Layers(6)

What the heavens. I inwardly snicker. It always amuses when she says that, prude Miss perfect.

“Believe me, I haven’t got the tiniest clue,” I reply, while in my mind I try to revive my embarrassingly short meeting with rigid Greenich. The memory makes me far more perplexed as to why Mr. Stark himself would want to interview me.

“You did right, Hales. I know that it all started as a joke and that this wouldn’t be your first choice, but giving it a chance is a smart move. If someone that respected and powerful would like to meet with you, interview or not, it’s not an opportunity you should pass up.”




I nod. Can’t argue with facts.

“Looks like it’s choose-an-outfit time.” Tasha grins at me. Just give her a reason to play dress up and she flourishes.

We both head to my room. “What would one wear to a job interview with one of the most powerful men in the high-tech business?”

“You’ve got me, but not to worry, my sweet friend,” she says. Controlling Miss Style takes the challenge. I press the remote to activate my iPod. The Cure will do a perfect job, I think as I turn to lie down on my bed. I watch my possessed friend doing her thing, going back and forth from her room to mine, each time with yet another piece of clothing, putting a shirt next to a skirt, bringing shoes from here to there.

When she finally comes back to my room declaring that her mission is complete, I ask her, “What do we know about the notorious stacked-up Stark?”

She wrinkles her nose. “And he deserves all of this ironic contempt just because he has a private kitchen?” she mutters in sheer cynicism, with slightly raised eyebrows.

“Come on Tasha, can’t he be around the little people? What kind of message does he send to his employees?” I say, annoyed. “Stay away from me, I’m way too good for you, you guys are beneath me?” I huff. “And seriously, they weren’t sure if he could meet us? Wasn’t this tour scheduled like a month in advance?” Tasha’s eyes scoff at me.

“He is a busy man, you know. And the kitchen, well, it does sound a tad alienating, but we don’t know the actual reason for that. Do we, now?” She looks at me with a raised brow, head tilted to the side. She does have a point. And yet, I choose to stick with my premonitions.

“He’s very clever, obviously,” she says, putting her hair up with a rubber band. “And I believe he must be very self-driven and sharp to have such a successful business at a relatively young age. Also the fact that he’s so easy on the eyes does give him some extra credit,” she mutters with a thin pull of her lips, checking her hairdo in the mirror.

“How old is he anyway?” I ask casually and Miss Wikipedia replies, “He’s thirty-four.”

Pretty young to be ruling the world, or at least the western hemisphere. I sneer inwardly.

“Here we go.” She nods proudly, showing me the outfit she composed. Gray pants, white t-shirt, wine-red stilettos and a black blazer.

“I knew I could trust you to dress me up in a costume.” I frown, my eyes conveying friendly sarcasm.

“Thanks for the gratitude, Miss Smartass.” Throwing a pillow at me, she murmurs “costume” under her breath. “Will you put your hair up?”

I look at her and touch my lips, scratching them with my thumb while considering her question.

“Nah, let’s leave a bit of me in this story.”

She nods in agreement. “Take my car. Ian’s picking me up.”

~~~

As I park in the almighty Software Technologies, Inc. building complex, I glance at the side mirror, observing my freckled, suntanned face decorated by my wavy, straw-blonde locks and smile. This is as good as it gets.

At the lobby, I announce to the young receptionist that I’m scheduled to meet with Mr. Stark at eleven. “It’s Miss Grace,” I add.

“Take the first lift to the right up to the second floor. Mr. Stark’s personal assistant is waiting for you.” She smiles phonily, her eyes expressionless. Again inside the building, I can’t help but admire the graceful tremendousness of the place, so well furnished and styled. When I reach the second floor, a young, tall, weary-looking brunette comes quickly my way. Extending her hand for a shake, she says, “I’m Miss Bally, Mr. Stark’s personal assistant. Would you like something to drink?” she asks a tad too enthusiastically, fidgeting as she does so. Too much caffeine, Miss Bally?

“Just water would be great, thank you.” Idly I think to myself, her expression suddenly changed. She became somewhat stressed.

“Maybe also some coffee. Espresso, was it?” I turn to look at the owner of the voice and there he is with all his bad-boy glory: Daniel.

“Hi again, Daniel.” I reward him with a smile, feeling slightly uneasy the moment our eyes meet. When has this ever happened to me before? Again, this strange reaction to him.

“Hello, Miss Grace,” he answers, his lips curved up crookedly; his voice is woven with a hint of joy, hazel eyes twinkling. You seem happy to see me …

Miss Bally looks at us with round eyes, her lips parted. Perhaps she has a thing for her colleague here. Well, how could she not? How could anybody not, the man oozes sex.

“I’ll escort Miss Grace to the room,” Daniel snaps at Miss Bally. What’s his problem? Lovers’ quarrel?