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“I’m perfect for that position.” I shouldn’t have cut him off, but the caffeine is coursing through my body and my mouth is going ten miles faster than my brain. “I’m a detail-oriented professional who will stay plugged in until I reach my goal.”
“So, you’re good with testing the products? You must be willing to try to reproduce product failures based on client claims and test new products that are in beta. We understand the sensitivity of this work.”
He confuses me with that statement. How often do bean grinders fail? How sensitive can that information be? “If you’re worried about customer confidentiality, then you have nothing to be concerned about. Everything I do will be kept behind closed doors.” I make a lip-zip motion he can’t see but it makes it all the more real for me.
“Closed doors are important.” He doesn’t sound all that convincing. “Listen, my plane is boarding.”
Here is where he tells me he’ll consider my application. I hold my breath hoping for something different but know it won’t come.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Stark. I appreciate the opportunity to interview for the Grind.”
In the background an announcer calls for all passengers on Flight 4235 to San Francisco.
“You know what, Janey? I like your candor. I like that the product does not embarrass you, and that you're willing to…what did you say? Stay plugged in until you reach your goal. That’s the type of girl I’m looking for.”
Oh. My. God. Did that mean I got the job? “I am your girl, Mr. Stark.”
“Can you start tomorrow? The last girl who showed up took one look at her office and bolted. There’s a backlog of emails to work through on top of the product testing. Are you up for a challenge?”
“The bigger the better.”
He laughs. “Let’s hope that’s true. We’ve relocated our offices. We are at 926 Market Street. There’s no sign on the door, so just walk in. We’ll go over the details soon, but I have to run or you’ll be the only one at work tomorrow.”
He hung up before I could say goodbye. I throw my hands in the air and shout at the top of my lungs. “I’ve got a job!”
A loud thud sounds from the floor above me. Glinda, the not-so-good witch pounds her cane on the wooden floor. “Stop that racket, I’m watching my show.”
Goal number one is to make enough money to move out of my cruddy apartment in the Mission District. It’s a dump, but the rent is cheap, and it serves its purpose for now. Beggars can’t be choosers.
A year ago, I came home to my apartment in the Haight-Ashbury District to find my boyfriend gone. He had vanished with everything we had. Well, not exactly everything. He left a duffel bag by my door that held most of my clothes. The bastard even took my vibrating bullet. It was like he was sending a message that said, “If I can’t please you, nothing can.” Well, the joke’s on him because that little buzzing bean is the only thing that pleased me, and I’m saving up for a new one as soon as I get a new place.
Solo sexy time in this apartment isn’t an option. The old woman upstairs will bang her cane until my ceiling falls, while the guy downstairs will probably send up a client for me to service.
When I signed the lease I didn’t know that I’d be living below Satan’s mother and above a brothel.
At exactly eight a.m. I walk out the front door and hop over the drunks in the entryway. I catch the bus from Mission Street to the Embarcadero Center. It doesn’t take long to find the address Mr. Stark gave me. In front of a frosted glass window, I look at my reflection. I suppose I look professional enough for coffee. Black slacks. White button-down shirt with a cute embroidered collar. Pumps—not too tall—not too short. A ponytail hanging down my back.
I tuck a stray hair behind my ear and sigh. This is it. This is my new beginning. This job is my first step on my way out, and my way up. I grip the brass handle and turn it slowly. I breathe in the surrounding air not picking up a hint of coffee. Strange for a place all about the brew.
The long carpeted corridor eats up the sound of my shoes until I get to Office C. After a big breath, I walk inside to find the front desk empty. Off to the right a door is cracked open. The lights are flickering to life as if whoever is in there has just arrived.
“Hello.” I step up to the empty desk hoping that a secretary or someone else will come out and greet me. “Hello, is anyone here?” Of course I know someone’s here because I can hear them rustling papers and closing drawers.
“Come on in, I'm in the office to your right.” His voice is like warm hot chocolate on a cold day; the kind of day you get in San Francisco when the fog rolls in. He has a deep dark chocolate voice that sounds richer and more full-bodied than the man on the phone. Then again, the connection wasn’t the best.
I take several steps to his office, grab the handle and inch it open. Reaching into a tall cabinet is the most gorgeous man I've ever seen. His back is turned toward me, but I can already tell he’s going to be delicious to work for. He’s tall with dark hair and an ass made for a jeans commercial.
“I'm sorry, I thought I’d be more organized. I'm suffering from jet lag. That trip from Taiwan always kills me.” He pulls several papers from the top shelf. “Here it is,” he turns around and stops. His eyes scan me from head to toe. I fight the urge to wipe my face thinking maybe I missed a crumb of muffin on my mouth. He shakes his head like he’s clearing it. “Employment forms.” He waves the papers in the air. “Janey, right?” He stares at me long and hard like I’m going to tell him something different.
“Yes, I’m Janey,” I reach across the desk and offer him my hand. When he takes it, my entire body burns like he’s the frayed wire in a heating blanket and I’m the flammable material. I snap my hand back and glance at it sure there will be a scorch mark. There isn’t. “It’s my pleasure to meet you. You must be Caine Stark.” Please say yes. I’d be happy to have his face in my head while I quality control his merchandise.
“In the flesh.” He pulls out his leather executive chair, sits, and points to the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat, Janey.”
Despite the butterflies in my belly, I sit tall and attentive. “I’m so excited to work for you.”
He leans back, the weight of his body causing the springs in his chair to creak. “You’re different from what I expected.”
That causes me to tilt my head to the side like a confused puppy. “Really? How so?” I suppress the urge to play with my hair or bite my lip, two things I do when I’m nervous. My fingers twitch to pull at my ponytail so I tuck them under my legs. “Is there a type of girl this job usually attracts?”
