2
My jaw is still on the floor when Rosetta invites me to sit across from her at her office desk. I’m distracted by the views offered by the floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding us.
“Feel free to take a spin, and check out the place,” she jokes.
I raise a brow, wondering if she’s serious.
“No, really… do it. Those chairs don’t spin for nothing, Honey.”
I laugh. She can’t be serious.
She studies me for a long beat, eagerly awaiting my twirl.
Finally, I press a heel on the marble floor, and push myself into a glorious spin. I turn twice and she cheers, clapping her hands.
“There you go,” she says as she leans in. “I do that all the time. When the boss is not around,” she whispers. “He can be a real stick in the mud.”
I smile hesitantly. Should we really be talking about the boss like this? The interview hasn’t even started yet.
“But he’s a real sweetheart,” she adds with a smile. “He just needs to lighten up… you know what I’m saying, Honey?”
I smile. I like her already. I’m not sure how I feel about her calling me Honey, but she does have a good twenty years on me I imagine, so I’ll let it slide. And besides, I get that a lot. People call me Honey, hun, sweetheart, love. Donovan used to say it was because of my sweet youthful appearance. Or perhaps it’s the fact that my hair is purple, or blue, or pink. It all depends on the week. This week, it’s blue.
Finally, she flips open a red folder… my resumé. My heart skips a beat. She scratches her head, and I study her for a long beat. Her short tight curls are greying at the roots, and her cat-eye glasses hang low on her nose. She pushes them up, pressing at their center.
My heart pounds a mile a minute as she peruses my resumé. I hope she likes what she sees. I hope she likes me. It’s imperative that she does, since she’s the one I’ll be working with mostly. I wonder if I’ll ever even see Weston. This penthouse loft is huge.
That’s another reason my heart is misbehaving, the possibility of seeing him walk in at any minute, knowing he’s probably close by. The man is unlike anyone I’ve ever met before. There’s just such a presence about him. It may be quiet, but it is definitely strong. I’m sure he owns every room he enters.
I study the space; a lovely mural of birch trees, two sleek chairs and a small table in the corner. Silk contemporary draperies frame the tall windows, and impeccably organized built-in bookcases line the walls. “This is a very nice office,” I offer, not able to stand the silence. “Very orderly.”
She looks up and laughs. “Well, it has to be. The Boss doesn’t like anything to be out of order. A place for everything, and everything in its place kind of thing. I’m not usually this organized. You should see my apartment.”
I smile. “My friend, Mischa, is kind of like that too. Sometimes when I’m at her place, I’ll move something around just to mess with her.”
She sits up straighter with wide eyes. “I do that too. It drives the Boss Man crazy.”
I laugh, imagining Weston losing his shit.
Her smile fades as she dips her head again. “Well, you look good on paper, Honey,” she finally says. “That’s for sure.”
I nod, not able to make eye contact as her face is still buried in my resumé.
“And I see here that you have a lot of experience with branding.”
I smile. “I do. When I was at Widrich Miller, it was all we did. I was there for six years. I have tons of examples in my portfolio.”
She finally raises her gaze to mine, and studies me for the longest time, like a curious child. I stare back, slightly uncomfortable. What am I supposed to say now?
“Well, what are you waiting for?” she teases. “Show me the goods, Honey.”
I smile.
“Yes, the goods…” I say. “I definitely have that.”
She shakes her head. “I won’t believe it until I see it.”
I laugh out loud. Damn, she isweird.But in a good way.
