Layers(5)

“So what position at Stark’s Software would be of interest to you, Miss Grace?” She studies me carefully under red frames. I have a very vague idea of what positions might be available at Stark Software. Hell, I am not even sure what they actually do. What did Tasha mention this morning? There was something about security.

“In the security department?” I try. Judging by Mrs. Greenich’s irritated stare, that was not the right answer. I flush.

I should have Googled them, listened to Tasha or at least paid some attention at orientation day. Though this is all just a part of a ruse, I still hate making a fool of myself, especially at such a respected firm.

Mrs. Greenich, mumbling to herself, turns to write something on my résumé.

“Stark Software seems like a very professional and intriguing organization.” I attempt to make amends, but as soon as the words leave my mouth I regret saying them. If you don’t have anything clever to say, just don’t …

Mrs. Greenich now no longer tries to conceal her annoyance with me; she rolls her eyes as she stretches her hand out for a shake. “You can go back to the group now. They’re on the second floor with Mr. Stark.” She dismisses me with a nod toward the door. “The Oval conference room,” she adds, riled. Exactly what was missing, and the best is yet to come, meeting Mr. Stark. Can’t wait …

“You missed him, he just left,” Tasha greets me as I enter the Oval room. “He is so captivating. The man just radiates strength. He’s kind of intimidating.” She fills me in, overly excited. Arrogant and intimidating, sounds like a keeper …

“How was the meeting with uptight Greenich?”

I snort. “Let’s put it this way: I’m pretty sure I’ve been crossed off their promising candidates list.”

“That bad, hmm?” She giggles.

“You can’t even begin to imagine.” Try crawl-under-a-rock embarrassing …

~~~

As soon as Tasha starts the car I feel dozy, glad for this joke to be over, pledging to never take a bet from Tasha again. As I rest my head on the window, looking tiredly at the passing view, an unbidden thought about a certain sinful smile and hazel eyes invades my reverie.





Chapter 3: Payback


We’re sitting by our breakfast counter, our “royal dining place” as we call it, sipping our morning coffee with heavy, sleepy eyes, waiting for the caffeine to do its blessed job. Tasha, clad in her purple tank top and shorts, informs me that she’s planning to visit her parents with Ian today, and invites me along. I agree as soon as she asks. I hardly pass on occasions when Ian joins. Having Ian around is always a great treat; besides, I love Tasha’s parents. They’re like my second family, especially since our freshman year when I moved to San Francisco while my parents stayed back home in Chicago. I set aside the copy of the YOU magazine I’ve been browsing through while I listen to Tasha.

For a moment I think about my job interview at the same magazine last week. I let myself play with the idea of starting the job sooner than they asked me to. There was something about final approvals for the headcount that should be cleared any day now, though they didn’t commit to a specific time frame. I still can’t believe how lucky I was to even be considered for the position of the creative director’s assistant. I should thank all available almighties that YOU magazine changed their usual recruitment policies and for once went for fresh, inexperienced applicants. Meanwhile, I’m more than grateful for my part-time job at an insurance company, which gives me breathing room to look for jobs I really want to do, like working at a magazine editorial or having my illustrations decorate a published children’s book.

~~~

My phone flickers to my national anthem ringtone and disturbs us; simultaneously we look at the kitchen clock. Tasha turns my way, the awe in her eyes registering her curiosity, about who the hell would call at this hour. We’re both here, and Ian doesn’t do early. I shake my head and shrug. Checking my phone’s screen, I find out the call is from an unfamiliar number.

“Good morning,” I answer.

“May I speak to Miss Grace?” a lady at the other end inquires.

“Speaking,” I reply tentatively. Tasha stares at me, trying to figure out who would be calling this early.

“This is Helen, from Stark Software Technologies. We would like to schedule an interview with you today.” The lady at the other end sounds very determined. I try to process the information under Tasha’s observing gaze. “Stark Software,” I mouth at her and shrug again. She grimaces.

“Can you make it today at eleven, Miss Grace?”

“Today at eleven,” I echo her words, looking at Tasha. She bobs her head in enthusiasm as if to say of course you’ll go.

“Yes, I’ll be able to make it today at eleven,” I respond in my most official voice, encouraging my dear friend to smirk.

“Okay then, Miss Grace. Mr. Stark will see you at eleven sharp.”

“Mr. Stark?” I repeat, hesitant and staggered. Tasha’s mouth turns into a symmetrical circle, her gaze reflecting our mutual thoughts.

“And Miss Grace, please don’t be late. Mr. Stark has a tight schedule.” Bet he does. I snarl.

“What the heavens was that all about?” Tasha asks, articulating what we both think.