Layers (3 page)

“Thank you,” I reply, gaping at him, mesmerized.
Control yourself
,
stop with the ogling
.

Hastily I rub the little brown stains dotted on my shirt, disturbingly aware that I’m doing it under his unnerving, steady stare. Trying to make amends with my job-interview-camisole, I’m reminded that I should join my group. I glance through the dark glass walls, only to notice that the group has proceeded further away from where I originally left them.

I grimace, looking under my lashes at Daniel, whose piercing gaze makes me even more ill at ease, and start walking toward the door.

“Miss Grace, don’t forget your coffee,” he says after me, a wide smirk coating his too damn handsome face.

I look back at him, at the door and next at the coffee, weighing the situation. I quickly move a step back to take a sip of the coffee. Right after I stride toward the door, I say “Bye, Daniel,” over my shoulder and flash my most radiant grin.

“Goodbye, Miss Grace. It was an absolute pleasure.” He winks at me teasingly. Nearly reaching the group, I turn back to look his way, only to find him still watching me, shining hazel eyes accompanied by an up-to-no-good expression.
Wow
.

“Where have
you
been?” Tasha asks, scolding, accusing hands resting on her hips.

“Had a quick coffee.” My lips twist into a thin enigmatic line and I shrug.

At around noon, I’m summoned to Mrs. Greenich’s office for a quick interview while the rest of the group is gathered at one of the meeting rooms in level two.

“What can you tell me about yourself, Miss …?” She stretches the ending while looking at my CV, “Miss Grace.” She adjusts her glasses on the bridge of her nose; there’s a twist on her lips that resembles a smile. Mrs. Greenich is doing a good job at looking somewhat attentive as I fill her in on my academic achievements and occupational experience. To her next question I elaborate on my career goals, trying hard to somehow make it sound like I’m interested in working in the high-tech sector.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How was the meeting with uptight Greenich?”

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

“That bad, hmm?” She giggles.

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

~~~

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

Chapter 3: Payback

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

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

~~~

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

“Good morning,” I answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

“Well, mmm,” she murmurs, still perplexed. I can totally relate to her reaction toward him. Once we start walking toward Mr. Stark’s office, she composes herself and nods.

Daniel saunters beside me. I can sense his intent stare on me but refrain from looking back at him. I’d rather not challenge my ability to appear nonchalant. We approach what I believe to be Mr. Stark’s office and he gestures for me to go in first.

“Here we are,” he declares, searching my eyes. He softly beams and I counter with a full-hearted grin. Observing the inside, I’m dazed by the luxurious space; it’s a vast and modernly-decorated room. The neutral white shade covering the walls doesn’t steal too much focus from the rest of the room but enhances the sophisticated style of the clean-cut furniture, especially the enormous chrome and glass desk that takes center stage. The table consists of a silver Mac and a thin black leather mouse pad, but is otherwise bare.

There is a gray, wide leather chair next to the desk, both standing steady above shiny mahogany parquet. Facing the foyer are dark glass walls, the type that can’t be seen through from the outside.
Figures
. When it comes to Mr. Stark, separation seems to be a theme.

As I get farther inside, Daniel is still accompanying me, that constant wicked glee to his eyes. Yes, he defiantly looks as good as I remembered.
And boy, did I remember
 …