Chapter Five
Mara
Chivalry Isn’t Dead; Just Not Feeling Well
“Oh, c’mon, Shirley… just a few feet more… don’t you die on me now!” I plead, coaxing my spluttering bomb of a car forward to the last vacant parking stall. Shirley is a gift from my Uncle Doug; he was about to call the local charity to come pick it up a year ago, but I convinced him she still had some life in her and would be perfectly suited for an unemployed student like me. He agreed and gave her to me free of charge, but today I’m forced to admit she may be on her last legs.
Shirley, a 1992 Chevy Cavalier, coughs and rattles as she rolls on sheer momentum toward the paved slot that may be her final resting place. To my horror, smoke begins to spew out from under the dented hood, billowing into the enclosed concrete dungeon of the parkade. I roll down the window, and as I try vainly to wave away the clouds from my vision, I can hear her pitiful death cries amplified in the empty space. Dear God. I hope no one else is nearby to witness this; I’ll die of embarrassment, not to mention being arrested for crimes against the environment.
Shirley and I come to a stop in her designated spot, and I swear she gives a wheeze of total exhaustion. I’m afraid to turn the engine off for fear she won’t start again but equally afraid to keep it running. I twist the key and yank it from the ignition. Looks like I may have to be taking the subway to work from now on, but even train tickets cost money. Money that I don’t have. I bought gas for Shirley with drink container refunds, for God’s sake; how am I going to afford transit fares?
Four more months. Well, four months less two weeks, until I might have a paying job. I would just have to get by somehow until then. I gather my purse and my school bookbag that now serves as a briefcase of sorts and force Shirley’s door open. She squeaks in protest as I edge my awkward way out of the tight space between her and the next car, as I was unable to control exactly where we stopped between the lines. I slam it shut and smooth out my skirt and jacket, brushing off any road grunge I may have picked up by brushing against the car’s dirty exterior.
Wisps of smoke still swirl around me as I look up at the sound of footsteps clopping on the hard pavement of the parking ramp floor, growing louder as they approach. Oh, dear God no.
It can’t be.
Why him?
“You’re creating quite a health hazard with that thing,” he says, his tall, suited figure stepping closer. He tilts his head in accusation as he eyes me up and down, then scans the smoking ruins of my car.
Bastian Kingsley.
Fuck.
“Looks like its seen better days,” he says, gesturing to Shirley then waving away a stray puff of smoke that drifts toward him. “I can’t have employees representing the company in a hunk of junk like that. We have a reputation to uphold. Why don’t you get a new car?”
I feel my face turning red. Of all the people to bump into right now, why did it have to be the uber-gorgeous, impossibly-suave CEO of the company? Why couldn’t it have been some bum asking for my spare change? I could have ignored him and went my merry way since I had no change to spare anyway. But the boss I can’t run from, nor his sarcastic tone that’s dripping with contempt. For me as well as my sad excuse for a car, I’m sure.
“Uh, good morning Mr. Kingsley,” I titter. “I-I’d love to get a new vehicle, but… as an intern I… Well, you know it’s an unpaid position, right? I can’t exactly afford anything new right now.” I clutch my bag in front of me as if in defense. Shit. A guy like Bastian has probably never known financial hardship a day in his pampered life. How could he possibly understand my situation? He talks as if buying a new car is as simple as a trip to the supermarket. I look him straight in the eyes, daring him to talk down to me like that again. In the darkened parkade, I can stand my ground; not melt into the luscious pools of his chocolate brown irises like I did the day I’d met him, or succumb to my ridiculous fantasies as he touches my collar, my hair, and then my…
“Excuse me?” he says, interrupting my runaway train of thought, giving his head, with its perfectly trimmed and styled salt-and-pepper hair, a minor shake. “Are you not an employee of GeoRock?”
“No, I’m an intern, like I said… the last time we talked.” I wanted to remind him that he’d met me, but didn’t want to bring up the circumstances. I still haven’t gotten over my dipshit move in boarding the wrong elevator; then again, if I hadn’t, I’d have never met the man at all. But what does it matter? He’s forgotten me anyway, judging by his behavior outside the lab two weeks ago. Maybe this is my second chance to make a first impression. Right. By driving a death-trap beater that’s an environmental abomination. Brilliant conversation starter. “But I’m hoping my internship will lead to something full-time. My supervisor says my work has been outstanding so far.”
“Good to know that inhaling exhaust fumes hasn’t affected your performance,” he says, with a hint of a grin. Is he being sarcastic, or actually trying to hurt my feelings? I just can’t tell with this man. If it’s the latter, he’s succeeding. I adjust my bags and start to walk forward.
“I’d better be going, I don’t want to be late. Even if I’m not being paid,” I say, deciding to ignore the comment.
“Who is your supervisor, Miss Snow?” he asks, blocking my path. He does remember me! The knowledge makes my heart skip a beat, despite his snarky words and the cold shoulder he’d given me. God, I’m a pushover.
“Dr. Schilleman, the head geologist,” I reply.
“Ah yes. Ernst Schilleman. Good man,” Bastian says with a nod. “Bit of a mad-scientist type though, wouldn’t you say?”
This joking version of Bastian Kingsley makes it impossible not to warm up to him.
“He’s a brilliant man,” I say, the term ‘good’ not truly covering Dr. Schilleman’s qualities. “I enjoy working with him. I’m learning a lot.”
“I’m sure, but a person has to make a living too,” he says, his expression turning all business again. “I hadn’t realized the internship program didn’t at least offer an honorarium. I seem to be out of touch with a few things after my extended absence. Let me have a word with Ernst. Perhaps there are some additional duties we can have you take on. At a fair wage, of course. That is if you feel you can handle an increased work load?”
What? He’s going out of his way to do something for me? I think the hollow echo inside the parking ramp must be playing tricks with my ears.
“What do you say, Miss Snow?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, absolutely,” I reply, snapping out of my delirium. “I’d be happy to. What kind of duties?”
Bastian steps back to let me pass. “I’m sure we can come up with something.” His gaze passes over Shirley once more, her dying gasps having settled down to a wheezing hiss, then back to me. “And perhaps a leasing arrangement for one of our company vehicles.”
I clamp my jaw shut, ensuring it doesn’t flap open in shock. A paying gig and a new car too? I don’t know what to say.
“Thank you,” my lips blurt out on reflex. “Th-hat’s very kind of you, Mr. Kingsley.”
“Have a pleasant day, Miss Snow.” Then, just as quickly as he appeared, Bastian Kingsley turns and strides away without a backward glance.
I stand in stupefied immobility, hypnotized by the athletic sway of his legs and the tilt of his broad shoulders as he walks. This is the other version of the man; the one I don’t like so much. He’s like an unstable weather front—going from spring thaw to freezing rain in the blink of an eye. His personality seems to turn on a dime, and I have to laugh at the ironic comparison. Like tossing a coin, you never know which side of him will turn up.
I hope it won’t always be the side with a carved, stone-like profile, impervious to everything but the kingdom it reigns over.