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See you tonight, sweet girl.
Yours,
Barclay
I place the card over my heart and smile like a lovesick loon. I seriously think I’ve fallen for this beautiful man. What woman wouldn’t? I remove the ribbon from the box and lift off the top. Inside, there’s a pink Yankee ball cap. I pick it up and laugh, imagining manly, six-foot-something Barclay Hammond buying such a girlie souvenir. It tells me one major thing: he likes me too.
Deciding an impersonal one-line thank you text just won’t do, I call him. I need to hear his voice before I set out on my big day.
“Good morning,” he says in a sexy, slurred tone. Two words from him, and my panties are wet.
“Morning,” I reply, a bit too bubbly, but I can’t help it. “Thanks for the breakfast, and I love the ball cap.”
“You’re more than welcome. I need to take you to a home game so you can wear it. I also upgraded your breakfast.” I lift the silver lids, revealing a delicious looking cheese omelet and buttery croissants. One even might be chocolate.
“It looks divine. Thank you. Though, I loved eating Pop-Tarts in bed with you yesterday.” I pour myself some coffee and watch steam rise from the cup.
“I think you can count on a repeat.”
“I hope so.”
“Listen, I need to leave for the office, though I’d rather talk to you. I have back-to-back staff meetings all morning. Another reason to hate Mondays.”
“Oh, sure. I understand.”
“Good luck with your interviews this afternoon. I’m sure you’re going to dazzle them, just like you did me.” I dazzled a publishing mogul? The thought makes me blush and gives me courage at the same time.
“Thanks, Barclay.” It’s exactly what I need to hear before I walk out the door.
“Knock ’em dead, sweet girl. See you tonight,” he says, ending our call.
As soon as I set the cordless receiver on its cradle, the phone rings, and I jump.
“Hello?” I ask, uncertain if it’s Barclay again or possibly my mother.
“Is this Contessa Holly?” an unfamiliar woman asks.
“It is,” I respond hesitantly.
“Oh, thank goodness I finally reached you!” exclaims the woman, her voice rushed. She takes a quick breath. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all weekend. Pardon me, I’ll slow down. I’m Reece Young, marketing director for Hammond Press. I’d like for you to come in for an interview this morning.”
The world stands still as I process what she said. Hammond Press. Interview. This morning.
I’m totally confused, though. Barclay just hung up with me on the phone, wishing me luck on my interview with another company, yet an executive from Hammond is calling me.
“Um, yes, of course.” Thoughts whirl in my head, but I have to say yes.
Still, I can’t help but wonder, is Barclay behind this phone call? Surely he would’ve mentioned it to me. He does like to surprise me, though this would be an epic one. I have to text him. It doesn’t add up.
“Great,” she declares. “As soon as we saw your résumé, we’ve been emailing you for an interview, but Helen Ratner, our human resource director, said there’s been no reply and there wasn’t a phone number listed on the paperwork. Finally, Mrs. Ratner spoke with Trevor Spears our CFO. He told her you were staying at the Hammond, basically in our own backyard.”
“I haven’t seen anything from Hammond Press on my email account. Maybe it went to my spam folder?” Could I have missed their emails? It doesn’t seem possible, but then again, I’ve been distracted by the hottest man in New York City.
“Possibly,” she says. “Can you be here at nine o’clock?”
“Sure.” I adjust the fake glasses on my nose with shaky fingers. She seems to be pushing me to come in as soon as possible. I wonder what the rush is.
“I’ll leave your name with security at the front desk. We’re doing things a bit different with you. I’ll meet with you first, then you’ll talk to Mrs. Ratner and go over the process.”
The process? It sounds more like my foot will be under a desk soon, not just inside the door.
“Thanks, Mrs. Young,” I say, feeling like I’m dreaming.
“Looking forward to it. Oh, and security will give you the details on where to go. See you soon.”
I’m frozen in place, shocked by her enthusiasm and the special treatment for me. She’s the director for all of Hammond’s imprints, and I’m a lowly college graduate without much to offer the company. It doesn’t make much sense that she would want me so badly she breaks protocol.
Well, at least I know Barclay had nothing to do this interview, and is likely in the dark too, making it even more imperative I reach out to him.
I text Barclay, wanting him to know where I’m headed before I walk into Hammond Press. It would be beyond awkward if I ran into him once I’m there.
