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Being Frank’s victim got me a job.
What the hell?
Chapter Thirteen
Leanne
The work seems easy, but it does seem like there’s a lot of it. Rita gives me a lot of information as we pass through the office, where everyone’s typing like crazy and rushing from place to place. I can guess why this job is so well paid now. Everyone’s probably doing an hour or more of overtime every night to get through the crazy workload.
“Last things last, you get six weeks paid vacation time, dependent on keeping up with the workload. The office closes at six every night so if you don’t have everything done by then, you’ll fall behind, fast.”
“And most of the staff manage it?” I ask.
“We all do, sweetie. No one wants to risk their vacation days. There’s always a way to get things done.” She passes me the handbook like she promised. “Think it over and let me know by tomorrow morning. If you think you can handle this place, we’ll start you next week.”
Wow. A solid job offer and an actual start date.
Is it crazy to want to think about it?
“Sounds good.”
“Think you can find your own way back to reception?” she asks.
“No problem.”
“Good girl. Keep the visitor pass. You’ll need it on Monday.”
She leaves and I walk to the elevator on shaky legs.
I don’t even really know what that was.
It definitely wasn’t an interview.
The surreal feeling stays with me as I leave the building. I head to the nearest coffee shop in a daze.
Did I seriously just get offered a job because Frank Palmer almost killed me?
The answer is clearly yes. That place is so busy the admin manager must look for shortcuts to hiring new staff, so it doesn’t take up too much time. She probably does a google search or something to weed out party people or whatever. I don’t want to know what came up when she entered my name.
I never really used social media, so that would come up clean.
All the information that’s out there about me must be news related.
I hate to think about how much of it there actually is.
It makes me a little paranoid as I order a coffee and pick out a seat at a small table in the corner of the room. I’ve never had someone come right out and tell me they know who I am like that before.
At least, not since who I am became a newspaper headline.
I knew this might happen when I left Silver Lake.
I guess I had my fingers crossed that it wouldn’t.
Taking my phone out of my purse, I set it on the table while I drink my coffee.
Three hours until my next interview. I have a lot of time to waste.
Sighing, I bring out my tablet. I should keep looking for work.
