Rian returns her attention to me, but as far as I’m concerned, this interview is over. She just took my most wound-up customer- and yes, in some ways my boss is a client I have to keep happy- calmed him down, gave him some options, and had him eating out of her hand. She’s sharp and quick on her mental feet. All good qualities in this business. Her company is stupid not to recognize that. Good thing I’m smarter than them.
Leaning forward, I rest my arms on my desk. I have a feeling she’s not going to make this easy on me, but I’m not about to let this one go.
“When can you start?”
Rian’s lip quirks up and I know this interview isn’t over yet. “Not so fast. I have some questions for you.”
Looks like it’s my turn to impress her.
Chapter Seventeen
RIAN
Peeling open the Tupperware lid, I gasp with delight. That feeling is very quickly replaced with disappointment when I realize what I’m looking at.
“We’re not supposed to be eating potatoes, Francesca.”
“Then it’s a good thing I didn’t bring any,” she shoots back, peeling her own Tupperware open. Whatever shredded beef she’s dishing out onto both our plates looks amazing. Man, I’m hungry.
I roll my eyes, knowing she’s always trying to find a loophole. “Mashed potatoes still count as potatoes.”
“I know it’s hard to believe, but I didn’t try to find a work around this time. Unless you count mashing cauliflower as cheating.”
Looking back into the bowl, I take a quick sniff. Sure enough, it smells like vegetables. “But are they any good? I’m leery.”
She snorts a laugh while licking the spoon clean. “You think I’d be eating them again if they tasted bad? You know me better than that. Many a vegetable has seen the bottom of my garbage can.” While she may not be opposed to throwing vegetables away, that doesn’t mean she’s not opposed to passing them off as edible in an attempt to discourage me from making her do her share of the cooking.
Noticing my expression, she rolls her eyes at my skepticism. “Don’t look at me like that. Think about it for a second. What do potatoes really taste like?”
“Not like cauliflower.”
“No kidding,” she deadpans. “But what do they taste like?”
“I don’t know.” My mouth waters at the thought of savory mashed potatoes. The kind you get at a fast food chicken joint. They’re my favorite. Then I remember that delicious giant baked potato I had last month at the new BBQ joint around the corner from my place. “Like fluffy, creamy goodness made with butter and sour cream and bacon bits and chives. And now I’m really disappointed that this is smashed up trees instead of potatoes!” I rant and bang my hand down on the counter dramatically. She’s not phased in the least.
“Okay, calm down there, Ketozilla.” She snatches the bowl out of my hand and begins putting the fake potatoes on our plates. Fortunately, she uses a different spoon. Unfortunately, it’s my spoon, and there’s no way I’m licking it clean now that something healthy has touched it. Now I have to wash it before I can eat. This day keeps getting worse
. Cue the dramatic sigh I’m visualizing in my brain. “You listed off four different ingredients but not one of them was actually a potato flavor. These taste exactly like all that because I made it with all that.”
Cocking my head, I narrow my eyes. She has my attention. “Go on.”
“Okay. The key to mashed potatoes is to get the right consistency and then season it to taste. I just matched the consistency making sure there are no lumps and did everything else the same.” Throwing one of the plates in the microwave, she slams the door and turns to face me. “Trust me. This is not the same as the quinoa crisis of last week.”
That was a bad day. I still practically get hives thinking about it. Francesca swore up and down it tasted just like rice pilaf. But, oh no. That’s not what it tasted like because she’s a liar, liar, pants on fire.
Quinoa, or at least the way Francesca made it, tastes like cardboard with a hint of pepper and has some weird consistency that makes it completely inedible. I was so hungry by the end of the day I almost ate a Post-it note because it had a more palatable flavor and I needed some fiber. When I finally left for the day, my starving legs carried me straight to the Dunkin’ Donuts down the block for some nourishment. And then I almost threw up on the treadmill from the overdose of sugar. Francesca has since promised to never make that crap again, but apparently, I’m still the target of her culinary experiments.
“So…” She plops down on a chair while we wait for the next minute and fifteen seconds for lunch to begin. I may not be convinced yet, but I’m too hungry not to give her the benefit of the doubt. “How was the bachelorette party?”
I glare at her dubiously. This is not a topic I wish to discuss. Ever. But since she asked, I feel I have no choice but to tell her. “Horrible.”
“Oh, come on. It couldn’t have been that bad. What’s terrible about a bunch of women in their thirties going out on the town?”
Leaning back, I settle in to blow her mind. “Let’s see, at the last minute, Bendy, the maid of honor, couldn’t come. She got sick or something.”
