Losing Control (7 page)

Interviews.

Dreaded, unrealistic monologues which have a tendency to become torture. Who said interviews were supposed to be the way to get hired? If your job description has nothing to do with facing people, or being confident with them, why is it that they put you through the whole ordeal of appearing as someone you’re not?

They felt to me like one of those sick, twisted ways of making a person suffer just because you can. Needless to say, I had never been fond of them. They made me nervous and revealed my worst. There was always some stupid bastard sitting in front of you acting like they own the world and you were supposed to just suddenly have a personality that pleases three or however many different people they have in front of you, and you were supposed to talk about stupid things. You’re supposed to speak of your qualities and do it in so you’re not overbearing, and hide your weaknesses and still come across as honest. I realized with disdain that I had probably been waiting in the lobby for too long, because I made the mistake of appearing an hour early.

I was supposed to be a writer but even I have trouble coming up with politically-correct lies the entire length of an interview. This was why I was becoming rather fond of this particular interviewer. Brenda Sorkin wasn’t really like others I have had the displeasure of knowing. Brenda, although as sharply dressed and professional as everyone else at their firm, was actually nice to me. She didn’t ask any of the usual questions and if she did they didn’t sound like The Spanish Inquisition coming from her. She had to be in her forties, and was so incredibly calm and positive a person that I literally had to pinch myself to remind me that this was really happening. She told me they needed fresh people they could train to suit their brand. The money was less but it certainly wasn’t too bad for me, considering the job would only twelve months. At the end of it all, she told me what they expected from me and I told them about my concerns. Then Brenda told me she wanted me to begin working Monday, so I had about five days to prepare. She handed me a thick folder, consisting of important information on their previous campaigns, and it explained what my job actually required from me. I thanked her and told her I would be there Monday and she looked glad to hear it. When I came out, I stopped for coffee and called Penny.

“I got it,” I said the minute she answered. “I got the job, Pen! I’m supposed to start Monday.”

“You sound excited which means it went well. Liked the place?”

“I
loved
the place and I like Brenda,” I said. “She’s sweet and so different from anyone who’s ever interviewed me. I didn’t even feel nervous once she started talking.”

“A lot of bosses are nice until you start working for them. Don’t count your eggs before they hatch, baby.”

“A little excitement can’t hurt. You know how much I need it.”

“Tell you what,” Penny said. “Your last few days as a free person, let’s celebrate and make the most of it. Then you will be bound by a contract just like the rest of us minions.”

Penny and her odd thoughts. She truly believes she knows how to correct the world.

“Penny,” I said. “I would love to celebrate however and
whenever
you want.”

Something told me this was going to be the start of a new life.

The whole thing with Lane was giving me a headache. He had barely said two words the past week and he was either out of the house all the time or on his couch, sleeping. I knew something was wrong but he wouldn’t tell me about it and I feared if I spoke too harshly or kept staying angry at him, he would retreat even further into whatever dark hole it was that he kept himself locked in.

“Sir?” the assistant knocked on my door to my office.

I looked up. There was so much work to do; I didn’t really appreciate her interrupting.

“Sir, the new hires start work today,” she said.

“So?”

“So, you said to inform you—”

“Thanks.”

“Would you like to meet them?”

“I’m sure Brenda can handle it,” I said, getting back to the files that I swear were staring back at me.

First day of work was interesting. People at the new workplace all seemed nice. Okay fine so every workplace experience starts out that way I guess, but in any case, I was happy to have found this job. They gave me a cubicle, but I wasn’t there much the first day. Instead, we were all taken to the training room, where the eight of us new hires were supposed to learn what our jobs were going to be. They were developing a new campaign and the work was more than just copywriting as it turns out. They asked us to be discreet about whatever went on in the office, and we actually had to sign a waiver at one point. I felt creative and it was great that I was with people who were trying to teach me something. Over lunch, I even managed to become friends with a gay guy named Tristan and a girl called Alex, both of whom had been friends for years. Tristan was in his thirties, and had that funky, multicolored hair which I suppose was okay for him to have even in such a formal workplace, because he was a graphics artist. Alex had an eyebrow piercing, but on the whole she looked rather regular, and she was wore regular work clothes.

“I’ve heard the boss is really hot,” Tristan said over lunch break.

“Bosses can be hot because they have the money to make it happen. Big deal,” said Alex and I realized that she was a lot like Penny, feminist and anti-everything, but only in theory.

“I thought Brenda was nice,” I said, just to take part in their conversation so I would not look like I was from some other planet.

“Wait till she turns on bitch mode,” Alex told me. “I’ve heard plenty of stories about her.”

I wondered for a second where it was that they had heard so many stories about a workplace they’d just joined, but then I decided it’s really not worth it.

“Heard the same kind of things about the boss,” Tristan said. “He’s hot but he’s an asshole, according to my sources,” he placed a hand over mine, “so please be careful sweetheart.”

He was looking at me when he said this.

“Me?” I asked. “Why me in particular?”

“You know because you’re one of the softies,” Tristan explained. “I can tell.”

“This is probably your first time working isn’t it?” Alex said, but then, without waiting for my response, continued to speak. “You’ll get the hang of it. But until then, if someone is being nice to you, just assume they have ulterior motives. And if someone tries to be too much of an asshole, ignore it. Listen and ignore. You don’t want to lose this job, so you need to keep that in mind. If you have any concerns or questions just come to us. You want to vent, you want to talk it out with someone, just let us hear it. No judgment.”

I didn’t know if this was something they were doing out of mere politeness or they actually saw something in my attitude that they found troubling. Since I didn’t see anyone else trying to become friends with me, they were all I had. I was just glad I had someone trying to be nice to me without my having to do anything about it. Tristan gave me some more of these chunks of workplace wisdom, things that he thought I needed to remember, and then we got up when the break was over and headed towards the training room, bags and materials in hand.

I was trying to locate a pen from the contents of my bag before I stepped in the training room, but finding that one little pen was turning out to be impossible because of all the clutter. When I finally found one, I felt a sense of relief. Pen in hand, I had barely stepped toward the training room door when I got a whiff of someone’s cologne. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew it from somewhere. I knew the feeling that particular fragrance had given me before. So I turned to find out who was wearing it, and everything just froze in time for that moment, like one of those slow-motion scenes in movies—

There he was.

Big blue eyes fixated on the person that he was talking to, hair set perfectly, and only a hint of that gorgeous smile—there was no mistaking that he was indeed the one who owned the place.

I’ve heard the boss is really hot.

Of course he’s hot.

He’s Thorne-fucking-Ryker.

Before I could walk away from the scene, he had already seen me, standing there like an idiot. He proceeded to give me a smile. “Hey,” he said. “Elena, right?”

Right.

“Yes… Thorne… hi,” I managed. Barely. “I started training today.”

Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrassing.

He went on smiling. “Good,” he said. “Guess, I’ll see you around.” Saying this he resumed talking to the person that he was walking with, and continued towards the elevator without so much as a single glance back.

That was
intense
! I managed to somehow get into the elevator without acting like an idiot but I could barely focus on anything. She looked beautiful! How could I possibly keep my eyes off her with her working around the same place as me? This wasn’t going to be easy but I couldn’t get carried away. Naturally, I was going to need a lot of will power to get through something like this. The assistant who walked into the elevator with me was talking about something important, but I was so completely distracted. It wasn’t until I had gotten into the limo and Stanton started taking me to the next meeting that I actually started to calm down.

“How’s your day going, sir?” Stanton asked.

“Fine, Stanton. How about you?”

“Fine as well, sir.”

Stanton went silent when my phone rang. “Hey,” I heard Lane’s sleepy voice on the other end.

“Are you finally gracing the world with your presence?” I said, icily.

“Was I oversleeping again?”

“I haven’t seen you in days, Lane.”

“Sorry. I don’t know maybe I’m coming down with something.”

“Why’d you call?”

“Uh…I need some money.”

“How much?”

“Not much. A thousand?”

“I’m off to a meeting,” I said, checking my watch. “When I get there, Stanton can come by the loft and give you the cash.”

“Thanks.”

“He can also drive you anywhere you want to go.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Lane said. “I can manage.”

I said goodbye to him and tried to focus on the meeting. But between Lane and Elena it was next to impossible. “Stanton,” I said. “You’ll have to make a trip to the loft. Give Lane some money.”

“Of course sir.”

“Stanton?”

“Sir?”

“Do you think you can keep an eye on my brother?”