Six Degrees
Chapter Three
By: Crystal Rose
Edited by: ladysolo
The air conditioner hummed quietly in the window, sending a stream of lukewarm air into the muggy room. Amara Jones was not amused. Her shirt was sticking to her back, her bare legs to the vinyl seat cover, her hair to her head. She looked longingly out the window where the cool breeze was rustling the leaves on the nearby tree. Why must the school administration insist on closing all doors and windows when the A/C was on, even if it did a piss-poor job of cooling an office the size of a broom closet?
Stupid rules. If there was anything Amara hated more than control-top pantyhose, over-groomed miniature toy poodles, ugly babies, and public restrooms, it was rules. Hell, if it weren't for the strict rules of her university, she'd still be in the garage working on her motorcycle instead of sitting in her internship advisor's cramped office. At least the company wasn't so bad.
"I can't believe summer's over," Amara whined for the sixth time since they got there ten minutes ago.
Serena patted her hand absently, tired of repeating herself to her stubborn friend. "We've been out of school since April—that's four months out of school. Aren't you sick of it yet?"
Amara pouted. Serena was giving her that disapproving teacher look again, and Amara was beginning to feel like a juvenile delinquent. "Yes," she replied petulantly, crossing her fingers behind her. What Serena didn't know wouldn't hurt her…and there were many things about Amara that she didn't know. Again, she had the stupid rules to blame.
"Ah, punctual as usual," said a familiar voice that had both girls turning towards the door. Dr. Michelle Waterstaff had walked through the door looking refreshingly cool, despite the malfunctioning air-conditioner, and closed the door, sealing the room off like a tomb. Amara would've whimpered a protest had Serena not kicked her foot lightly. The girl knew her too well.
"So, girls," Michelle said, gracefully sliding into her chair and tying her thick chestnut brown hair into a messy ponytail. "Are you ready for your first day at MediaWorks?"
Serena nodded enthusiastically. "I can't wait to get started."
Michelle nodded; Serena's enthusiasm in her work was refreshing to see; she wondered how long the novelty of her internship would last before she'd get as cynical as the paper-pusher in the cubicle next to her. "That's good, because as soon as you two leave here, you have to jet it over to MediaWorks for your orientation.
"As you both know," Michelle continued, "every Monday, you have to report here at 8 AM to give me a weekly status report on your progress at MediaWorks. What you're learning, what you contributed to the company, how you're getting along with your coworkers, etc. Now, if you could just sign these contracts assuring MediaWorks and the university that you won't seek outside employment as long as you're enrolled in the program...." She handed each a contract and a pen and waited until they signed on the dotted lines.
"Great, you're all set to go." Michelle stood up and extended her hand to Amara. "Cheer up, Amara. It's just your first day."
Amara mumbled something and shook Michelle's hand grudgingly, almost crushing the woman's delicate hand in her iron grip. "I'll be in the car, Serena," she said over her shoulder, and almost had a mini-orgasm when she felt the rush of cool air on her face when she left the office. What the university officials were doing with the hefty tuition she paid each year, resulting in her being almost neck-deep in debt with the evil financial aid people, she'll never know. Amara fished the car keys out of her pocket, unlocked the doors from twenty feet away—thank God for keyless remote entry—and cranked up the A/C as soon as her butt cheeks touched the upholstery.
Meanwhile, Serena was inside Michelle's office, making apologies for her friend. "She's just feeling grumpy that summer's over," she explained feebly. She was going to kick Amara's ass for embarrassing her in front of their professor like that.
Michelle smiled understandingly. "Don't worry about it, Serena. Amara's wasn't the only surly face I've seen today." But hers was the only one that was almost endearingly cute. She didn't think Amara would appreciate that particular observation any more than she appreciated the oppressing heat in her office.
She smiled reassuringly at Serena and handed her a dossier. "When you get to MediaWorks, you and Amara have to check in with reception. From there, you and your fellow interns will be given a briefing by one of your superiors, and you will be placed in a department. I know you wanted to be in the creative department, but because of the recent takeover of Global Advertising, you might not be placed there."
Serena was disappointed, but tried not to let it show. "It's okay, Michelle. I just want to work there and get the experience." She thanked Michelle and said goodbye. "We'll see you next Monday—and hopefully, Amara will be in a better mood."
"Amara? In a good mood? When pigs fly," Michelle joked and laughed with Serena. She waited a few moments after Serena had closed the door, tapping her chin thoughtfully with her finger. When she was sure Serena was gone, she picked up her phone and dialed a now familiar number.
"She's on her way," she said into the phone. "You owe me…again."
The man on the other end chuckled, the sound somewhere between amusement and cold bitterness. "Don't worry, Michelle; I've got good credit."
Michelle smiled, thinking of the Mediterranean cruise tickets that had been courieredto her door 17 years ago in return for a favour she had done, albeit unknowingly, out of the goodness of her heart. Now in her early 40s—a fact she still couldn't believe—and appropriately jaded from all of life's pitfalls, capitalism had replaced her youthful idealism. In other words, she wasn't stupid enough to do a favour of this magnitude for nothing. She wondered what little goody will be appearing on her doorstep this time. She had been eyeing that cute little red convertible just the other day.…
"Oh I know you do," she replied sweetly. "Have you figured out what you're going to do yet?"
"Just let me worry about that, Michelle," the man snapped peevishly. "Don't you have a co-ed to chase?"
Michelle laughed. Despite their relationship now, they used to be friends way back when. Hell, they had even dated a few times in college—until he saw her roommate and fell head-over-heels in love with her. Ah well. C'est la vie. "You haven't changed a bit, you know that? Well, it's been fun reliving our past, but I'm afraid I've got a faculty meeting to get to in fifteen minutes."
"Before you go, wouldn't you like to tell me what you want in return?"
Michelle grinned. "Surprise me."
"I can't believe you were so rude to Michelle, Amara," Serena said reproachfully.
"Buckle your seatbelt." Amara gunned the engine, threw the car into reverse and backed expertly out of her parking space. She zipped through the tree-lined campus and was soon out on the freeway.
"You know, you should be extremely grateful to Michelle for giving us these jobs," Serena began, not quite willing to drop the subject just yet. "She knows a lot of people in this industry. You never know when you'll need a contact—"
"Stop right there, Serena." Amara switched lanes to overtake a slow-moving minivan with Texas plates before continuing. "I don't owe Michelle anything. It seems to me that I was the one pulling all-nighters, studying for an exam or finishing a paper, not Michelle. While I was struggling to stay awake during all my classes after pulling said all-nighters, she was probably in that oven of an office, fucking yet another unsuspecting but extremely grateful fraternity boy. I'm thankful for the position I landed through Michelle, but I earned it, and I most certainly will not kiss her ass to show my appreciation."
Serena blew out a frustrated breath and stared out the window. "Yeah, you're right," she said after a minute of silence. "It's just that with graduation just around the corner, we can't afford to mess these internships up. Our careers depend on how we do on these internships; if we get good end-of-the-year reviews from our bosses, they might ask us to work for them again when we graduate!"
Amara came to a rolling stop, barely missing the hip of an elderly pedestrian before she raced through the intersection. Serena exhaled loudly and gripped her armrest tighter. "You know I hate it when you do that."
"Yeah…" Amara replied fondly. "Aw, relax. I'll behave while we're on the clock." She laughed at Serena's skeptical look and said, "I promise."
Serena made a pithy comment about Amara's driving and her promises, and went back to ruminating about the course their lives were taking. "Do you realize that we're on the cusp of adulthood, Amara?"
Oh boy, Amara thought. When Serena got like this, she tended to rewrite Zen philosophies with the skill of the Wachowski brothers of The Matrix, Matrix: Reloaded, and Matrix: Revolutions fame. Those movies were stupid and a waste of money. And the lead actor had the acting ability of a plank of wood. But only Amara was smart enough to see that.
Thankfully, they had reached the parking lot. Serena stopped her philosophizing long enough to hand Amara the parking pass they were provided by MediaWorks when they were awarded their internships. Which, Amara thought, was a fair trade. They'd be working for free for a whole year, so they should be able to park for free as well. After all, technically they weren't real "employees". They were college students doing all the shit work that the paid employees didn't want to get stuck doing.
"Ooh, here we go," Serena breathed as Amara inched the car past the barriers and into the dimly lit ground floor level of the parking garage. "I'm getting nervous."
"A little too late for the butterflies, Serena," Amara muttered. She didn't want to admit it, certainly not to Serena, but she too felt butterflies in her stomach. Amara scanned the rows of parking space in front of her. Not one available. "This is what we get for coming in late."
"Not something that we could help," Serena reminded her, glancing at the dashboard clock. "We'd better hurry or we're going to be late."
"Tell them that," Amara replied, gesturing to the parked cars they drove by. They wove their way through all the rows of cars, all foreign and all luxury models. And still they found nothing.
Almost a half-hour and three underground levels later, Serena and Amara finally pulled into a cramped space between a delivery van and a late-model station wagon and locked their doors.
"It's a good thing we don't have to pay for our parking pass," Amara commented on their way to the elevator on the other side of the football field-sized garage. "I'm not going to pay an arm and a leg to park in the third circle of hell."
"These shoes hurt," Serena complained, struggling to keep up with Amara's brisk pace. "You could at least slow down."
"You were the one worrying about being late," Amara reminded her, slowing her pace down just a tad. Serena scampered after her, limping in her new 2 ½-inch heels. "Why'd you have to wear those, anyway?"
"They were pretty," Serena replied, wincing as her baby toes threatened to poke through the pointed front of her shoes. "They are pretty."
"Pretty big pain in the ass, I bet," Amara chirped, glad she decided to wear her sensible flats to work this morning, even though Serena had declared that they were "just a hair above orthopedic shoes."
"Look who's laughing now," she said as she pressed the button for the elevator. Serena limped in after her, yipping when the door almost closed on her heel.
The subterranean elevator only took them as far as the ground level of the building; from there, they switched to an express elevator that would take them straight to the MediaWorks lobby. The elevators rose through the floors at heart-stopping speed, and before they knew it, the doors opened to a luxurious reception area manned by a capable-looking woman in her early thirties, her headset lost amid her voluminous brown curls.
"MediaWorks, please hold," she said. She pushed another button. "Thank you for holding. I'm sorry; Mr. Goldberg is in a meeting from now until 2:30. Would you like me to transfer you to his voicemail? One moment, please."
Amara and Serena exchanged glances and shrugged. All the lights on the switchboard were blinking, and the woman didn't seem to notice them as she went from one line to another, tending to everyone's needs one light at a time. Just as Amara was about to clear her throat to catch the woman's attention, she turned her head and smiled at them.
"Hi, how may I help you?" Serena blinked, caught off-guard at the woman's sudden perkiness. Amara nudged her back, and stepped backward, leaving her to talk to the woman alone.
"Er, yes. Hi. I'm Serena Lombard and this is Amara Jones. We're the new interns—"
"Oh, yes," the woman interrupted. "Welcome to MediaWorks. All the other interns are assembled in the boardroom, and Mr. Shields is just waiting for your arrival before he begins the meeting." Her voice, as well as her expression, oozed disapproval.
Serena swallowed nervously. "We had parking trouble," she explained weakly.
The woman removed her headset, and rose from her seat. Serena and Amara stepped back, away from the statuesque woman that emerged from behind the desk. She pointed to the escalators behind her. "You'll want to take those to the upper level, then follow the left corridor to the boardroom."
"Thanks," Serena said, but she was already seated, headset back in place. Together, she and Amara hurriedly made their way to the escalator, aware that they were already 15 minutes late for the orientation.
They raced up the escalator, and ran down the hallway, almost colliding with a mousy-looking girl carrying an armload of files.
"Hey!" The girl teetered, then found her balance against the wall.
"Sorry!" Serena called, not bothering to look back. She'll just look that girl up after the meeting to apologize.
Two heavy wooden doors loomed ahead of them at the end of the hallway—no doubt the doors leading to the boardroom. Serena and Amara took a few quick seconds to compose themselves before entering the boardroom.
Amara's hand was inches away from the doorknob when the door swung open from the inside, and they came face to face with a none-too-pleased Darien Shields. Amara stepped back, bumping into Serena who let out a surprised yelp, and bit her lip.
"You're late," Darien said sternly, holding the door open for them. "Sit."
Aware that they were being scrutinized by the other interns, Amara and Serena scurried to the only remaining seats in the room, which happened to be on either side of Darien's at the head of the table. Amara widened her eyes at Serena, who pretended not to see. She didn't need to get into more trouble with the new boss, even if he happened to be her father's best friend.
Darien waited until the two were settled in their seats before pushing the door closed, and walked in great, purposeful strides to the front of the room. He knew he had the attention of the interns; hell, his very expression commanded it. He stood with his arms crossed, and stared the nervous interns down.
He could practically see their little hearts pounding in their throats. Moments like these made him stop and think about how much he loved his job.
He crossed his arms and cleared his throat. "Now that everyone's here," he began, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Serena and Amara exchange wary glances. Better they learn from their mistakes early on in the game, he decided, rather than later when the fallout could be much worse.
"First of all, I offer my congratulations to all of you. The internships the five of you are filling are some of the most sought-out internships in the country,so you should all be very proud of yourselves.
"Don't fool yourselves into thinking that the hard part's over because it's just beginning. You will be judged on not just your performance, but also your ability to offer fresh, new ideas to the team. I am aware that some of you have applied for specific departments, so we'll do everything we can to grant them."
Darien paused, letting the information sink in. He grinned slyly at the interns. "And you'll be getting paid from now until your contracts expire in June."
It was amusing to watch their eyes go from rapt attention, to blank confusion, then to startled awe. He could tell that they all wanted discuss their sudden windfall amongst themselves, but he had other business to get to.
"You'll be paid the starting salary, plus 8% in lieu of benefits. If, at the end of the year, we decide to keep you on as full-time employees, you will be given full benefits, including paid vacation leave, and medical and dental." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Serena trying to hide the wide grin that was threatening to split her face.
"And," he continued dramatically, "If we decide to keep you on, we'll give you a $5000 signing bonus."
The stifled gasp he knew was from Serena, but the "Yes!" came from a cocky-looking guy with sun-streaked, shoulder length blond hair at the end of the table. Zachary Stone, he believed his name was. He didn't know why, but Darien's hackles rose the second Zachary entered the room. He would have to keep a close eye on him, he thought.
Beside him, Serena was blushing from her near-outburst. Why couldn't she just keep her feelings to herself, instead of being such an open book? She scowled at Amara who was smirking at her. She waited until Darien turned away before sticking out her tongue.
Amara rolled her eyes and discretely flipped her the finger. Serena almost snorted, but managed to hold it back when she saw, out of the corner of her eye, the surfer-boy at the end of the table staring at her, his green eyes calculating.
This wasn't the first time during the meeting she saw him staring at her, and frankly, she was starting to get annoyed. What was his problem? She could understand the initial stare when she and Amara had arrived late and breathless, but they had been in the boardroom for almost fifteen minutes now. He was beginning to unnerve her, and more, he was beginning to piss her off.
She sent him an annoyed glance. He grinned rakishly, which turned into a frightened smile when Amara glowered, and shook a fist at him. Amara winked at Serena; she had such a talent for scaring off Serena's unwanted admirers. In fact, Amara had always been doing that ever since she knew her. Almost as if—
"Ms. Lombard, am I boring you?" Darien's wry voice cut through her thoughts, and made her heart beat faster. "Because if I am, you're welcome to leave the room."
Humiliation burned in her cheeks, and chagrin was etched on her features. Wordlessly—for there were no words to say to get herself out of this embarrassing situation—she shook her head, and kept it down for the rest of the meeting.
"Good," Darien replied tersely. "As I was saying, I'm going to take you all on a tour of the place, and give you your placements. If you'll just wait for me outside, we can begin."
Everyone rose from their seats and shuffled to the door. Amara sent Serena glance that spoke of the guilt and pity she felt for her friend; it was her fault that Serena had gotten distracted during the meeting, and her fault that she was caught. Serena nodded; she wasn't blaming her, and for that, Amara felt even guiltier. Serena was too nice for her own damn good.
She made sure that the door was closed, and cleared her throat to garner Darien's attention. "Excuse me, Mr. Shields?"
"Yes?" Darien gathered some papers together, tapped them on the tabletop to align them, and stuffed them in his suitcase before he met Amara's eyes, which, Amara thought, was very pompous of him. She barely restrained a sneer when she caught Serena watching her apprehensively.
Amara blew out a frustrated breath. God, she hated eating crow. "Please don't think too badly of Serena, especially today. We were late because we had a hard time finding a parking space in the garage." She pulled out the parking stub—which she had forgotten to leave on the dashboard, dammit—to show him where they finally ended up parking. "It took us almost a half-hour to find that crappy space."
"I see," Darien replied thoughtfully. He prepared to stand up when Amara spoke again.
"Sir? Another thing: it was my fault that Serena wasn't paying attention to you. You see," she rushed on, aware that both Serena and Darien were staring at her with equally skeptical expressions on their faces. Amara cast around for a reasonably believable story. She swallowed; she knew she was going to look terrible in her new employer's eyes, but she'd do anything for Serena. Anything.
"Yes?" Darien prompted. It was obvious that Amara was going through an internal battle, and it would be interesting to see how she'd get them out of this fiasco. He could have helped her out by letting them off the hook; after all, they weren't too late, and he had seen that Stone kid leering at Serena.
Still, he wanted to assess Amara's relationship with Serena: How close they were, how well they worked together. In a pressure-filled situation, who would come out on top? He knew it was biased of him, but he hoped it would be Serena. He had a lot invested in Serena's internship, and he wasn't going to let her time and talent go to waste because her friend was holding her back.
He sat back in his chair, drumming his fingertips together. No, that wouldn't be good at all. So he raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Amara and awaited her explanation.
Amara swallowed, annoyed with herself for being nervous of a man she'd never met. Granted, this man held her future career in his hands, and was worthy of her anxiety. Still, the thought of kissing anyone's ass for an entire year almost had Amara choking on her own tongue.
She glanced at Serena and mentally sighed. Why couldn't she just leave well enough alone? She clenched her hand, which was safely tucked away in her pocket, into a fist and took a deep breath. "I was the one who distracted Serena during the meeting, so please don't blame her for not paying attention."
Darien considered this just as carefully as he would any business deal with a top client. Finally, he nodded tersely and folded his hands. "I'll let this one go for today, ladies, but I wasn't impressed. This was, after all, your first day and impressions count. And I don't think I have to tell you that your first impression was not a good one.
"First, you were late, a matter which you could not help, I know, but that still doesn't change the fact that you were. Did it occur to either of you to park in the lot across the street when you realized that you were going to be late? No, let me finish," he said, interrupting Amara's objection.
"I'm not disappointed so much with your tardiness as I am with your lack of common sense. We here at MediaWorks pride ourselves on not just producing the very best in advertising media, but also having the best people to provide that service. Our people have the best minds in the industry. If something isn't working, you go with another plan. Don't waste your time, everyone else's time, and most importantly the company's time because you were too stubborn to change tactics.
"Free advice: always have a back-up plan. Always. That's how you get ahead in this business. Don't be afraid to try a different point of view." Darien noticed that while Serena had grown a little pale, Amara looked like she was having trouble keeping her temper in check. Darien raised an eyebrow; that girl was someone he had to keep an eye on. She was volatile, and too proud to take advice from someone who knew better.
At length, Darien nodded. "Alright, Amara. I accept your explanation, and will forget about this matter. But keep in mind that the next time you keep me or, God forbid, a client waiting, there will be no second chance."
Serena visibly gulped and nodded her head meekly. Amara, on the other hand, held her head up high and nodded once, her eyes staring off in the distance at something neither Darien nor Serena could see. Oh yes, she was one to watch, Darien thought. Amara Jones and her stubborn pride could ruin all his plans for Serena's future. And he could not have that at all.
"Alright Amara, that will be all."
Amara bit the inside of her cheek to hold back the rude remark fighting its way out of her mouth. Who the fuck did this suit think she was, dismissing her like a servant? Before she could give him a piece of her mind, she felt Serena's warning gaze on her and cursed in her head. She grit her teeth and forced a saccharine smile on her face. "Thank you, Mr. Shields." God, how the vacuous sycophant routine grated on her nerves. Especially when the ass she was kissing was a man's. She turned on her heel and left before all sensibilities left her and she found herself doing something she regretted.
"Was that all, Mr. Shields?" Serena asked nervously. This man wasn't the same person who had dinner at her house just a month ago. It couldn't possibly be.
Darien shook his head, regretting making Serena feel anxious. "I just wanted to assure you that our work relationship will be separate from our relationship outside the office. I realize that my being friends with your father could put you in an awkward position with your coworkers should they find out, so might I suggest…"
Serena nodded in understanding. "That we pretend not to know each other? That today was the first time we've ever met?"
Darien met Serena's eyes. "It doesn't matter one way or another to me. I was just trying to make your life a little easier. Less competition, less hassles. The advertising industry is filled with overly-ambitious executives, all trying to climb over each other on the social ladder. If someone found out that we knew each other before today, I have no doubt that they'd think you got your position through me, and not your own accomplishments. Do you understand where I'm coming from?"
Serena nodded, suddenly feeling not quite as enthusiastic about her first day on the job as she had been a few hours ago. Part of her wanted to tell Darien to kiss her ass, but another part, the more sensible part, told her that he made sense. If she wanted to avoid the headaches of office-intrigue, she'd have to play down her relationship with Darien. Correction, Serena thought, Mr. Shields. It would be foolhardy for a lowly intern to call the CFO by his first name, while those closer to his position still addressed him formally.
So far, Serena thought, her first day as a bonafide adult sucked. First she was horribly late for a very important meeting, then she was caught not paying attention, and now she couldn't even acknowledge the fact that she knew Darien for fear of incurring the wrath of an overzealous employee. Her career could be over before it even started.
She nodded, resigned to a year of kissing ass and pussy-footing around her colleagues. "I understand, Mr. Shields."
A sadness seemed to wash over Darien's eyes when she addressed him formally. Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. He was back to Business Man mode, all emotion gone from his face. A rigidity settled over him, and before she knew it, the trusted family friend had been replaced with the unfamiliar Mr. Shields, her boss. A stranger sat before her, and she didn't know what to do.
Darien seemed to hesitate, as if he had to deliver bad news but didn't know how to do it. "What is it, Mr. Shields?"
"Now, this is certainly none of my business, but I feel that I have to dispense one more bit of advice before we join the others." Darien paused and frowned. "Sometimes, the people we consider good friends may not necessarily make good coworkers."
Serena stared, wondering if she heard wrong. "Excuse me?"
Darien shifted, pushing his chair back so he could lean his elbows on his knees, bringing him closer to Serena. "In this business, you've got to look out after yourself first, last, and always. It would be a shame to see everything you've worked so hard for go down the drain over a misguided sense of loyalty for a person who's hell-bent on dragging you down."
Serena bristled. He had gone too far and she was going to make sure he knew that. "If you're talking about Amara, Mr. Shields, I'll have you know that she's one of the best people I know. I'm positive that she'd be a great asset to your company, and if you don't think so, I'm sure your competition would be more than happy to disagree."
Darien mentally sighed; he knew she wouldn't take his criticism of Amara well. Hell, if he were in her position, he knew he'd feel the same. But still, he had to get his point across; it was for her own good. "I'm sure Amara is very good at what she does; she wouldn't be here if she wasn't. But from what I've seen, her interpersonal skills need work, and let's face it, this business is all about the interpersonal relationships we build with our clients and the public. Advertising is about knowing how to relate to others, and so far, I haven't seen that from Amara."
"I know Amara could come off as a bit rough around the edges at first, but once you've known her for as long as I have, I'm sure you'll change your mind," she insisted.
"And how long have you known Amara, Serena?"
"I've known her for two years." Darien raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"I'm not willing to wait that long before getting results from her, Serena."
Serena spoke quietly. "Amara is my best friend, and I stand by what I said. I will continue to support her, even if you think she's not worth my time. I won't just drop her as a friend just because you say so. With all due respect, I didn't realize that MediaWorks had a say in whom I chose to befriend." Her voice took on a hauteur that Darien found amusing. He wondered if she even realized she was doing it. Probably not.
He held up his hands in surrender. "Alright. You've got a point. I won't tell you who your friends are, but please just keep what I said in mind?"
"Fine." She agreed too easily; Darien knew it wasn't fine at all. He hoped Amara was every bit as deserving of Serena's undying loyalty as Serena seemed to think. He thought, for now, that it would be best to let the subject drop. For now.
Darien tore his gaze from hers and rose. "Shall we get back to the others?" He waved a hand towards the doors. He waited until she stood, then pushed his chair in and strode towards the doors and held it open for her.
"Sorry for the wait, folks," he said smoothly to the group of interns waiting in the small reception area outside the boardroom. Serena was in such a hurry to get to the meeting, she didn't even notice this room, or her fellow interns, before. Her blond admirer was talking with another girl in the corner of the room, while a self-assured looking man was flipping through a financial magazine.
Amara was stewing by herself by the window, glaring at the city below like a brooding god. She turned at the sound of Darien's voice but kept her expression stubbornly blank. Serena sent her a chiding look, which was promptly ignored, then went to stand beside her mulish friend.
She didn't want to admit it, but a part of her had agreed with Darien about Amara. There were times she worried about her friendship with Amara for much of the same reasons Darien mentioned. Amara could be a difficult person to live with, and nobody knew that better than herself. If Amara happened to wake up on the wrong side of the bed, she made sure everyone knew it and felt it. She hadn't been so bad before, but lately Serena had started to notice that Amara's bad days outnumbered her good.
But she'd be damned before she admitted that to anyone but herself, most especially her new boss, family friend or not. Amara had been there for her during some of the most difficult things in her life; if it hadn't been for Amara, she might've pursued a degree in computer science instead of mass communications. And look where she is now. One of the five students selected out of thousandsto intern at one of the largest advertising agencies in the world. If it hadn't been for Amara, she might've spent the rest of her life doing something she hated.
So if standing by her best friend was going to be a problem for Mr. Darien Shields, that was just going to be his tough luck. She didn't report to him or MediaWorks after office hours, so having Darien suggest that Amara wasn't worthy of her friendship rankled her.
"So, what did he have to say?" Amara asked sullenly.
Serena looked around to make sure that no one was listening. "He just warned me to keep the fact that my father is his friend under wraps," she replied, her voice lowered. There was no way in hell she was going to tell Amara the rest of the conversation, so she kept her eyes averted on the guise of watching out for any eavesdroppers.
"Why would he do that?" Amara asked sharply, drawing the attention of the blond surfer boy. He sent her an apologetic smile when she glared at him.
Serena tried to ignore Amara's lack of interpersonal skills, which was exactly what Darien had tried to tell her earlier. She thrust her chin out defiantly as if Darien was standing in front of her. "Because it might seem strange to some people that I got a very prestigious internship at the very company my dad's best friend works for, the very friend who, quite conveniently, turns out to be the person in charge of hiring the interns."
"But that's complete bullshit. You worked for this internship; hell, you didn't even know Mr. Shields until after you were accepted," Amara protested, her voice rising with righteous indignation.
"Keep your voice down, Amara." Serena looked around again, and sighed with relief when she saw that Darien was talking to another executive who happened to wander past the boardroom, and that the others were talking amongst themselves. "Nevertheless, the fact that I'm working at my father's best friend's company under his supervision could seem suspicious to anyone looking to climb the corporate ladder. I don't want to cause any trouble with anyone here and jeopardize my position, so please don't say anything about it to anyone."
Amara nodded. "Don't worry, Serena; no one will hear it from me that you got an in in the company, even if he is a jerk." There was a teasing glint in her eye so Serena knew all was okay again.
Serena poked Amara in the side where she knew she was ticklish and stuck her tongue out. "He's not so bad, Amara. He's just doing his job."
"Job, my ass," Amara sneered, watching him chat with surfer boy. "He just likes being a hard-ass."
Serena would've liked to differ, but Darien chose that moment to call everyone's attention. "Alright folks, I'm sure that everyone's had a chance to get to know each other by now, so we're going to move on to the next part of the orientation."
Darien waited until they had all gathered closer. He had been watching Serena and Amara conversing by the window out of the corner of his eye and, unless Amara had more self-restraint than he thought, he guessed that Serena didn't tell her about the latter part of their conversation. Good girl, he thought. Even now she's demonstrating the promise he saw in her when they first met.
"If you'll all follow me, I'll take you all on a quick tour, and direct you to your work areas."
The interns all filed obediently behind him as he took them on all four levels of MediaWorks, from the mailroom to the top executive levels. He dropped a few of them off along the way in other departments until it was just Serena and Amara left in the Finance Department.
"Well, ladies. As you might've guessed by now, this is the department you've been placed. I know that the two of you have applied for the creative department, but to be honest, with the recent takeover of Global Advertising, we've got all the people we need. This was the only other place I could place you where your skills wouldn't be wasted," he explained almost apologetically, making Serena feel almost sorry for him.
"It's okay, Mr. Shields," she assured him, forgetting momentarily her ire with him. "We don't mind, do we Amara?" Serena nudged Amara when she remained stubbornly silent.
"No, we don't mind, Mr. Shields," Amara replied. Darien and Amara eyed each other for a few seconds, making Serena feel as though she was caught in the middle of a tug-of-war. Finally, Amara broke the eye contact, which Darien took as a sign that he could continue.
He gestured to two empty cubicles, one on either side of thepath. "Take your pick; they'll be your home away from home for the rest of the year."
Serena and Amara looked in each of the cubicles, taking note of the minuscule size and lack of personality. Since both were identical in every way, they both shrugged and claimed the cubicle closest to them. Darien smiled, pleased that they were finally getting settled. "Well, I'll be heading back to my office," he said, pointing down the hall to a door with a brass nameplate which both girls assumed bore his name. "That's my office over there. If either of you have any concerns or questions, don't hesitate to give me a knock." With that, he turned and walked away to his office, saying hi to the grizzled old lady Serena assumed was his secretary before closing the door softly behind him.
Serena and Amara took that as a sign to get settled into their own 'offices' and finally begin their foray into their first adult job. "See ya later," Amara said, disappearing into her cubicle.
"Later," Serena replied, going into hers. She took a cursory glance at the three grey walls that marked the boundary of her office space, and wondered when the novelty of having her own cubicle would wear off. From the looks of it, she guessed two to three hours.
There wasn't much to say about it: there was a desk with two drawers, the bottom of which was deep and had a lock where she assumed she could put her personal items, an Obusformedesk chair, a dilapidated computer that looked as if it had seen better days, and a small filing cabinet beside her desk. The soft walls doubled as a bulletin board, and already Serena could see a constellation of black-headed pushpins on the wall to her right. Maybe she could get a calendar from home and add a bit of personality to this place. Her kitty calendar should comply with the office rules; she doubted her Santa Monica Firemen calendar, which hung in a place of honour on the wall opposite her bed, would.
Not more than two minutes after she had settled in, a woman in her early thirties popped her head in. "Hi," she greeted cheerfully. "You the new intern?"
Serena swivelled in her chair and smiled, eager to make a good impression on her colleague this time around. "Hi, my name's Serena Lombard. Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you, too, Serena. My name's Belinda Wright and I'm the Senior Accountant in this department. Welcome to MediaWorks." She gestured to a thick file folder she had with her. "I was wondering…"
"Yes?"
"If Mr. Shields hasn't given you anything to do yet, if you could photocopy six sets of the financial report, collate and staple them, and put them in the mail slots of the people in this list..." She opened the folder, and showed Serena a list of names and the departments they worked in.
"I'd be happy to, Ms. Wright."
"Belinda, please. And could you get those out ASAP, please?" Belinda handed Serena the folder, then snapped her fingers as though she just remembered something else. "Oh, and when you're done, could you come to my office, please? I've got a few other tasks that need attending. What a great time for my assistant to go on maternity leave. I've got to get the quarter-end report done, and take a look at the budget for the Yardley account…" Belinda began ticking off the monumental list of tasks she had to do before the end of the week. Finally, just as Serena began to realize that those tasks were meant for her and was beginning to feel somewhat daunted, Belinda stopped and smiled sympathetically. "I know it sounds like a lot on the first day, but you'll get used to working at this pace. You won't have a choice." She chuckled, sounding both rueful and ominous at the same time.
"Don't forget to bring a pen and pad with you before you come to my office; you're gonna want to take notes."
When Belinda was gone, Serena glanced across the aisle into Amara's cubicle and saw that she was getting 'Belinda-d' by another co-worker, this time a model-thin woman who looked to be just a few years older than them.
The smug expression on the woman's face told Serena that she was once at the bottom rung and now, with the introduction of the interns into the company, had been elevated to a slightly higher status. It was plain to see that she loved being on the giving end of issuing orders, and the look on Amara's face said quite the opposite. Serena sighed; if Amara kept up her surly attitude, she'd find herself out of a job before she even got to start her new one.
She frowned, remembering her conversation with Darien. If Amara didn't change her attitude in a few days, she'd have to have a talk with her and explain—gently, because Amara didn't take criticism well—the situation to her.
But for now, she was due for a meeting with the copier. Which begged the question: Where was the copier?
Amy sat behind her desk, silently fuming. That little blonde twit had knocked into her just outside the boardroom, causing her to drop all the photocopies she had made onto the floor, and didn't even stop to help her pick them up. All two-hundred plus pages now had to be resorted in their proper order; at least the pages were numbered so she wouldn't have to read every single page to figure out how to arrange them.
The intercom beside her buzzed to life. "Amy," Darien's disembodied voice said, "Do you have those photocopies I asked you to make this morning?"
Amy bit her bottom lip. "Yes, sir, but I have to finish sorting them. If you'll just give me a few more minutes," she said, knowing full well he wouldn't be pleased. Darien Shields didn't strike her as a man who like to be kept waiting.
"Didn't you set the photocopier to collate the pages?"
"Yes sir, I did, but on my way to your desk, someone bumped into me and made me drop all the papers. She didn't even stop to help," she added, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
The intercom was silent for a few seconds, normally a bad sign when it came to Mr. Shields. "Okay, Amy. That will be all."
Amy glared at the intercom, knowing that Mr. Shields wasn't happy with her. Well I'm not happy with you, either, she thought mutinously. It's not my fault people are inconsiderate these days.
"Excuse me," an all-too familiar voice said. "Could you tell me where the copier is?"
Amy raised her head slowly, her expression unreadable as she was met face-to-face with the girl whose death she was planning a hundred and ten different ways in her mind. Needless to say, she did not feel inclined to help her one little bit.
Serena squirmed under the woman's heated glare and stony silence, and suddenly remembered why she had seemed so familiar. "You're the one I accidentally ran into earlier," she said, her voice full of apology. "I'm really sorry I didn't help you pick up your papers, but my friend and I were really late for our orientation meeting with Mr. Shields."
Amy 'humphed' and went back to her work, completely ignoring Serena and her question. "Are those the papers you were carrying?"
This girl just did not know when to quit, Amy observed. "No, I'm just rearranging these for fun because I don't have quite enough to do," she snapped. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to my playtime activity here."
"Oh," Serena said softly. "If you want any help, I'd be happy to…"
"You've 'helped' me out enough for one day, thank you. The copy room is down the hall to your right; the access code for the photocopier is 3-2-1-4. Mr. Shields was expecting this document ten minutes ago, so if you don't mind…"
Serena felt stung by the woman's harsh attitude and the obvious dismissal. Still, she was determined to salvage what was left of an already crappy day. "Well, my name's Serena so if you need anything, just ask." She snuck a glance at the brass nameplate on top of the desk. "Amy."
Amy grunted but didn't say anything. She hated it when people she just met called her by her first name, as if they had known each other all their lives. Serena left her alone after a few moments of silence.
Amy watched Serena make her way to the copy room, and shook her head. Some people just didn't have a clue.
"Excuse me, could you tell me how to get to the Office of the Registrar?" Irene asked a friendly-looking twenty-something who was obviously on her way to class.
"Sure." The girl pointed to the left at a building in the distance. "There it is."
Irene breathed a sigh of relief. The campus was larger than she thought, and she had been lost for the past half-hour. "Thanks a lot."
"No problem, ma'am." The girl waved and headed in another direction. Irene cringed. Ma'am. That made her sound like a relic. Or worse, her mother.
Shake it off, Irene, she told herself, squaring her shoulders. She wasn't going to let a bunch of kids see her sweat. If Mina and Serena knew just how nervous she was to be around a bunch of kids in their age-group, they'd probably lose respect for her.
She boldly marched up the stairs leading to the Office of the Registrar, and halted, her jaw dropping unceremoniously. There's so many people, she thought dismally. The line wound around itself twice like a coiled snake warming itself on a rock. There was no escaping it; not lining up meant she wouldn't be able to pick up her student ID, which she should've gotten in the mail a couple of weeks ago had she mailed her tuition fee by the specified date.
And she would've paid her tuition fee on time if Ken hadn't accidentally knocked the envelope containing the cheque off of the pedestal table where it remained unseen behind the umbrella stand for almost two weeks. By the time she noticed it lying there, it was overdue and she almost lost her spot. But it was hard to stay mad at Ken; he had been so apologetic, offering to take her out for dinner at their favourite restaurant, Lita's, to make it up to her.
She sighed fondly. He was being so supportive about this. Just last night she had lain awake, worried that she was too old to go back to school, that all her years away from it had turned her brains into mush, but Ken had been right there, kissing her worries away. She looked at the line-up of disinterested college kids and smirked at their blank expressions; if they had her sex life, they probably would have a little more colour in their cheeks.
"What's so funny?" a deep voice whispered close to her ear. She started, and turned around indignantly. The lecture she was about to give on personal space and her need for it died in her throat when she got a look at the fine specimen of manhood standing before her, grinning rakishly as if he knew the impure thoughts she was suddenly having.
"Nothing," she stammered, mentally slapping herself in the forehead for reverting to her 15-year old self. She squared her shoulders and gave him a stern look over her rim-less glasses, the look Mina and Serena referred to as 'The Mom Look'. "I don't appreciate people who invade my personal space like that, especially when I don't know them."
The boy—no, man—held up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. It's just that your perfume was so enticing, I had to come in for a closer whiff." He grinned lopsidedly at his awful delivery of an even more awful pick-up line.
As much as Irene wanted to grin along with him, the mother in her couldn't help but frown in disapproval. "I'm married," she informed him, blandly showing off her wedding ring.
The guy shrugged good-naturedly. "Can't blame a guy for trying," he replied. He leaned down so that he was at eye-level with her. "Your husband is a very lucky man."
"I make sure he knows that every night," she replied saucily, fighting to keep the grin off her face. "Now if you'll excuse me, the line's moving."
"By all means," he said, motioning her forward.
She knew she shouldn't do it, but the young girl in her cried out to be released if only for a moment. She bent over at the waist to pick up her backpack on the floor, straightening ever so slowly to make sure he got the full view.
"Yep, your husband is a very lucky man indeed." Irene smiled to herself, and mentally turned some cartwheels. College was going to be fun.
Raye drummed her fingers impatiently on the desktop, willing the clock on the wall to move so that she could finally get out of this school and go home. She hated this school, hated the students and teachers, and most of all, hated her father for accepting the transfer to this land of Botox injections and sunscreen.
She glared resentfully at the teacher trying in vain to teach a bunch of disinterested kids the wonders of algebra. Seriously, who gave a shit if hypothetical Train A would arrive at the station two hours earlier than Train B if Train A travelled in a northeast direction at 30 miles per hour for 12 hours?
The one good thing about her new school was that it wasn't run by strict Catholic nuns who ran her old private school like a Fascist regime. Sister Bernadine would've had choked on her crucifix if Raye came to school with the purple streaks she was sporting in her hair, a gift to herself as soon as she found out that she was going to a school with no uniforms. Granted, her father almost pulled a Sister Bernadine himself when she came back from the salon, but he was easily won over as soon as she planted a doting kiss on his cheek and gave him that vulnerable, doe-eyed look, the one that said she'd cry for a week and make his life miserable if he didn't like it. She grinned triumphantly when her father swallowed deeply and told her the streaks brought out the colour in her eyes.
Her father was so easy to wrap around her little finger. She sometimes thought it paid to cultivate her insecurities; her father just couldn't say no to his motherless little girl, now could he? She figured she was doing Heather a favour; she didn't have anyone to pave the way for her, so to speak, so Raye wanted to make sure her little sister didn't have as tough a time as she did by softening their father up now while Heather was still young and good. She figured by the time Heather reached her age, their father would already know what to expect, having raised one teenaged daughter already.
And Trista called her a bad influence. That woman didn't know what she was talking about. She sucked as a housekeeper, which made her wonder why her father kept her on. Maybe her dad liked Creole food more than she thought, cause all Trista seemed to know how to cook was gumbo, jambalaya and beans and rice.
Or maybe they were doing it.
Raye shut her eyes at the repugnant thought. It was no secret--at least to her--that Trista had a crush on dear old dad, but the thought of it being mutual just sickened her. For one thing, Trista was too young for her dad--she had to be at least ten years younger than him. Either that, or she was one of the Botox-injecting crowd. For another, her father was still in love with her mother.
Sure, her dad had gone out on some dates, and yes, he had been "involved" with a few women before, and Raye wasn't naïve enough to believe that her dad abstained from sex since her mother died--it had been 12 years, after all. There was no way her straight-arrow dad would stoop to banging his housekeeper. Talk about cliché.
Dousing all the mental images of her father taking up with the housekeeping--a less funny Who's the Boss? situation in reverse--with lighter fluid, she resolved to return to the lesson at hand…and quickly found herself lost in a sea of mathematical jargon she couldn't figure out. Damn cockiness. If she didn't hurry, Mrs. Chapman just might erase--shit.
"Fuck," she muttered under her breath as she watched the teacher erasing the complex set of equations from the blackboard. She tried to follow along with the next lesson, but without understanding the previous one, she was hopelessly lost. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
"Need some help, newbie?" Raye froze when she felt warm air next to her ear. She whirled around and saw a male face hidden behind shaggy brown hair. He looked completely dishevelled, like a sheepdog in a surfer boy's clothing, although, from what she could see, he looked like no dog she had ever seen before.
"If I needed your help, I must be in worst shape than I thought." She sent him a patented Shields glare. "And it's Raye, not 'newbie'."
He chuckled good-naturedly and ran his hand over his stubble-covered chin. Raye could almost see warm, chocolate brown eyes twinkling at her from behind his overgrown fringe. "I stand corrected, Raye."
Her father made sure that their move to California would coincide with the summer vacation months so that she and Heather could be enrolled in their new schools at the start of the school year. In all the time she had been living here, Raye had met and spoken with many native Californians and not once had she encountered someone who spoke with the typified surfer boy accent that this human sheepdog did. She had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't fake.
Raye was about to deliver a biting retort when another voice cut through their whispered conversation. "Ms. Shields, I would hate to have to send you to detention on your first day."
Violet eyes flashed as she tried to reign in her fiery temper. She turned around in her seat to face her teacher, who was pulling a pretty decent impersonation of Sister Bernadine. "I'm sorry, Si--er, Mrs. Chapman. I was just asking…" She broke off when she realized she didn't even know Surfer Boy's name.
"Chad," he supplied with a knowing smirk.
"Chad," she repeated through gritted teeth, "What the answer was for the last question. You erased it before I could copy it down."
Mrs. Chapman gave her a disapproving look that would make Sister Bernadine proud. "If you were paying attention, you wouldn't need the notes on the blackboard."
"I'm a visual learner." Raye folded her arms and issued a challenging stare. She raised her left eyebrow for good measure. She inwardly smirked when she saw the teacher blink. Victory was hers.
"Next time, either ask me directly or wait until class is over before you ask a classmate for their notes. I don't like having my class disrupted."
"With all due respect, Mrs. Chapman, the class wasn't disrupted until you started reading me the riot act over what appears to be such a minor issue. But let bygones be bygones, shall we? You can go on with the lesson now." She smiled innocently, the very picture of an eager student.
Mrs. Chapman narrowed her eyes in thinly-veiled contempt and struggled to compose herself. She grabbed a piece of chalk and began to write another complex problem on the board, sending tiny chalk fragments flying.
"Nicely done," Chad murmured silkily into her ear. Raye allowed herself a small, triumphant grin as she looked at him over her shoulder.
"I thought so."
The office was dark, fluorescent lights flickered, and somewhere on the floor, a vacuum cleaner hummed as the night custodians began their work. Silence reigned over the empty office except for the light tapping of computer keys.
It was six thirty, an hour-and–a-half after mostly everyone had gone home. Serena had elected to stay until she had made a considerable dent in the mountain of paperwork Belinda had left behind for her.
Serena slumped in her chair and glanced across the aisle into Amara's empty cubicle. Amara had reluctantly gone home half-an-hour ago at Serena's insistence. She had a karate class to attend that night, and Serena didn't want her friend to miss it on her account.
She sighed out loud. She hoped Belinda was enjoying her night because from the looks of things, Serena would be stuck doing her work for at least two more hours. Lazy bitch. Serena tapped the keys furiously, anxious to get this shit work done so she could go home and enjoy what was left of her evening by grabbing a quick meal over the sink before going to bed. She was exhausted. But hey, at least she was being paid.
Think of the money, think of the money. And there it was, her second wind kicking in. She hoped it lasted long enough for her to put a serious dent into her work before she gave up for the evening.
Serena worked doggedly for another hour, channelling all of her energy into completing her task. So focused was she that she didn't even hear the heavy footsteps making their way to her cubicle. She almost jumped out of her skin when she heard a voice behind her.
"Serena? What are you still doing here?"
Heart pounding, slightly furious that she had been interrupted and more than slightly embarrassed that she was caught unaware, she whirled around to face the intruder. "Oh, Mr. Shields. I didn't know you were still here."
Darien ignored her question. "Everyone has left already. Don't tell me you're planning to stay here overnight."
Serena shrugged noncommittally. At the rate she was going, she might very well have to spend the night at the office. "I was just trying to finish typing up this report for Belinda."
Darien frowned and looked over her shoulder to the file that lay open on her desk. "She's had that report pending since the beginning of the month. Don't tell me she just dumped it all on you."
Again, Serena shrugged. As much as she disliked Belinda at the moment, she also didn't want to get her into trouble on her first day. "Um, Belinda has been swamped with work since her assistant had to go on maternity leave, so she asked me to help her out a little."
Darien was quiet, mulling Serena's explanation over. Belinda's assistant had given birth about a week ago, leaving her to find a temporary assistance in her absence. That meant she had three weeks to get at least a bulk of the report done before her assistant left. Looks like he'll have to have a talk with Belinda about the benefits of time management.
"Well, why don't you shelf that report for tonight and go home? You look exhausted."
Serena moved her head from side to side, trying to work out the crick in her neck. "Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing."
"Well then, come on; I'll walk you out. I'm going home myself." He waited while she gathered her purse and jacket, and turned off her computer after making sure that she backed up the file on a disk.
"I didn't know you worked this late, Mr. Shields." She pressed the button for the elevator.
"It's after hours, Serena, and we're all alone. I think it's safe to call me Darien now," he said wryly as he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the first level of the parking garage.
Serena blushed. "Yeah, well, after that talk we had in the boardroom, I wasn't too sure if I was still allowed to call you that, even out of the office."
"Yeah, about that, Serena," he said hesitantly. "I wanted to apologize to you for what I said about Amara. I shouldn't have put you in the position of having to defend your best friend to your boss."
Serena raised her eyebrow. He wasn't sorry about the things he said about Amara, just that he had put her in the middle. This was as good an apology as she was ever going to get, and she had a feeling that Darien had to dig deep within himself to find that mediocre apology. Still… "Thank you."
They rode the rest of the way down in silence until the doors opened into the garage. The silence was stifling and Serena was glad that the long, slow ride was over. She was one step closer to home and dinner and her nice, comfy bed.
Darien held his arm out to prevent the doors from closing as Serena stepped out ahead of him. "Where'd you park your car? I'll walk you there."
Serena stopped short just as the doors closed, mentally smacking her head as she realized that Amara had taken the car with her.
"Shit."
"What's wrong?" Serena turned to him in distress.
"I'm such an idiot. Amara went home hours ago…and so did her car." Serena turned around, reaching behind Darien to press the elevator button again.
"What are you doing?"
Serena smiled ruefully. "I'm going to go back up to the lobby and call a cab from there."
The doors opened and Serena was started forward when she felt a hand on her forearm. "What kind of a gentleman would I be if I allowed you to take a cab home when I can just drive you there? Besides, your father would kill me if I did."
For the first time that day, Serena smiled genuinely at Darien and he smiled back. The change in his face was amazing; the lines around his eyes softened, taking a few years off his weary face. Finally, Serena saw the man who had visited her home a few months ago. With the memory of the man came the memory of the lascivious things her sister said about him.
Serena tore her gaze away from Darien, blushing like an offended virgin. Damn Mina and her oversexed imagination. Serena belatedly realized that Darien was still talking to her.
"So how about it?"
"Huh?" Darien chuckled.
"I see I have the same effect on my employees as I do with my daughters. I was asking you if you wanted a ride home."
"Well, I don't want to be a bother…" Serena smiled innocently when Darien pretended to glare at her. "But since you twisted my arm, how could I refuse?"
"If you'll just follow me to your carriage, mademoiselle. I'll have you home in no time." Darien led her to a row of reserved parking spots very close to the elevator. The benefits of being on the top. He wanted to gloat, but, remembering the reason why she and Amara were both late that day, thought better of it.
"Hop in," Darien said once the doors were unlocked. He waited until Serena had buckled up before starting the engine. "Where to?"
Serena gave him her address. "That's only ten minutes away from our house. I'll have to make it a point to invite you over for dinner one night. I'm sure the girls would love to see you again."
"I'd like that." She watched Darien swipe his parking pass through the scanner and the motorized barrier to lift up, allowing the car to exit the garage, and asked,"How do they like California?"
Darien came to a stop in front of a red light. "Heather's doing okay. She's met a nice girl around her age next door and now they're practically inseparable. Apparently, her new friend is the only girl in a family of four kids, and has been starving for another girl to play with. Raye, I'm not too sure about. She spent all summer lazing around the house doing nothing. Then she complained that her vacation sucked. It's their first day of school today and I hope it went well."
Serena smiled reassuringly at him. "I'm sure it did. Heather seems like a friendly girl, and Raye…well, she's got the advantage of being the new kid from New York. I'm sure someone's bound to approach her and ask her what the Big Apple's like. Maybe Raye just needs someone to show her the fun places to hang out. I'd be happy to, if she'd like."
"I'm sure she'd prefer you to going around with me and Heather. I'll be sure to mention it to her, thanks." Darien spared her a glance as they approached another red light, catching Serena in the middle of toeing her shoes off. Her actions caused her skirt to rise just a little, letting Darien have a peek of a smooth, creamy thigh. She has nice legs.
Darien forced himself to look away, berating himself for doing something so stupid. She could've seen you drooling over her legs, you idiot. Stop behaving like a teenager and show some self-control! He cleared his throat. "Feet hurt?"
Serena looked up, grinning sheepishly. "Yeah. It's their maiden voyage," she replied, gesturing at her fallen shoes. "They hurt like a mother but they're so pretty."
"Fashion before comfort, huh?"
"I find that the more a shoe hurts, the prettier it is. Oh, turn right here." Darien slowed into the turn, not even bothering with the turn signal. He caught Serena looking at him reproachfully.
"Uh, I don't recommend doing that."
"You drive just like Amara. She thinks the roads are her own personal race track."
Darien said nothing, not wanting to say just what he thought of Amara. He passed a slow-going Cadillac driven by a senior citizen too short to see over the dashboard. Which was probably why he was driving as slow as he was.
"I suppose you'll have me driving like that geezer over there?"
"Nah," Serena replied breezily. "You'll be there soon enough." She laughed out loud at the look on Darien's face. Her father had the same expression on his face when he discovered his first grey hair on his 40th birthday. He had sulked the whole day, only deigning to come out of the bathroom when her mom threatened to give his birthday cake to a homeless shelter. Serena snuck a peek at Darien. He had little grey hairs sprinkled amidst the black at his temple, making him look like a distinguished Ivy League professor.
"You're lucky that after raising two daughters, I've grown accustomed to the impertinence your generation has for their elders. What?" he asked, catching Serena staring at him.
She blushed. "You're not that old," she replied softly, smiling at him. She closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat, breathing deeply. In no time at all, she fell into a light sleep, unaware that Darien was periodically sneaking glances at her out of the corner of his eye.
Darien came to another intersection, slowing down to allow another car to drive across, and just watched her. She seemed so peaceful, it was a shame to disturb her.
"Serena?" he said softly.
"Hmm?" She burrowed deeper against the headrest, not wanting to wake up.
"We're on your street now. You have to tell me where your building is."
"Oh," Serena said, slowly waking up. She pointed across the street to a short, four-story building with quaint flower boxes underneath most of the windows. "There it is."
Darien pulled over next to the fire hydrant in front of the building and kept the engine idling as Serena slipped her shoes back on and unbuckled her seat belt. "Thanks for the ride, Darien."
"Anytime." They sat in their seats looking awkwardly at each other. Finally, Darien cleared his throat. "So I'll see you tomorrow at the office?"
Serena's hand lingered over the door handle. "Bright and early. Goodbye Darien." With that, she opened the door and gracefully stepped out of the car. Darien waited while she fished out her keys and unlocked the door. She turned her head over her shoulder and waved casually back at him, her other hand on the doorknob. He returned the wave, and then she was gone.
Darien sat there for a couple of minutes, silently tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. He was watching a dark window two floors above him intently, waiting. When a light finally turned on, illuminating the frilly curtains framing the window, he put the car back in gear and drove away.
Across town, a Greyhound bus just pulled into the empty bus station. The travel-weary bus let out a tired-sounding hiss as the driver opened the doors to let his passengers out. After travelling with the same group of people for over eight hours, he couldn't wait for the whole lot of them to get the hell off his bus so he could go home and catch what was left of the ball game.
"Thank you for riding Grey--aw, what's the frigging point?" he said as the tired passengers got off the bus single file. When he thought the last passenger had left, he pulled the lever to close the doors so that he could drive to the garage. He glanced at the rear-view mirror just to make sure that all the passengers had gotten off. He sucked his teeth; it appeared that there was one last person in the back of the bus, asleep.
"Hey buddy," he called to the sleeping man. "Wakey-wakey. This is the last stop. Now wake the fuck up so I can go home," he added under his breath.
The man stirred, taking his time in getting up. The bus driver was getting impatient. "Hey man, hurry up. I don't have all night, you know." When the man finally sat up, the driver finally got a good look at him in the mirror. Shit, it just figured. This was the guy he had picked up at his first stop in Windsor. From the looks of him when he got on the bus, this guy had been travelling for quite a while.
"I'm coming, keep your shirt on," the guy mumbled as he swung his duffel bag over his shoulder.
Took you long enough, the bus driver thought. Something told him that it wouldn't be a smart idea to say it out loud, though. He had been driving a bus for 20-odd years, and had picked up a lot of men like this guy. Hard, bitter men pissed off at the world and everyone in it. He had learned quite early on in his illustrious career as a driver for people too damn cheap to fly on a plane that being their therapist wasn't on his job description. Now, the only ones he cared to listen to were busty blondes wearing skin-tight shirts.
Brunettes worked too, in a pinch.
The stranger finally worked his way up to the front of the bus, where the driver had already opened the door, telling him silently to hurry the fuck off his bus before he called the supervisor on his lethargic ass. As soon as he was off the last step, the doors snapped shut and the bus was already backing up.
Outside, Greg dug out a pack of cigarettes from the front pocket of his worn leather jacket, cursing when he realized that he had smoked his last one at the last rest stop. He threw the empty pack away in the nearest garbage can and sat down on a bench, weighing his options.
It had taken him a long while to get here. A couple of months ago, he was at the height of his career in Seattle until some prick named Darien Shields decided to absorb the company he worked for into MediaWorks. Not only had Greg lost his job, but also his apartment and second-hand car when he couldn't pay the bills. Finally, when the last job interview had blown up in his face because he was late getting to the place--the fucking bus broke down in the middle of the damn street--he decided to cut his losses in Seattle and do what he had been dreaming of doing ever since he had learned the name of the man responsible for him losing his job.
He closed his account, taking the paltry one-hundred dollars left in it to buy a bus ticket that would get him as close as possible to Los Angeles. It wasn't easy, but he finally made it here after making countless stops and working countless shit jobs just so he could afford to buy another bus ticket to the next shit town and have the whole shit cycle start all over again.
And to think he had once been able to afford three-hundred dollar Gucci shoes. Well, he had had enough of hauling scrap metal around in a junkyard, or bussing tables in some dive off the freeway, or painting some bitch's house in the scorching Nevada sun. He grinned, remembering how that same bitch had fucked him blind one day while her husband was out of town. Best two-hundred he had ever made, that's for sure.
Aside from the obvious side benefits his new transient life afforded, he was tired of it. He wanted his old life back, and the only way he could think of to get it was to make sure Darien Shields paid. He didn't know how, but he was going to make sure that he did.
And, Greg thought, spotting a phone booth with a telephone directory in it, he was going to pay soon.
I want to say a big thank you to my editor Ladysolo for going through this chapter (and the previous chapters) with a superfine-toothed comb. She's a great editor and an even better writer, so check her stories out and drop her a line—I want another chapter of Merletto 2, dammit!
I also want to say thanks to everyone who read and reviewed this story; the feedback I got was very encouraging and much appreciated. Please feel free to drop me a line either through email or private message on Aria's Ink. Thanks a bunch!
PS: I apologize if the scenes in this chapter seem to change so abruptly; in my original document, all the scenes are separated by three 's. I've tried twice to insert these between each scene change, and even tried to add an extra space, but FFN keeps editing them out. Since it's late and I'm getting annoyed with this site, the abrupt scene changes will have to do. Sorry about that, but we've all got FFN to blame.