AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Though nothing was actually said, it was almost as if the woman was indicating that Chantelle was her choice for the role.
But, Chantelle was afraid to hope.
Dominic, after saying that he had searched for her and admitting that she had caused him pain, had been nowhere in sight when the interview had ended.
Whatever pain he’d felt, he must be well over it.
But, oh God, this job would be the end of Chantelle’s troubles. The salary was nearly double what she’d expected from a first job after full-time study. The perks included private healthcare.
Life was so bizarre. She had sent in her application form just for the hell of it, thinking on receipt of it the person doing the shortlisting would laugh all the way to the nearest wastepaper bin and toss her neatly completed form inside. When she’d received the letter inviting her for an interview, she had thought of not showing up. She’d needed a well-cut, tailored new suit, a decent pair of shoes and a suitable handbag. For a job she was unlikely to get, the cost of the items was too much to invest upfront.
But then an inner voice had reminded her just how strange the events had been leading up to her applying. Totally pissed off on her way home on the Tube from a job interview which had gone badly after she had politely asked one of the two male interviewers to address her and not her chest, she had picked up a discarded copy of The Times from the seat next to hers. Realizing it was almost two weeks old, she had been about to put it back when a job advert circled in red caught her eye. The closing date was that Friday, two days away, and the salary almost made her eyes pop out of her head.
She had attended interviews for several jobs she could have done with her eyes closed, and yet each time she’d been politely informed days later that a more suitable candidate had been found.
I’m going to raise my game! she’d thought defiantly, but only half seriously. She’d mainly taken the newspaper home to read with her bedtime cup of chocolate. It was a well-written but expensive newspaper and though out of date, there was guaranteed to be something of interest between the pages. She usually got the Metro, the free weekday newspaper, which was too full of celebrity news and gossip for her liking, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
That night in comfy pajamas and half snuggled under her duvet, she’d read the job advert and realized that she met all the requirement. The next morning she had logged on to their website, completed the application and pressed ‘send’ with a flourish and more than a trace of defiance. She’d then forgotten all about it and continued her job search. Only to almost die of shock ten days later when she received an invitation to attend an interview.
“You were our last interviewee, so we won’t keep you waiting too long for our decision.” Lauren smiled as she stood up and offered her hand. “I have a meeting in fifteen minutes, but please stay and finish your drink and cupcake.”
“Lauren, thank you so much for taking the time to tell me some more about the company.”
“It was my pleasure.”
Chantelle broke off a piece of her cupcake, popped it in her mouth and watched the other woman swing her slender hips as she walked away, leaving her cappuccino half drunk and her cupcake barely touched. It was probably how she kept them so trim, Chantelle mused.
This is how the other half live.
Chantelle polished off the last of her cupcake. She couldn’t have left the cupcake. If she’d found that she couldn’t finish it, she would have asked for a container and taken the remainder home for her sisters. She never understood the way people wasted food so casually when there were others, right here in London, who were starving.
As she finished her cappuccino and stood up to leave ten minutes later, Chantelle wondered if there would ever come a day when she too would be able to order something expensive and purely indulgent, and not think about how many items on the ever-expanding weekly grocery list for her and her fast-growing siblings she could have bought instead.
***
Her cheap Nokia mobile phone vibrated against the kitchen table a moment before it rang. It was ten o’clock in the morning and the number wasn’t one of those programmed into her list of contacts. It was the day after the interview and the shock of seeing Dominic.
The call had to be from O’Brien’s Construction.
Chantelle thought of not answering, knowing that it would be a courtesy call thanking her for attending the interview and praising her for impressing the panel with her knowledge, then going on to say with just the right touch of regret—as if they really gave a shit!—that on this occasion there had been a better candidate.
She had been fantasying about the job, about being dressed in an expensive suit, toting a beautiful handbag that was stylish yet functional, and wearing a pair of elegant shoes—perhaps taupe Louboutin’s, the color had become all the rage since Kate, Duchess of Cambridge.
Stop it!
Shaking off the silly thoughts, she answered the phone on the seventh ring.
“Hello?”
“Is this Chantelle Payne?”
No, it’s Her Majesty the Queen!
“Yes, this is she,” Chantelle answered politely.
“Hi, Chantelle.” The voice at the other end was warm and filled with excitement. “This is Angela Daniels from O’Brien’s Construction. I’m calling to inform you that we’d like to offer you the job.”
“Pardon?”
“I said that we’d like to offer you the position you interviewed for yesterday.”
Chantelle was too stunned to speak for a moment or two. Finally she pulled herself together and said, “Thank you so much!”
“You’re welcome. The contract will be couriered to you later this morning. Once you’re happy with the terms and conditions, please sign them and let me know. I’ll have someone pick it up. If this can be done by Friday, we’d like you to start on Monday, if that is convenient for you.”
So soon?
Other than the suit she had worn to the interview, she had nothing remotely suitable to wear. She would have to go shopping immediately…and use what remained of the money Dominic had paid her that night at Armstrong’s. Though she had earned it somewhat disreputably, she had been careful of every penny she had spent. It might have been pocket change to him, but it was a sum she was unlikely to amass in her lifetime. Squandering it would have been a travesty. And it had cost her more than a lap dance. He hadn’t captured her heart—that would be ludicrous on such short acquaintance, wouldn’t it? Instead he had awoken something inside her in those precious moments they’d shared. The part that she’d always ruthlessly suppressed. The part that wanted to be carefree, responsibility-free and able to enjoy her youth while it lasted.
“Monday will be fine,” she assured the woman, realizing that she hadn’t given a response while she’d allowed her thoughts to drift.
The last thing she wanted was to give them time or reason to change their minds.
***
I’ll be working with Dominic!
She had forced herself not to think about him after that fateful night at the club. She’d never expect to see him again, assuming that he was a gambler or worst. She was better off not knowing any more about him, she’d decided. He was too deliciously tempting and if he lived life on the wrong side of the law, she would expose her siblings to more harm than she had risked being a dancer to prevent.
On returning home after the interview, she had Googled him, booting up her laptop as she undressed and cursing when it took its own sweet time to finally connect to the Internet. She had been shocked first by the number of hits and then by the fact that most were articles in West Indian newspapers. Eighteen months ago he had returned to the UK to head his father’s company while his parent recovered from an undisclosed illness, but his wealth was spread across the Caribbean in luxury apartments. He also had an exclusive billionaires’ island somewhere off Bermuda. For years the press had been trying to find out exactly what type of debauchery took place there, but the members who were granted exclusive privileges kept it a closely-guarded secret. Sketchy details had emerged when a disgruntled ex-girlfriend of one of the members had agreed an expose with the UK top tabloid newspaper for a reputed large sum of money. But she hadn’t been able to give much away—on both occasions she had been flown blindfolded to the island from L.F. Wade International Airport to the secret location with the billionaire teasing and pleasuring her all the way. The newspaper article claimed that the island outranked Richard Branson’s Necker Island for exclusivity.
Another little surprise had been Mr. O’Brien’s fondness for ‘exotic playthings’ as one newspaper article had termed they—beautiful women of practically every race. Switching to Google images, Chantelle had seen hundreds of photographs of Dominic attending various functions with one or other of the women on his arm.
He seemed to get bored with his playthings rather easily.
*****
Chapter Four
