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I wasn't dressed quite the way I'd like to be for a job interview, but this didn't sound like it would be a conventionaljob interview. It wasn't like I was begging Rod to hire me. Instead, I was asking him why I should even listen to him. He should be the one dressing up.
When I'd put a call through to Mimi that I knew would keep her occupied for a while, I printed out my resume, then sprinted to the printer room to collect it the moment it came off the printer. I got it into my briefcase just as Mimi hung up the phone, but she still didn't come into my cube, which was a relief.
The second my computer clock said it was five, I shut it down, then gathered my purse and briefcase. I didn't change into my walking shoes, but that wasn't unusual, as I most often changed in the lobby. I liked to look professional the entire time I was in the office, ever since the day Mimi caught me with an assignment as I came through the door and I had to spend most of the morning in the wrong shoes.
My heart beat faster as I neared the coffee shop. Why was I doing this? Oh yeah, I was stuck in a dead-end job working for a complete psycho. The city sanitation workers had a more pleasant working environment than I did.
Rodney was waiting at a table by the window, just inside the doorway. With him was Mr. Right, the cute guy I'd seen on the subway. I hadn't been imagining that they knew each other. They both stood as I entered. "Katie!" Rodney greeted me, his tone warm and friendly, with none of the smarmy oil he'd had in our previous encounters. "Good to see you. And I'd like you to meet Owen Palmer, one of my colleagues."
Owen, who was just as cute as I'd remembered, actually blushed as he shook my hand. He didn't quite meet my eyes, ducking his head a little bit instead. Most guys who look that good are pretty confident about it, but his shyness was absolutely adorable. If he was part of this company, this job was looking better and better.
"Please have a seat," Rodney said. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"A cappuccino, please," I said. I normally didn't let myself buy the pricier coffee beverages, but it looked like he was paying, so I might as well indulge myself.
He headed off to the counter, which left me alone with Owen. It looked like conversation was up to me, for he seemed to be trying to read his fortune in the nutmeg sprinkles on the top of his own cappuccino. "So, do you live around Union Square?" I asked. "I noticed you yesterday at the subway station."
He blushed again, then looked up at me with a shy smile, almost meeting my eyes this time. "Yes, I do," he said, the first words I'd heard him speak. He had a pleasant voice.
"It's a great area, isn't it? I've lived around there a year, and I don't think I've even begun to explore it." I laughed. "Boy, I sound like a tourist, don't I? No native would gush this much."
Still blushing, he smiled. In spite of his dark, almost black, hair, his skin was fair, so the blushes really showed. Poor guy. I wondered how he survived in business.
Maybe he was a real demon in writing. He couldn't cope with meetings, but his memos were killers.
Rodney returned to the table and placed a small swimming pool of cappuccino in front of me. Seriously, I could have used it as a hot tub. I promised myself I wouldn't drink all of it, not if I wanted to sleep that week.
He took his seat, waited for me to take a sip, then said, "I'm sure you have a lot of questions."
"Yeah, about a zillion. All of them, in fact. Your e-mails weren't very informative.
You didn't even tell me what kind of company you're with."
The two men exchanged a look I couldn't read, then Rod turned back to me and said, "It's hard to fit that kind of information into an e-mail."
"It's also difficult to describe our business in a way that doesn't sound alarming,"
Owen added, in the first full sentence I'd heard him speak. It seemed he did okay when he was on a business footing. Maybe he just didn't know how to talk to women.
Then I realized what he'd said about the business sounding alarming. Sex slavery, I knew it. I cleared my throat so my voice wouldn't crack and said, "Urn, what business are you in?"
They looked at each other again. Owen said, still in business mode, "We research and develop products that facilitate convenience for a specific population, as well as monitor and supervise the use of our products in the public marketplace."
That didn't tell me much, other than that it didn't sound like I was going to be shipped off to some South Seas isle to be a tribal ruler's love slave, unless that was the population they provided convenience for. A sex slave could be a convenience.
But I didn't get that vibe here. No one would use business buzzwords to describe sex slavery. "Like software?" I asked, hoping I was in the right ballpark.
Owen smiled and blushed. "Yes, very much like software, but our business predates the computer industry by many decades."
"I see," I said, even though I didn't, not really. But I didn't care much what business they were in as long as it wasn't immoral, illegal, or dangerous to me. I barely knew what the company I currently worked for did. "And what would my role in all this be?"
Rod leaned forward, made eye contact with me and held it for a second before he said, "You'd be more in the administration end of things. You wouldn't have to concern yourself with the actual products, just the running of the business itself.
You'd function in an advisory capacity to our executives."
I wasn't sure what I could advise anyone about, unless it was which fertilizer to use on which kind of plant, how to know just when to pay the bills to maximize bank interest while not making a late payment, or where to put commas in a memo, but I knew the business code phrases as well as anyone did. "In other words, I'd be an administrative assistant, like I am now."
Owen looked down at the table and shredded his paper napkin with his fingers.
