It was the same story every time. She wanted to make everyone else happy, and she’d settled for the first jerk to show her affection. It wasn't until my father left her with me still in diapers that she truly sat down and contemplated what she wanted in life. After some soul searching, she discovered she wasn't into men at all.
That was the biggest reason she never pushed me to move faster. But I knew she and her girlfriend, Wanda, had talked about moving in together, and my living here stood in the way of their privacy.
“Do I have to interview?” I asked. Most of the time, I did well in interviews but still didn’t get a callback.
“No; he’s giving you a thirty-day trial period. If he likes the job you’re doing, he’ll hire you full time with the whole benefits package.”
Sounded good enough. I had a few blouses I could potentially wear, and Mom took me shopping for a few more pieces to flesh out my wardrobe to cover a week’s worth of outfits. I could mix and match the solid colored pants and skirts with the different tops, hopefully not embarrassing myself or my mother. She knew what was expected, though, and she wouldn't let me fail. If nothing else worked, she’d lend me something of hers to get me by until my first paycheck.
Monday morning, I rode into work with Mom. I was worried I’d finish later than she would, but she assured me she’d come back for me if she had to. I had a car, but she knew I was nervous about my first day going well. Not knowing what to expect, hoping I made a good impression; all that added up until I was freaking nervous as hell.
From what Mom had told me, I expected a man slightly younger than her, tall, with blond hair and a friendly smile. He was great with his employees and never raised his voice or talked down to anyone. I was excited to work for someone like that, who was the exact opposite of retail managers who didn't care if you lived or died, as long as they could prop you up at the cash register.
So when I walked in with her, I reminded myself to take deep breaths. Wiping my hands on my pencil skirt, I dried my sweaty palms and nodded at the employees I recognized. Though I didn't come here often, I had met a few of her coworkers. A few of them wished me a good first day, and I felt more confident as we approached the bank of elevators.
Mom led me to the top floor, where the elevator opened up to a massive wall of glass. The windows let in a breathtaking view of the city below, and I had to swallow back another surge of nervousness.
“Stop fidgeting,” she ordered me quietly.
I clasped my hands together and followed her to the desk outside the biggest office I’d ever seen. It dominated most of the floor, with windows everywhere covered in closed blinds. Mom knocked, and a man answered the door.
I’d only heard of him, never seen him. Any time I was here, he was always locked up in his tower office working. My breath caught at his devastatingly handsome features. I was so screwed.
It just figured he was the hottest guy I’d met in my lifetime, and he was obviously off-limits.
“Mr. Sullivan, my daughter. Jolie, this is Mr. Sullivan.”
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Adkins.”
He didn't smile or offer to shake hands as I’d expected. Instead, he faced my mother and spoke to her as if I wasn't there. As if it wasn't me holding the position, but her. “Thirty days, Susan. If it works out, there’ll be a fine salary with benefits.”
“Yes, sir.” My mother basically beamed at him. “I’ll leave you to it.”
When she disappeared, I wanted to beg her to come back. He wasn't what I’d expected at all.
The phone on the small desk rang.
“Answer that,” he ordered.
Snatching up the receiver, I held eye contact and said, “Sullivan Industries, this is Jolie, how may I help you?” Without instruction, I could only guess the acceptable phone greeting.
Mr. Sullivan frowned.
“One moment, please.” Pressing the hold button, I turned to him. “Are you available to speak with Mr. Fogerty from Rash International?”
Without a word, he spun on his heels and closed himself in his office. Since the hold light went out on the phone, I could only assume the answer was yes.
What the fuck had I gotten myself into? This was meant to be a wonderful working environment, not whatever that interaction could be called.
I didn't know what to do. There were no instructions, no notes on the desk. There was a planner, but it was brand new. I had to peel off the old months to reach the current one, and then search in the drawer for a stapler and pens.
How the hell was I meant to do my job without training?
Mr. Sullivan reappeared from his office, letting the door slam against the interior wall. “In here.”
Sure thing, dude. Why would we be polite and ask?
Silently, I walked into the office, hearing him slam the door behind us. I swear there wasn't anyone else on this floor; just us and the world below.
