"Clare, honey, are you ready yet?" My mother's voice calls from down the hall, and I roll my eyes at myself in the mirror, the powder brush never stopping as I hastily apply my makeup.
"I'll be done in a minute, go get a cup of coffee from the kitchen." I call back to her, hoping that she'll be able to navigate my apartment alright. It's small; small enough that all of my furniture plus my roommate, Alli's, almost didn't even fit. Still, it was cozy to us, and we'd learned to jump over the back of the couch if we wanted to sit down and watch TV. Most nights she was out with her boyfriend, Drew, which left the TV to me luckily. She was always droning on, and on, about Project Runway, and Jersey Shore, and I just wanted to settle in and watch some 60 Minutes, or watch the News to see what was going on. Of course, that was in between college courses, and trying to find a job to pay for all of my college debt, which really didn't leave me with much television time.
"Clare! Hurry up, you're going to be late!" my mother screeches, making me wince. I finish adding my mascara, and straighten to see how I looked. My brown hair is pulled back in a half-up style to keep it out of my eyes, but there's no helping the mass of curls that halo my face. My blue eyes pop more than usual, with the mascara and the navy blazer and skirt making them seem almost an icy shade of blue, rather than their usual blandness. I look… Pretty. Professional, but pretty enough to say "I care about how I look, but I'm not looking to gain attention. I'm here to work." I smile at myself, and nod once at my reflection.
Walking out of my room, I make my way out of the hallway and into the living room. My mother sits on the couch, a cup of coffee in her hands. At the sound of my heels on the floor, she looks up and blinks a few times slowly, her lips pursing slightly, and a crease forming between her eyebrows. "If you weren't so low on time, I'd have you go wash the gunk off of your face. It's way too much." She says, and I flinch internally. I thought it'd been an okay amount, but apparently I was wrong. The urge to go wash it off quickly flashed in my mind, before she takes a sip of her coffee and shrugs her shoulders daintily. "Oh well, though. It's your job interview, not mine." She stands up and walks over to me, adjusting my blazer and stepping back. I hold myself still as she appraises me, trying not to show the way her comment had bothered me. "Well, alright. I guess you'll do. I'm rooting for you." She crosses her fingers and smiles at me. I smile back, and lean over to hug her quickly.
"Love you, mom. I'll call you when I'm done with the interview." Pulling back, I walk over to the front door, grabbing my briefcase which held my portfolio, and all the paperwork I needed for the interview, and then grab my car keys off of the side table. My mother follows me out the door, her own keys in hand. She'd insisted on coming over before I left to make sure that I was "interview ready" as she'd put it. Or, to put it bluntly, bitch about whatever I'd chosen. I sigh internally and walk over to my car, unlocking the door and sliding inside, the leather of the seat cool on the backs of my thighs. My car is my baby; a 2011 Kia Soul that was a chocolate brown color. I'd named it Latte, and I keep her cleaner than I did the apartment, mainly because Alli couldn't mess it up ten seconds later by spreading all of her fashion magazines out everywhere.
I watch as my mom pulls out of the parking lot; unrolling the window to wave at her as the car sped off in the opposite direction that I was headed. I hit the button on the side of the door twice to roll the window up automatically as I back out of the parking space, and pull onto the street. It was a nice neighborhood, Deep Meadow Village, all trimmed lawns and matching brick buildings with terraces placed evenly on each side of the building. Alli and I were so excited when we'd scored a place here, even though we barely managed to pay rent every month, which was why I was in desperate need of a job.
I maneuvered the streets of Deep Meadow until I finally hit the main road, which was pretty quiet for a Manhattan noon. Of course, that changed when I hit the center of the city, backed up traffic everywhere. I sigh, glancing anxiously at the clock on my dashboard. I drum my fingers against the steering wheel of my car and prayed by some miracle that I will make it there in time. Manhattan was blinding at this time of day, the sun glinting off of cars, buildings, signs, and basically everything around you. The tall skyscrapers loomed up above, blocking out most of the sky from view. The joys of living in New York.
As each car inched its way forward, I could finally see the top of the building. It was a tall skyscraper that was almost all windows. What wasn't a window was gold colored framing that made it look like a solid gold brick towering over Manhattan. As I got closer, I could see the words "Gold Publishing Inc." on the side of the building in big, bold, black letters. Overall, it was… Intimidating. Pulling into the parking lot only made the building grow in size, and I could feel my heart rate increase. I parked the car in an open spot marked "guest" and turned Latte off.
"Come on, you can do this." I mumble to myself, taking a few steadying breaths before gathering my things and getting out of my car. I patted Latte's hood once for good luck, and made my way inside the glass revolving doors that lead me inside. The walls were painted white, and the floor was covered in gold carpeting, and every piece of furniture was black, as well as expensive looking. I very nearly walked out right then, deciding that I was way out of my league, when the receptionist looks up. She was blonde, with even blonder highlights in her layered hair, and she eyes me with one eyebrow arched in distaste.
"Name?" she asks, her voice oozing impatience. I step closer to the desk and clear my throat, trying to fight back my nerves. If I can't even speak to a receptionist, how the hell am I supposed to handle an interview? I square my shoulders and smile tightly at her.
"Clare Edwards." I say, placing my briefcase on the desk. She nods at me slowly, almost as if she were mocking me.
"What do you need?" she asks, still sounding like I'd interrupted her during the most important moment of her life. Everyone looks up, eying us with interest, and I can feel my face heat up. Breathe, Clare…
"I'm here for an interview for the mail room job." I say, fishing the Want Ad out of my briefcase and holding it up; the advertisement circled in red marker so that it was easier to find. She reads it over, her right eyebrow still arched. I can't help but wonder if it was just stuck like that, perhaps. Finally, she shakes her head, and takes the paper from me.
"Terrible job; poor pay, bad coffee, and miserable people." She types in a few things on her computer, her keystrokes loud in the quiet room. I glance around again and see that everyone has gone back to what they were doing. The typing stopped, and I turned my head at the sound of a printer. She holds a piece of paper out to me, and says, "An assistant position just opened up a few days ago. The pay is much better, and you don't have to run around all day long. Trust me, you'll thank me if you get it."
I blink a few times in shock, looking down at the paper in my hand, before looking back at her. "T-Thank you. Very much." I stutter, and she shrugs one shoulder, reaching for the phone and shooing me off with a wave of her hand. Oh… I quickly move aside and look down at the paper that reads "FLOOR: 60" at the top. I walk over to the elevator, and hit the little button, waiting for the elevator to reach my floor. When the elevator dings, I step in, along with a few men and women dressed for work. They all hit their floor numbers before stepping back. I step forward and trail my eyes all the way up to the number sixty. Oh my, it's at the very top, in a little row of its own. I press it, and watch as it lights up. The people in the elevator give me dumbstruck expressions, and I look back at them with a confused expression of my own. What, is Floor Sixty haunted?
The elevator doors close, and I grasp the cool metal handle of the elevator as it begins to move upwards. We stop at the occasional floor, picking up people or dropping them off. By the time we're at fifty five, no one is getting on, and I'm the only one left in the elevator, the button for the top floor shining at me, and making my palms sweat anxiously. When the elevator dings to announce that I've reached my destination, I let go of the handle and step closer to the elevator door as I wait for it to open. When it does, I step into a room that makes the other one look like it was nothing.
The walls are black, along with the carpeting. Every other surface in the room is gold. Even the desks look like they're made out of gold. I feel my lips part in surprise as I take it all in. I walk over to the receptionist, this one not even noticing that I walked in like the other one. She sits at her desk, her black hair pulled up into a tight bun on top of her head. She types away on her computer, looking up only once I stand directly in front of the desk.
"What can I do for you?" she asks, her fingers still moving swiftly across the keyboard even though she's looking at me. Her eyes are a hazel color that makes her pale skin look even paler, and her face seemed like it slowly came to a point at her chin. She seemed… Fierce. I hand her the piece of paper with all the information on it, and she quickly scans through it, her eyebrows going up in surprise for a second before she hands the paper back. "If you go sit down, Mr. Goldsworthy will be with you in just a second." She says, and then she's back to her own business.
I walk over to the plush black chair, and sit down, crossing one leg over the other as I rest my briefcase on the floor next to my chair. The wall behind me isn't really a wall; it's solid glass, and from here I can see that I'm towering over most of the city. I swallow convulsively and grip the arms of the chair a little tighter. I'll have to get over my fear of heights if I get the job. If being the operative word. I really need this job, or else Alli might kick me out. She's been hinting at Jenna moving in with us, when we clearly have no room for a third person. I can take a hint, but I'll go kicking and screaming before I have to move back in with my mother.
"Edwards?" a voice calls. It's soft; caressing each letter in a deep tone. I look up, and meet the greenest eyes I've ever seen. They also belong to the most gorgeous man I've ever seen. His hair is a dark brown, so dark it almost looks black. His skin is pale, and his lips are practically heart shaped. God, stop staring at his lips and answer him!
"Y-Yes?" I manage to stutter out, feeling my neck warm in embarrassment. I stand, and bend to grab my briefcase. I look up to see him staring at me, not saying a word. He's looking down your shirt, idiot. Stand up! I listen to my subconscious, and right myself, tugging at the hem of my blazer. I know I shouldn't feel so excited, but the realization that he was looking at my body sends a rush of heat through me.
"Your interview?" he asks, all business, his eyes no longer intense or appraising. Instead he seems almost bored, like he has better things to do. "Come with me." He turns on his heel, giving me a view of his backside. He's not dressed in a full suit; wearing the shirt, tie, and pants, but lacking the full effect. He looks too casual to be in a place like this, and I can't help but wonder how he gets away with this. Still, I follow him into an office that's almost as big as the other room, and that was filled with cubicles for all the other workers. In the center of the room is a big, black desk, that has a little sign on it that reads, "Elijah Goldsworthy, Executive Officer" I watch him take a seat at the desk like he owns it, and I realize suddenly that he does. I'm being interviewed by the owner of the building.
I sink into one of the chairs, and cross my ankles, trying to maintain my cool. I have to remind myself to breathe a few times, but other than that I feel like this is going well so far. Of course, that's until he speaks.
"Well? Where are your papers? References?" He speaks slowly, as if talking to a child, and I scramble with the clasp on my briefcase as I hurry to get all of the paperwork out of my briefcase. I can feel the blood rush to my cheeks in mortification as I hand them over, still unable to speak. Why couldn't I have been interviewed by a woman or at least a man over fifty? Why did it have to be someone who made my throat close up? He reads through my list of references, and my background information quickly, before setting the papers on his desk. "You realize you have no business experience whatsoever, correct?" he asks finally, eyeing me like I'm a fish in the middle of a barn, clearly not in the right place.
"Yes, but I-"
"And, of course, you realize this is a very important job. You'll be my personal assistant, yet hiring you would obviously be a mistake, because you won't have a clue what you're doing." I can feel myself deflate at his words, knowing he's right. I should have just stuck with the mailroom job, even if they have bad coffee. It was a stupid quick switch, and I don't know why I even let her do it. He interrupts my self-rant as he adds, "Can you even work a fax machine?"
I bristle at this, my shoulders squaring as I realize that he's belittling my intelligence. I stand, and my hands close into fists. "Yes, in fact I can work a fax machine. How hard can an assistant's job be? I get you lunch, I fetch coffee. Oh, it's so difficult." He sits back in his chair, his eyes conveying his surprise but I continue on anyway. "You know, I think it's quite obvious that this job isn't for me. So I'll just-"
"Sit. Down." He demands, and the tone of his voice makes me obey, sitting quickly, my breathing slightly faster than normal due to my ranting. I see something flash in his eyes- satisfaction?- before it's gone quickly, the bored expression back in place. "Do you always do as you're told?" he asks, looking bemused.
"To be honest? Yes." I answer, shrugging my shoulders up slightly. He stares at me for a few moments, and I shift in my seat uncomfortably under his gaze, feeling like something under a microscope. He lets out a slow breath, and rubs his face with one hand, as if he's extremely tired. Suddenly, he grabs the phone on his desk and dials a number.
"Rose? Yes, I want you to enter Ms. Edwards into the system, she'll be starting Monday. Yes, also-" the rest of his words are drowned out due to my own shock. He hired me. I don't know why he did, but he hired me. Inside I'm doing a happy dance of glee, but on the outside I remain calm, and poised, waiting for him to get off the phone. When he does, he stands and walks around the desk. I rise up, coming face to face with him, or well, face to chin. I have to tilt my head up to see his face, but he seems almost wary. "I'm taking a chance on you, Edwards. Don't make me regret it." He says quietly, and holds out his hand.
"Of course not, thank you Sir." I say in a rush, and shake his hand quickly, still shocked that I managed to even get the job. He released my hand slowly, and steps back.
"Can you start tomorrow?" he asks, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Yum, that chest… Stop!
"Absolutely, I'll be here." I answer, nodding quickly. It makes me feel like a bobble head doll, and I quickly stop. For the first time during the interview, he smiles at me, and oh boy when he smiles does it change his face. It goes from serious to boyish; the kind of boy who rides motorcycles, takes your virginity in the back of his car, skips school, and wears leather jackets, all the while giving you that sexy little smirk that makes you okay with all of it.
"Well, Ms. Edwards… Welcome to Gold Publishing Inc."