The next morning, I arrived at work half an hour early and made sure the elevator I took did not contain the stranger. Nervous as I was that someone might comment on my actions the previous day, it was a relief to be ignored as usual by the people around me. The building at that hour held a fraction of its usual occupants but I hurried to my desk to avoid any unwanted conflicts with certain green-eyed individuals.
I'd spent most of my evening and night trying to figure out whether or not I should go to work the next morning. The recklessness and downright stupidity of my actions haunted me all night, making me go so far as to question my sanity. This isn’t who I am. I'd never been so thoughtless about my actions and a desperate libido wasn't answer enough for me.
I'd started searching out job opportunities, something I could turn to if my present situation went sour, but the market was as tough as ever. The proper half of my brain demanded I quit and leave this job, but the logical portion maintained I needed the money. Rent on my tiny studio apartment was coming due and I had no other options at the moment unless I wanted to live on the streets.
Oh Lucy, how far you’ve fallen.
Once I got to my desk I spent my time on work that avoided me having to log into the computer as I didn't want my early arrival noticed by management. My coworkers arrived, chatting amongst themselves as they passed by my tiny cubicle, but I stayed in my little corner for most of the day, content to be ignored. The day went by uneventfully until almost four in the afternoon when my boss poked her head around the walls of my desk. “Follow me please, Ms. Delacourt.”
My manager's presence startled me. I saw her almost every day but, after my initial interview, she had all but ignored my presence in the office. That she chose now to talk to me had the world spinning and my stomach curling into knots. Her tone brooked no argument however and with a hurried, “Yes Ms. Crabtree,” and a brief pause to get myself together, I pulled myself up on trembling legs and followed after her.
She bypassed her office door and strode out the door of our office section to the hall outside. I followed after her silently, afraid to ask what this was about for fear of learning the whole building knew about my sexcapades the day before. I could think of no other reason I'd be called out, and I doubt they'd take me out of my section simply to fire me.
We rode the elevator silently up another four stories. My manager never once spoke to me and was impossible to read – not that I tried too hard, afraid of what I’d find. The moment the elevator doors opened however I knew I was in an entirely different world. Gone were the lifeless narrow corridors: the elevator opened into a wide passage lined with dark wood paneling that had the company name "Hamilton" in bold letters across the wall. The wide entryway led toward a reception desk in the opening of a large open room. Office doors lined the walls and two large glass-encased conference rooms on either corner of the large area. There was a rich old world sense about everything, dark woods and gold accents mixing with modern lighting and artwork.
“Mr. Hamilton is expecting us,” my boss said to the lady at the desk, who nodded and picked up a phone as we passed.
I stumbled at her words, my legs suddenly refusing to work. Why are we in the corporate section of the building? I'd never read up on the company; it was a temp job, meant to be only a short-term employment gig, but I knew this wasn’t any kind of business floor. It has a Donald Trump feel, more a reception area than an office. There was no way however that they'd send me here if they knew what I'd done.
Confusion and trepidation continued to climb as I followed behind my supervisor at a cautious distance. She headed toward one of the offices and knocked before poking her head inside. “Mr. Hamilton will see you now,” she said, motioning for me to go enter.
I stood there, staring mutely at my manager for a moment, then slowly moved toward the door. I gave her one last confused glance as I walked through, then came to a halt inside as renewed horror washed over me. Oh no, no no no…
“Thank you Agatha, that will be all for now.”
Nodding once, my supervisor pulled the door beside me closed as I stood, aghast, inside the large office. My mouth worked soundlessly as I stared at the familiar figure sitting behind the desk. My eyes fell to the name plate on the desk. “Jeremiah Hamilton,” I said, body numb with shock.
The dark haired man behind the desk raised cool eyes to appraise me. “Ms. Delacourt,” he said in reply, gesturing to a chair in front of his desk. “Please take a seat.”
My heartbeat sped up as I heard his voice, confirming my worst fears. Unable to speak, I moved to the chair he’d motioned me toward, movements jerky and hesitant, and sat down. He ignored me, running through something on his tablet in his hand. As we sat in strained silence I glanced around the large office. Windows covered the back wall behind the desk and CEO from ceiling to floor, giving a panoramic view of the streets below. The desk was a dark wood and sturdy, covered sparsely with a laptop computer, the name plate, and a Newton’s Cradle, the steel balls unmoving. The chair I sat in was plush and thick with rolling castors at the bottom making it easy to move around.
“Ms. Lucille Delacourt,” the stranger said, startling me. Jeremiah Hamilton, I reminded myself, still unable to get my brain around my current situation. “Currently a temp data clerk out of the Executive Management Solutions employment agency, hired one month ago by Agatha Crabtree. Correct so far?” At my jerky nod he continued. “I see you used your passport as identification.” He glanced up at me. “Passport?”
Talking was difficult with a suddenly dry mouth but I still tried. “I always carry them with me.” A raised eyebrow and expectant expression probed for more information but I only shrugged, words failing me.
There was a moment of silence before he resumed speaking. “Grew up in upstate New York, went three years to Cornell University before dropping out. Menial jobs since then and you moved to the City three months ago. Why did you drop out?”
His words washed right over me; it was the pause that had me looking up into his expectant face. “What?” I asked, completely missing the question.
“Why,” he repeated, “did you drop out of college, Ms. Delacourt?”
His tone demanded an answer but it was complicated and personal, bringing up memories I still dealt with nearly three years later. The question was an invasion of my privacy and I knew I didn’t legally have to answer, but I found my lips moving anyway. “My parents died.”
There was a long pause this time as I stared at my hands, trying not to cry – a difficult task, given the nerve-wracking situation I’d gotten myself into. Would they be ashamed of where I am now? I wondered, swallowing back tears. They had sacrificed so much to let me get ahead, most of which I hadn’t discovered until after their death and I was forced to live with their choices.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Jeremiah said after a long moment of silence while I struggled to regain my composure. He cleared his throat, and I glanced up to see him sit back in his chair. “What brought you down to Jersey City?”
I thought I detected a note of concern in his voice but still couldn’t bring myself to look at him. Even though the question was personal and none of his business, I still answered. “I lost my family’s house and had to move, an old college friend said I could live with her.”
“I see.” Jeremiah scratched his chin for a moment, then sat back in his chair. “Do you know why I’ve asked you to come, Ms. Delacourt?”
It was the question I dreaded and couldn’t possibly answer. Swallowing, I raised my head to meet his green eyes but my courage failed me. “No?” I replied, more a question than an answer.
He opened his mouth to say something, paused, then tried again. “Let me tell you how your day would have gone today prior to our meeting.” He folded his arms on the table before continuing. “You would have worked until half an hour before closing, when Mrs. Crabtree would have called you into her office. She would have explained that your temp work contract was terminated and today was your last day. You would be given your last pay check and escorted out of the building.”
For the second time that morning, the bottom dropped out from under my feet. “You’re firing me?” I asked in a faint voice, unable to believe my own words. Anger bubbled up at the unfairness of my life. “Is this because we…”
Jeremiah held up a hand to stop my words and shook his head. “The decision on the layoffs has been planned for a week now, we no longer need most of the temps in your department.” His eyes narrowed as he added, more to himself, “I signed the directive earlier this week before I knew who you were.”
“Nobody’s hiring right now,” I whispered, forgetting my looking for another job was supposed to be secret. No reason to hide that now. The anger was difficult to sustain as I realized I’d have to weather another blow after so many in my life recently.
“I looked at your file and you did good work,” Jeremiah continued as I stared, numb, at the top of his desk. “We would give have an excellent recommendation for any future job inquiries.”
At a loss for words, unable to think what to say, I looked up and stared at the CEO. “Why did you tell me this?” I mumbled. “Why bring me up here?”
“Because I have another offer for you, a job if you’re interested. I’m in need of a personal assistant.”
I blinked several times, taken by surprise by the offer. I peered into his face but it was like granite; I couldn’t tell at all what he was thinking. Suspicion curled in my belly as I asked, “What kind of personal assistance?”
“Anything I want.”
I took a deep breath at the words, my mind taking me to all sorts of places within that phrase. He couldn’t mean, surely he’s not implying what I think. But something in his eyes, despite the relaxed business demeanor, implied it was exactly what I was imagining. His gaze promised all sorts of wicked things – or maybe it was my mind trying to make my fantasies a reality. I needed to be sure. “About yesterday, when we, um…”
Jeremiah leaned forward and rested a strong chin on his fingers. “Yes,” he said simply, the one word answering all my questions.
I tried to get indignant at the proposition, tried to find some way to protest and maintain some shred of dignity, but I was too practical. Right now I desperately needed a job and here was an offer, and I couldn’t afford to let it pass not knowing when I might get another. That didn’t mean, however, that I was just going to say yes. “What are you offering?” I demanded, raising my chin and hoping he didn’t see the flush that suffused my body. I can’t believe I’m actually considering this!
A slow smile tipped one corner of his mouth. “Full benefits, a raise in pay, and all travel expenses paid.” He wrote something on a small post-it note and passed it over to me. “This should be sufficient for a starting salary.”
The sum on the note made me faint – I could have my student loans paid off in only a few months, and have more than enough money to go back to college within a year. My jaw wouldn’t work as I fumbled for words, unable to think of what to say. It’s an opportunity, part of me insisted while another part, the one that usually sounded like my parents, screamed at me to RUN! I sat in silence a moment, pondering my options, then drew in a shaky breath. “I want this in writing.”
Something told me that hadn’t been the answer he was expecting; he cocked his head sideways and his eyes crinkled, the only sign I saw of humor. That gorgeous face remained otherwise stoic as he nodded. “Very well,” he said, “but first I need to interview you further for this position.” He leaned forward and set his chin on steepled fingers. “Stand up, bend down and put your elbows on the desk.”