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My heart thunders in my chest. What does he mean by that? I know this guy is fucking with me, but I can’t stand when I don’t understand what’s going on.
“Nobody’s keeping anybody,” I snap. “We’re human beings with free will.”
Aiden snorts. “Oh, sweetheart. You really have no clue.” He gives me a mock-sympathetic look, reaching out to touch my cheek with his gloved fingers.
I frown, trembling although I’m not sure what has me so riled up. Goosebumps raise on my arms. “Why are you here?” I demand as I try to piece together the conversation and his possible motives for coming.
He didn’t really think he’d lure me away with the promise of a higher wage, so what was his goal?
“Mm. I heard you were smart,” he says in a strange echo of what Jerry just said to me. “Not smart enough, though.”
The asshole steals my dramatic exit, by turning and striding back to his limo, impossibly graceful for such a large man.
Chapter Nine
Madi
Full confession–I’ve never even been inside Tiffany’s before. The Blue Box Cafe is as much an artistic experience as it is culinary, with a bright but luxurious setting. I have that nineties song “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” playing in my head–it’s another favorite oldie of Aubrey’s–as I walk in.
I have to fight the feeling of not belonging with every step I take. Good thing I’m adept at faking it. Perhaps it’s a test–Ms. Harrington wants to know if my table manners are good enough before she brings me into her fold.
I’m ushered to the older woman where she sits in a prime spot by a window. She stands when I approach. I extend my hand and she clasps it with both hands.
Weird.
“Madison. I love that you contacted me.”
A waiter appears to push in her chair when she sits back down.
He comes to mine, but I’m already sitting.
“Yes, thank you for seeing me.” I open my attache case and fish out the crisp resume I printed on a translucent vellum paper. I assume Torrent Cosmetics has a twenty-first century HR department where you upload all pertinent materials, but I’m guessing Ms. Harrington is old-school and likes to hold something in her hand while she interviews.
She takes the resume but doesn’t look at it.
“I should start by saying I’m not actively looking for a position at the moment. I just want to keep my options open in case things change where I am.”
Eleanor arches a manicured brow. “That’s an excellent negotiation tactic. Are you trying to work me, your present employer, or both?”
“Neither at the moment.” I’m unruffled by her attempt to call me out. “As I said, it’s purely networking.”
She nods, apparently liking my answer. “You seem quite bright.” She glances at my resume. “You graduated from Princeton with a perfect GPA and landed a position with a notoriously hard-to-work-for CEO.”
I incline my head. I’m feeling guiltier by the moment for being here. This was a mistake.
“Moreover, your current boss appeared annoyed when I attempted to poach you.”
“I’m flattered you even offered me your card.”
“I know potential when I see it.” She verbally pats herself on the back. “Tell me about yourself. Things I wouldn’t find on this resume.” She waves the paper in the air.
I hesitate. What is there to say? That paper contains the whole of what I would show to anyone who isn’t extremely close to me.
“At the moment, my work takes up most of my time, so I can’t say I have any interesting hobbies, unless you count beating my own record at how fast I can complete a New York Times crossword.”
Eleanor laughs, as if I’m particularly amusing. I’m honestly not used to interviewers being this warm and fuzzy.
The waiter stops by, and I order a salad for lunch. I need to keep this meeting short so Blackthroat doesn’t get annoyed.
