2
Henley
It was hard to believe that a week prior, I’d had a steady job and could afford more than frozen dinners. Though it was just an internship, I was getting paid. But the six-month duration had ended, and I’d had nothing going for me since I hadn’t been offered a full-time position.
It sucked. I mean, really sucked. I had officially become one of those people who graduated but didn’t have a job. I’d made damn near perfect grades, had second-chaired law cases, and received glowing recommendations, but was still out-of-luck.
I tended to blame my shortcomings on my red hair, thinking it kept people from wanting to hire me. My hair wasn’t the nice kind of red that people dyed theirs; it was the unruly wild kind that belonged on exotic models, not ordinary law students, or lawyers rather, since I’d already graduated. I always tried to make it look darker by either slicking it into a bun while wet, or keeping it tied up.
Logically, I knew it was foolish to think this way, but I also knew there had to be a reason I wasn’t being hired. Each day was the same. I’d spend the day reading, running unnecessary errands, and keeping myself busy until six o’clock when I would pretend to be coming back from work. And then I’d eat a sad dinner and scour every job site I could find for anything related to law.
I was convinced I would end up as a paralegal or an assistant, but knew I had to keep trying because I didn’t go into major debt with student loans to wind up with just a subpar job.
My roommate and best friend, Denton, was gone for the time being. I was lucky for him because last month, I’d barely had enough money for rent, so he cut me a break. That’s when I vowed to get a job by week’s end, no matter what. So I submitted to every firm and company around, hoping something would give. I even tried my luck with the big guns like Hatchett and H&P. With those two being heads of investment banking, I knew I could make a killing as an investment lawyer for either of them. But I also knew it was a farfetched dream. Their application stacks were seven feet high, and it wouldn’t have surprised me if you had to be a blood relative to actually work there. Hence, I doubted my glowing resume and job experience would improve my chances. Nor would the photo that was required for one of the applications, for that matter. Sure, I have a pretty face and would probably have a job by now if I used it to my advantage. But to say I didn’t know how would be an understatement. My hips and curves were just barriers to jeans and button up shirts, not something I used to control men.
By the end of the night, I’d showered and snuggled into bed with my e-reader. Sometimes I felt lucky to not have parents that were down my throat. They traveled the world and had a satellite number I never called, but it was nothing personal. I was alone besides Denton, and even he had stopped asking about my employment status, knowing how much it annoyed me. I was already thoroughly disappointed in myself and didn’t need constant reminders about why.
I ended up having a fitful sleep, not waking until ten o’clock and taking my soggy oatmeal into the bathroom. Denton and I had separate bathrooms, and I had decorated mine in silver and white with black fluffy rugs and flowers back when I’d had money a few years ago when we first moved in. It had been my junior year of college. His fashion stuff had taken off, so we had decided to get a nice place together. I’d been working for an investment firm at the time, but lost the job when I graduated because the position had only been for students.
The sun peeked through the window and I felt luxurious as I soaked in the tub with the last of my good bath salts. Leaning against the towel pillow, I shut my eyes and tried to relax, but could feel the tension throughout my body. I was constantly waiting for my phone to ring these days, so when it did, I practically flew out of the tub, hoping it wasn’t just Denton saying he’d forgotten his key.
I looked at my phone, not recognizing the number. “Hello, this is Henley Cates,” I said, accustomed to answering as a professional.
“Hi, this is Martha with Human Resources at H&P Enterprises. I’m calling to let you know you have been scheduled for an interview this afternoon at one o’clock.” Her chipper voice glided through, but a glance at the time didn’t allow me to enjoy the good news.
“Thank you. Is that one, central time?” I squeaked.
“Yes, ma’am. About forty-five minutes from now. You can enter through the front and you’ll be directed here. Thank you.”
She hung up before I could ask why the hell I hadn’t been notified sooner.
I jumped out of the tub, not bothering to empty and wash it, and quickly began drying off, wondering when, or if, I had previously gotten a notification about the interview. I’d been glued to my emails and call-log for months, yet I was sure this was the first time I’d heard about it.
Ridiculous.
I didn’t have time to obsess over an outfit, so I just threw on a black dress and blazer, found some respectable heels, and tied my hair into a bun.
I knew the office was at least twenty minutes out, so I’d be late if I didn’t leave within ten minutes. But just as I was about to head out, I had to scour the room for my car keys. I searched my bedroom, the living room, the bathroom, and my bedroom again before finally finding them in the fridge.
In the fridge.
Then, of course, I needed to find my portfolio; showing up without it would mean immediate back-logging. Truthfully though, I wondered if I even had a shot since I would probably be late even if I rushed.
Finally finding the damned thing in my pile of papers on the coffee table, I hurried out the door.
The city was so wrapped around with cars and trucks that I had to take backroads, running over so many pot holes I wouldn’t have been surprised if my hub caps were gone.
“Come on, come on,” I chanted, less than five minutes out.
I rushed into a parking spot in the lot across the street. Jumping out of my car, I had the misfortune of stepping into a pot hole and breaking my heel.
“Shit!” I cried, pretty sure the heel had snapped in half. Knowing I couldn’t walk into such an important interview with a broken heel, I ran back to my car and grabbed the pair of flats I always kept with me.
As I finally made it inside the building, I felt my bun loosening. My skin was flushed and the cool air inside did nothing to help.
I stepped up to the information desk. Everything was sleek, clear, and luxurious, instantly making me feel out of my league. The company name took up the wall behind the desk.
“Hi. I have an interview at one,” I announced.
The woman glanced at the clock that read twelve fifty-nine. “Wait here, please,” the woman said, and gestured to the couches by the door.
I pressed my lips together. I was already late, and now had to wait. I wondered if this was a sign that I had already ruined my chances. I knew I looked a mess, with my ratty shoes and quickly worsening hair situation. This interview was already turning out to be a disaster of epic proportions.
“Miss Cates?” A middle-aged woman with a soft voice appeared. I stood quickly, recognizing her voice from over the phone.
“Yes. Hi.” I smoothed out my skirt and hair, and followed her to the elevators.
“Hi. My name is Martha and I’ll take you to the conference room where you’ll wait for Mr. Hayes and Mr. Phillips,” she explained in the elevator.
“Thank you,” I said. “Were all applicants invited today?” I asked curiously.
“No. Mr. Hayes had only just extended me your information before I called you.” She then looked me up and down and pursed her lips.
I fought to keep my expression neutral. After such short notice, what did they expect? Did they think I would be just sitting around in a suit, waiting on their call with my portfolio in hand?
We reached the top floor and I clutched my purse and folder as we walked down the hall. Cubicles lined one side, while small pods of lounge chairs lined the other. Market numbers were displayed on a huge screen.
At the end of the hall, we stopped at a clear door—the kind you could only see shadows through.
“Wait here,” Martha instructed. I watched her walk away in her gray pant suit and somehow knew I hated her.
Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I hoped I wouldn’t have to stand for long. My shoes were too small, my feet hurt, and sweat was running my back.
It was half past one before the door swung open. I gave a slight start, thinking I was looking at the company’s advertisement models. One of them, tall with blond hair and blue eyes, wore a welcoming smile. His navy-blue suit looked like a second skin, the tight jacket drawing attention to his muscles. And the other one was the exact definition of dark and handsome. His dark brown hair hung artfully around his brown eyes, which were sharp, just like his jawline. My eyes trailed over his mouth, realizing he was frowning.
“H-hello,” I stammered. “I’m Henley Cates.” I held out my hand, and the friendlier one took it. There was a good five-second delay before the other moved to shake my hand.
“I’m Maverick Phillips,” the friendlier one said. “And this is Jude Hayes. We’re the ‘H and P.’” Maverick smiled warmly again and I relaxed a little bit until I noticed Jude still frowning, looking over me like I was a rare specimen.
“It’s wonderful to meet you both,” I said, nervously clutching my purse strap.
“Same here. Please, come in,” Maverick said, turning around. I could have sworn he shot Jude a look. As I followed them, I wished I’d spent more time getting ready; it would have been worth being late to have makeup, proper hair, and shoes that weren’t broken.
I sat across from them both; they had chosen a table in the corner, so if I moved the wrong way, I would collide with their knees, as they were both so tall.
Jude took off his black suit jacket and leaned across the table. Tattoos peeked on his wrist and my eyes widened before glancing away and looking at Maverick instead. He gave me another warm smile and I handed him my portfolio.
“So, Miss Cates—why do you want to protect our assets?” Jude asked.