Drive(12)

Her laugh echoed throughout the joke of a lobby, and several of the staff members in the desks behind her gave a pregnant pause.

“Wow, you’re blunt.”

“Blunt, honest, hardworking. I would be an asset to this place,” I said, noting the retro, pea-green linoleum floors and chipped paint on the walls.

She raised her hands, palms up toward me. “Don’t try to sell me. I don’t pay the rent here.”

“So, who do I sell?”

“That would be Nate Butler.”

“Okay, may I see Nate Butler?”

“He’s in a meeting.”

I gave her a wary eye. “He’s always in a meeting, isn’t he?”

Her smile got wider.

“That’s your job description,” I went on, “isn’t it? Answer the phone and take good messages because he’s always in a meeting?”

She pressed her lips together to keep her laugh in. I planned on encountering nothing but slamming doors in my future. But I had just the right shoes to wedge my foot in for the Hail Mary strategy I would need to have to be taken seriously. I’d spent the majority of my time in junior college writing various articles that kept up with current artists. I had a hard drive filled with a few million words. It was atypical of me not to know the details of any endeavor before I stuck my neck out, especially for the job I was looking to land. But flying by the seat of my Levi’s was another skill I had to master to become a force to be reckoned with. So, completely unprepared, I stared down the receptionist, ready to do whatever was necessary to have an audience of one named Nate Butler.

“I don’t want to pull an ‘I’ll wait.’ I don’t have the patience for that hat trick. Help me out here?”

“He’s pretty blunt himself. You sure you don’t want to come back better prepared?” She glanced at my T-shirt.

I grinned. “You think a tie would dress this up?”

She shook her head with a chuckle.

“I agree, it’s a bold statement.” I looked for any sign that she got my Pulp Fiction pun and was disappointed when she missed it. “He wouldn’t happen to have a fetish for opinionated brunettes?”

“No, he’s more of a long-legged, silent but affectionate blonde type of man.”

I wrinkled my nose. “And a breast man, too, am I right?”

“Probably, also he’s close with his mom.”

“That’s a good thing. He might be a decent human.”

“He’s pretty much an ass,” she assured. We both smiled.

“Now that I have plenty of. But I’ll just have to go with personality.”

“I’d hire you.” She winked as she picked up the phone and looked to me in question.

“Stella Emerson,” I announced proudly. “Estella for short.”

Her smile said she enjoyed my sarcasm. “Spanish?”

“Texican.”

She let out a loud laugh this time that caught the attention of everyone in the room behind her. I waved to those most aggravated faces with big eyes and dual handed spirit fingers. Apparently, behind the reception desk is where happiness went to die.

“Nate, I have Stella Emerson here to see you. No, she doesn’t have an appointment—”

Before he could give an excuse, I gently gripped the phone away from her. She was more amused than upset. I liked her.

“Mr. Butler, I will only take five minutes of your time.”

Hesitance on the other end of the line and then, “Mrs. Emerson—”

“Miss.”

“Miss Emerson, if you’ll have Sierra make you an appointment.”

“Sierra?” I asked as I held my hand over the speaker. “I like it, good name. Your mother must love you more than mine.”

She just chuckled as I went on with my bullshit reverie.

“I’m here for my interview, sir.”

“I see.”

“We have an interview today—” I looked at the clock on Sierra’s desk “—at four thirty.”

A door opened behind one of the desks situated in the circular media room. I expected a bald man with wiry hair and a short temper to emerge. Instead, I got a copper-haired gent in a tailored suit who, across the desks, looked only a few years older than me. Phone in hand, he took one look at my appearance and sighed before he lifted the phone back to his mouth.

“Miss Emerson, I know full well you don’t have an interview.”

“Sexy voice,” I whispered to Sierra.

“I heard that,” he said, unimpressed.

I cleared my throat. “My apologies. We’ve already wasted a minute in debate. I’ll take the last four.”

He released another sigh before he looked between Sierra and me—a lingering angry stare on my new friend. “Come on back.”

I handed the phone back to Sierra. “Sorry, desperate times.”

“I hope he hires you,” she said, unaffected by my stunt.

“Me, too. I owe you a drink either way.”

“Deal,” she said as the phone rang. She gave me a wink as she answered. “Austin Speak.” She paused before she smiled through her answer, laugh-creased eyes on me. “Mr. Butler is in a meeting.”

Walking back toward the open door, I glanced at the desks and looked for any sign of life behind them. The rest of the offices were empty. There were a total of twelve people working at Austin Speak. I didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell. Still, I pressed on through the door, shut it behind me, and turned to see the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on.