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“Isn’t it possible that members of the Eikman family know the business better, having grown up in that world? Perhaps they are actually more qualified than other employees?”
What’s the bug up this woman’s ass? None of this nepotism is new. Hell, half of the Walmart execs are still blood-related to Sam Walton, and he’s been gone for two decades.
It was definitely not the time to add that I’d had too much to drink at last year’s company holiday party and slept with the then-director of sales, Derek Eikman. It was a one-time thing, a drunken mistake with a co-worker after a year-long dry spell. I’d known it was a mistake ten minutes after it was over. I just didn’t know how big of a mistake until two days later, when the asshole announced his engagement to his girlfriend of seven years. He’d told me he was single and unattached. When I’d marched into his office and told him off, he’d explained that we could still fuck even though he was engaged.
The man was a sleazebag, and there was no way I could work for him now that he’d been promoted to vice president. Aside from being a cheating pig, he also knew nothing about marketing.
“In my case, I’m relatively confident that I was the better candidate.”
She gave me a completely fake smile and folded her hands on her desk. Did I say something to upset her in the bathroom earlier? I didn’t think so... But her next question certainly jogged my memory.
“So tell me, what is it about your afternoon interview that makes the company seem superior? I mean, as a marketing expert, they must be doing something right to make you consider paying for a cab?”
Oh. Shit. I’d completely forgotten that I’d told her I was going to take a cab to my next interview—since that was the job I really wanted.
There was no digging myself out of the hole I was in after that. Even though, in spite of things, I thought I handled myself professionally, I could tell her mind was made up about me.
Just as the interview was coming to an end, an older gentleman popped his head into her office. “Sweetheart, are you coming for dinner tomorrow night? Your mother has been bugging me to get you to commit.”
“Dad, umm…Daniel, I’m in the middle of an interview. Can we talk about it later?”
“Sure, sure. Sorry. Stop by my office later.” He smiled politely at me and knocked on the door jamb as his goodbye before walking away.
My mouth hung open as I turned back to my interviewer. I already knew the answer, but asked anyway. “Daniel…Donnelly, the president of Flora Cosmetics, is your father?”
“Yes. And I’d like to think I earned the SVP of marketing job because of my qualifications, not because I’m his daughter.”
Yeah, right. Since I’d inserted my foot into my mouth twice today, I saw no point in prolonging the pain.
I stood. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Donnelly.”
My afternoon only got better after that. I’d just stepped out of my air-conditioned cab in front of the building where my two o’clock interview was scheduled when my phone started buzzing. The company I’d been excited about interviewing with—the company I’d essentially ruined my first interview over—was calling to cancel my interview and let me know the position had been filled already.
Great. Just great.
Shortly after that, I received a kiss-off email from Flora, thanking me for taking the time to interview but letting me know they were going a different direction in their hiring. And it isn’t even two o’clock yet.
After a quick shower, my plan was to attempt to wait until closer to five o’clock and then get shitfaced. Big plans. I’d wasted a day off during my last weeks of work for this crap. Might as well enjoy myself.
I was lying on my bedroom floor in the middle of my counting routine when my cell rang. Reaching up to the bed, I patted the mattress until my hand landed on my phone. Seeing Bryant’s name flash on the screen, I almost didn’t answer because of my mood, but then decided to pick it up on the last ring.
“Hey. How did your interviews go?” he asked.
“I stopped on the way home and picked up two extra bottles of wine. Take a guess.”
“Not good, huh?”
“You could say that.”
“Well, you know what we should do about that?”
“Definitely. Get drunk.”
He laughed as if I was joking. “I was thinking more along the lines of working out.”
“Exercising?”
“Yeah. It helps to get stress out.”
“So does wine.”
“Yes, but with exercise, you feel great the day after.”
“But with wine, I don’t remember the day before.”
He laughed. (Again, I wasn’t joking.) “If you change your mind, I’m on my way to Iron Horse Gym.”
“Iron Horse?”
“It’s on 72nd. I’m a member there. I have guest passes you can use.”
