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He grabs Nina by the arm. She pulls away from him, but despite her struggles to get away from him, he doesn’t let go. He’s got a deadly serious expression on his face, and I can tell he means business.
Guess this interview isn’t going to be the non-event I thought it was going to be.
Nina
I glance over my shoulder a few more times as I make my way to the interview, but I don’t spot Pete. I even start to relax a little by the time I arrive at the huge glass and chrome monstrosity that is the InFini Headquarters building.
Still, there’s an interview to get through and I’m a sweaty, nervous, anxious mess.
It’s just like Pete to show up at the worst possible moment to ruin my day.
I’m very familiar at this point with how inept Pete is at hiding, so it’s encouraging that I haven’t seen him. Maybe he got the message, maybe he’ll actually leave me alone and let me get on with my goddamn life.
When we were dating, he would hardly even let me leave the house. He’s so controlling and neurotic that he demanded to know my whereabouts at all times.
It’s taking some adjustment to move on from him, to feel like I’m actually free to go where I want, when I want, with whom I want.
I feel a quick pang of guilt, thinking about the guy whose coffee I spilled. He seemed good-looking, tall and broad, from the quick glance I’d had. And the shirt I ruined looked expensive as hell.
Normally, I would’ve stopped and been all apologetic, offered to pay for the poor guy’s shirt, probably try to awkwardly wipe it all off of him . . . but a combination of being late and Pete the creep being in close proximity meant I had no choice but to rush off.
I hope karma isn’t a thing . . . or if she’s real, at least I hope she’s understanding.
All told, it hasn’t been a good day so far.
Bright sunlight reflects off the glass panels of the InFini building as I pull out my little pocket mirror and take a look at myself.
The curls I spent so long on this morning are all floppy and out of shape, there’s a particularly unattractive sheen of sweat all over my face, and my clothes are all rumpled from rushing around in the midday heat.
Wonderful.
I’m just starting to panic when my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s a text message—from Brock, of all people.
Hi Nina, sorry I’m running late. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just take a seat in the lobby and I’ll be with you ASAP.
Oh, thank God. I’ve never been more glad to hear that someone’s going to be late.
My day’s starting to look better already.
Walking through the revolving glass door and into the air-conditioned lobby, I wince from the pain in my feet. Now that the adrenaline has somewhat worn off and I know Brock’s going to be late, I wish I didn’t run in my new, painful shoes.
Inside the huge and opulent space, I gape at the sculptures and prototypes of the various hi-tech gizmos that the company has created over the years. It’s all very ostentatious.
I duck into the restroom. A few minutes, some paper towels and a little bit of fresh makeup is all I need to set the world to rights, and when I come back out again, everything seems a little bit better.
You’ve got this. You’re qualified for this job, whether or not Dean got it for you. Show Brock that, and you’re in. No worries, no sweat.
I take a seat in one of the comfortable leather couches, and wait patiently. As the minutes roll by, I can’t help but wonder what Brock looks like these days, how he’s changed.
Dean told me that he’s a big-shot now. He works directly for Luke Alder of all people. Luke. Alder. One of the richest and most ridiculously handsome men in the country.
He was all over TMZ and the gossip magazines about a year ago. If I remember correctly, he’d gotten married in a quickie ceremony in Vegas to a woman nobody knew. It was all quite scandalous, but I guess things worked out, because I haven’t seen him in those magazines since.
Apparently, Brock has been taking over more and more of the day-to-day responsibilities, now that Luke is spending more time with his new family.
And I’m going to be working right under him.
If I get this right, this job could be an insane opportunity. All I need to do is not put my foot in my mouth during the interview.
Unfortunately for me, I have this habit of talking too much when I get nervous. ‘Verbal diarrhea’ my Mom always used to call it.
I’m so lost in my silly daydreams that I don’t even notice him coming until it’s too late.
