Grave Mistakes (Hellgate Guardians #1)(3)
She gets up and comes around the desk, motioning for me to follow her. I take one last look around the empty lobby, wondering why this place isn’t packed full of applicants. The tapping of the receptionist’s heels on the polished concrete floor brings my attention ahead again as she leads me further into the building. We pass by a glass-walled office that’s clearly very upscale and must’ve cost a fortune to build, but that’s empty too.
What is this place?
I probably should have read the job description thoroughly, but there just wasn’t time. I’m really hoping that the job site I signed up for wouldn’t have sent me anything that I wasn’t technically qualified for, but it appears that I’m about to find out. I just hope I don’t make a complete ass of myself.
I’m guided into a back office—this one also surrounded by stunning glass walls—where a tall blonde supermodel of a woman stands and extends her hand in greeting. She smiles at me, and her teeth are so white and radiant I have to fight to keep from blinking like I’m staring into the sun. I reach out and give her a strong handshake just like my dad taught me to.
My dad’s voice rises in my mind like steam rises off a pond on a cold day. “You have to show them your trustworthiness right from the start, Del, and nothing communicates that faster than a firm, assertive handshake.” His advice floats away like a balloon I couldn’t keep hold of, and I focus on the beautiful woman in front of me.
“I’m Susan Atwood,” the hotter blonde version of Cindy Crawford greets me.
I offer back my much dimmer million-dollar smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Atwood. I’m Delta Gates.”
She gives me another megawatt smile, and an adorable giggle sneaks out of her full, flawless lips. “Delta...Gates. Well, isn’t that just perfect,” she observes, pulling her hand back and motioning for me to have a seat on the other side of the conference table.
I, of course, have no idea what the hell that means, but I smile and fake chuckle like I get the joke. I do as instructed and claim a chair across from her. The soft leather practically swaddles me as I sit down, as if it wants to rock me to sleep with a hot cup of tea and a lullaby, and I find myself completely distracted by how good it feels.
Holy shit, that’s a nice chair. It’s the most comfortable thing I’ve ever sat in, I think, but it’s an odd thing to be focused on since Ms. Atwood is talking and I’ve never given a fuck about a chair before. Fuck off, chair. I need to pay attention!
I force myself to tune into Ms. Atwood’s sultry tone and smooth cadence, while trying not to lean back against the chair and let it claim me. Nope. I will not fall into its buttery soft trap. I overcompensate by lurching forward, nearly smacking my knees on the glass table separating me from my interviewer. I give Ms. Atwood a strained smile and try to look all professional and security officer-esque or some shit. I really fucking need this job.
“So, Miss Gates, did you have any questions about the role and what it requires?” Ms. Atwood asks.
I cover up my panic by leaning forward and placing my clasped hands on the table. “Well...I’d love to hear more about your security needs, that way we can both get a better feel for whether or not I might be the right fit.”
I internally high five myself for that line. I definitely came across as a security professional. Now I’ll find out all about this job and whether or not I’m even qualified.
Score for underprepared and desperate me.
“Certainly,” Ms. Atwood coos and leans back in her chair. I wonder if she’s ever gotten distracted by it as much as me. “As I’m sure you already know, you’d be patrolling the private Perdition Estate. More specifically, the graveyard gate on that property, of course.”
“A gate? Well, that’s definitely within my wheelhouse,” I tell her confidently. I can guard a gate. Easy.
I’m surprised that the security job isn’t for this building, which is what I had assumed, but honestly, it could be in an outhouse for all I care. Eighty dollars an hour is eighty dollars a fucking hour. And, hello, benefits!
Ms. Atwood does that adorable giggle again and nods. “You’d be surprised how many just don’t pass muster, but that’s the world we live in these days,” she observes, and I nod my head in agreement.
It’s half impossible to keep good, hard working servers staffed in the bar, and it seems the security industry suffers from the same problem.
“As their hiring agency, the Perdition Estate is very special to us. They’re our most important clients, and we’d really like to get them set up with the perfect fit for their team. Does that sound like something you’d be interested in?” she asks me cautiously.
“It sounds like exactly what I’ve been looking for,” I reassure her. “I’m a loyal hard worker, who isn’t afraid of a challenge,” I reply, hoping I’m not laying it on too thick.
Maybe the cemetery part of this position is what’s kept them from finding the right person. I’ve personally never been one to be freaked out by cemeteries or what could go bump in the night. I happen to be one of those weirdos who thinks that they’re peaceful and, a lot of times, very beautiful places to spend time. Especially if it’s one of those old graveyards with all of the tall headstones. I could spend ages in one of those.
My finger starts trailing over the armrest as I imagine the peaceful graveyard duty, and I nearly hum at how soft the damn leather is under my hand. Wait, when did I move my hands? I snatch them back into my lap, inwardly kicking myself for my lack of impulse control. This chair needs a warning label on it. I don’t know how anyone sits here and gets anything done. I want to steal it. I would eat, sleep, and fuck in its cloud-like embrace. That’s how nice it is. Their security officer interviewee probably shouldn’t start things off by trying to steal from them, though. Might set off a bad first impression.