“Loren?”
Slowly I turn, my heart jackhammering when I find Rebecca standing in her office’s doorway. She doesn’t look feral, but her boyfriend didn’t look like a sleazy ratbag, so I don’t trust my own judgement right now.
I start to wave but my hand refuses to cooperate and I end up doing this floppy-fingered sort of thing. And my smile? It’s as stiff as a freaking brick. “Hey, Rebecca.”
“I’d like to see you in my office if you have a minute.”
Rabid dog meat, here I come. “Sure.”
I try to saunter nonchalantly into her bright, airy office with a wall of windows overlooking the city, but my shoes feel like they’re made of concrete blocks, and I end up trudging.
This is it. The beginning of the end.
The overwhelming floral scent from the mammoth bouquet on the corner of Rebecca’s desk reminds me a bit of my family’s funeral home. A bad omen, no doubt.
Rebecca settles onto her chair and folds her hands atop her desk. “Close the door and have a seat.”
If I close the door, then no one will know I’m in here and they won’t be able to hear me scream if she decides to shiv me.
Not that Rebecca seems the type to hide a shiv under that pristine black pencil skirt and classy white blouse, but I’m spiraling, so that’s where I go.
The only reason I comply is because there’s nowhere to stash a body. Unless the windows open.
Please, tell me the windows don’t open.
With my heart in my throat, I ease the door closed. The latch lets out a shrillclick. When I turn back around, she’s still smiling. My wobbly knees knock together as I cross to the stiff office chair across from her.
Rebecca taps her blood-red nails against the corner of her keyboard. A ticking bomb. A death knell. “Are you feeling better after your day off?”
Oh no. She knows I was too hungover to move yesterday. That I got obliterated on a Monday night and called off work because of it.
“Yeah. A little. I stayed in bed all day watching slasher flicks.” TMI, Loren. Dial it back or she’s going to see right through you.
Her perfect brows arch toward her perfect hairline. “You like horror movies?”
Nope. Not at all. “Oh, yeah. The more gore the better. What about you?”
“I’m afraid horror isn’t really my thing. I have a weak stomach.” She reaches down beside her desk and heaves a black leather briefcase up and onto the top. Who carries a briefcase? Is she mafia? Is there a mafia in Nashville?
What’s inside? My muscles tense as she flips open the top. A shiv? From this angle, it looks like a bunch of papers, but there could be some sort of weapon hidden underneath.
“Ah. Here it is.” Rebecca returns the briefcase to the floor, leaving her clutching a stack of pages held together by a hot pink paperclip. “Sorry. I’m a bit turned around this morning.” She blows out a breath, ruffling the perfect ginger waves draped over her shoulder. “We’re looking for someone to oversee the traffic managers and I think you’d be a great fit.”
Hold on…this is agoodmeeting? How is that possible? “I haven’t been here very long.”
“And yet in the time you’ve worked here, you’ve never been late on a deadline, your communication record with reps is brilliant, and everyone on the team seems to like you. That’s not necessarily a requirement, but it certainly makes the job easier.”
To say I’m shocked is an understatement. “My contract isn’t up for another four months.”
“That’s what I wanted to speak to you about. We’ve been in touch with the recruiting agency, and they said we can buy out your contract if we want.”
My palms are so clammy, they’re leaving a damp smudge on my dress slacks. Good thing they’re black.
“You’d still be responsible for your daily duties,” Rebecca goes on, flipping through the pages, “but you’d be asked to take the others under your wing and help them hit their goals like you do: Consistently. You would be fairly compensated, of course.”
Compensated might be my new favorite word.
How do I ask about the pay without seeming like a rabid raccoon salivating over a juicy bag of restaurant garbage? “What’s the salary?” It’s gotta be a lot higher since I’ll be doing my jobandanother one, right?
