Chapter One
Mara
In a New York Minute
Eyeshadow.
Nah. Trying too hard.
Mascara.
Yes. You don’t want to look twelve.
Perfume.
Which one? Only got two. Both off the discount shelf at Walgreens. Ugh. Sophisticated, not.
“Lacey!” I call out as I lean over the bathroom sink, peering at my reflection in the mirror. “Can I use some of your Chanel? Please?”
“Knock yourself out, kiddo,” Lacey replies.
I take the bottle from my roommate Lacey’s shelf and hold it in my palm, suddenly second-guessing my choice. Wait. Is this too “old” for me? I’m twenty-two; don’t want to come off smelling like some Haute Couture wannabe on my first day. I’m just a dumb intern, not some corporate suit’s executive assistant. You’re running out of time, Mara. Pick one for God’s sake.
I hurriedly press the atomizer button, and a cloud of No. 5 mist hits my throat. Gak! I forgot to close my mouth. Not the way I want to start off—using “eau de toilette” for mouthwash a la Scarlett O’Hara.
“You okay in there?” Lacey yells.
“Yeah,” I say, clucking my tongue in distaste and replacing the perfume bottle on the shelf. I take one last look to appraise my appearance. Not altogether bad, but my college student beer budget is showing in the short, cotton knit cardigan I’ve tossed overtop a plain white collared blouse and a navy skirt. Too bad I gave up high heels in my junior year; some matching pumps would at least kick my sorry professional image up a notch. All the footwear my closet holds right now is ballet flats, flip-flops, and sneakers.
I smooth down my brunette locks that have somehow gone frizzy in the muggy heat of the bathroom and heave a sigh. Familiar blue irises rimmed with dark gray stare back at me from the mirror. You’re just a lowly intern, they seem to say. I’ll likely be drowning in an oversized lab coat in the first hour; no one will see me, or my makeup, or what I’m wearing, nor will they care. And with no payday on the horizon, GeoRock Incorporated will just have to take me as I am. Whether it’s clad in flats, heels or otherwise, my foot is in the door of an international mining corporation. I’m lucky to have this opportunity, pay or no pay, and I’m really, really hoping it will lead to a permanent position. It will launch what I hope will be my career as a renowned female geologist into the stratosphere. Talk about getting a break! I can’t afford to screw up this one.
I turn and walk into the living room of the tiny apartment Lacey and I share on the Lower East Side—the closest we could get to downtown that we could afford—to see her lounging in her big, wicker armchair reading the morning newspaper.
“You ready for your big day?” she asks, allowing me a glance over the top of a sheet of newsprint.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I say, spreading my arms wide. “What do you think?”
Lacey turns her full attention on me, assessing me up and down. “You’re internship on a stick, Mara Snow. There’ll be no mistaking you for GeoRock’s media relations maven, that’s for sure.”
I drop my arms to my sides. “Thanks, I think. Was that supposed to be a compliment? Because I could really use one, Lace. I’m nervous as shit.”
“Oh, don’t be,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “You look great. Everyone gets first day jitters. I know it’s your first official gig as a geologist, but that giant brain of yours earned you top honors in your graduating class. You’ll ‘rock’ their world, Mar.” Lacey throws me a gaping grin, pleased with her corny pun.
I roll my eyes and let out a groan. “Thanks, Miss Open Mike. A little early in the day for your stand-up act, isn’t it? Save it for the stage.”
“I don’t have a show until Thursday, you know that,” Lacey says. “But if I had an education like yours, I sure as hell wouldn’t be walking the boards in a comedy club like I do now, I’ll tell you that much. I’d be soaking up the luscious landscape of young, hot suits in a big office on Wall Street.”
Lacey and I are about as opposite as two best friends can be. I studied rock formations and tectonic plates and earned my B.Sc. in Geology; Lacey took drama in high school and spent her summers performing in theater festivals. I’m a brunette, and she’s platinum blonde. We’re Mutt and Jeff, Jekyll and Hyde. Okay, maybe more like Beavis and Butthead.
“And you’d be miserable,” I say. “You’d never be happy working behind a desk—you know you wouldn’t. You’re too free a spirit.”
“Who said anything about being behind a desk? I’d be on top of it with the first corporate hottie I could grab out of the hallway. Hell, this free spirit would totally get locked down if I could work for this guy,” she says, folding her newspaper into a square and handing it over for me to see. “Your mysterious CEO has come out of hiding. And look at him! Hot as fuck, despite being out of the public eye for the last seven years.” Lacey sighs. “Mining magnate and bashful billionaire, Bastian Kingsley.” She gives a wolf whistle. “Single, too. Didn’t his wife die on him, or something? What a catch he’d be. He must be forty by now, and mysterious recluse or not, I’d sure as hell go there.”
I look over the news story and photo. ‘GeoRock Inc. CEO Back On American soil’ reads the headline.
“Go where?” I ask absentmindedly, fixated on the newspaper image of Bastian Kingsley caught amid a media crush. Did she say forty? Though pale and strained in the photo, Mr. Kingsley’s face was certainly an attractive one, and if this was the new forty, Lacey and me must look like prepubescent school girls.
“You know, there!” Lacey splutters as if I am some sort of ignoramus. She grabs her crotch in a graphic demonstration. “As in, go down on that piece of sausage.”
I laugh despite my minor gross-out at the mental picture she paints, and toss the paper onto the side table next to Lacey’s chair. “You’d go down on a Big Mac, you slut. And I mean that in the nicest way.”
Lacey grimaces. “There’s no nice way to mean that.”
“Honestly, you obsess over men’s looks too much, Lace. Haven’t you heard you can’t judge a book by its cover? Mr. Kingsley might have Baywatch looks, but he’s also boardroom cunning. Like a wolf; a corporate wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
“Well that wolf could eat me any day of the week,” she replies, admiring the photo again. “And since we’re on the subject, you could start obsessing a little yourself, oh immutable stone maiden.” She looks up and pierces me with a knowing stare. “And I do mean maiden. Perhaps Mr. Kingsley can help you out with that when you get the meet and greet tour today.”
I cluck my tongue in disgust and show her my rigid back as I turn to leave. I’m going to be late if I don’t get my ass out the door in the next two minutes. “Could we stop addressing that particular elephant, please? Being a virgin is not a criminal offense, last I checked.”
“It is when you live in New York City and haven’t had your cherry popped by age twenty-two, Mar. You’re an anomaly, girl—an oddity. Kinda like those weird geodes you collect on your dresser top, instead of notches on your bedpost.”
“I like my geodes, and my bedposts, just the way they are, thank you very much. As for Bastian Kingsley, forget it. I work in the basement, remember? There’s not a Popsicle’s chance in hell I’ll ever meet him. Even the mailroom clerks have a better shot.”
“Mmm, too bad, so sad. Not only no pay but no perks either. Why’d you take this job on again? I forget.”
“It’s only four months,” I remind her. “ ‘Gotta pay your dues if you wanna sing the blues,’ a famous man once said. This is my big break Lace, honest. If they like my work, I’m almost guaranteed a full-time position once the internship is over. I can’t keep sponging off my aunt and uncle forever, you know. Working for GeoRock is beyond anything I could hope for. Tons of my classmates applied for this internship, and I beat them all. I’m determined to make the most of this chance, so don’t you go dissing my choices, funny girl. Just wish me luck, will you?”
“Okay, okay,” Lace says, holding up her hands in surrender. “I get it. Good luck. You want to make your aunt and uncle proud, and your parents too, God rest their souls. But you know they’ll love you anyway, and support you, no matter what happens.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say with a resigned nod. I wish Lacey hadn’t brought up the subject of my parents. I was only recently coming to grips with their deaths at the hands of a drunk driver. Crap, has it been ten years already? My mom’s brother Doug and his wife Tammy had taken guardianship of me after the accident; they were every bit as loving parents to me as my own had been. I am so grateful to them; words cannot describe how I feel. Damn right I want to make them proud and repay them for all they’ve done for me, even though they would never dream of accepting anything in return.
“I gotta go,” I say, buttoning my sweater and slipping my purse strap over my shoulder. My stomach rumbles, warning me that I haven’t eaten any breakfast, and won’t make it past coffee break without fainting—or worst case scenario—taking a bite out of some unsuspecting co-worker.
“Whoa, I heard that from all the way over here,” Lacey says, rising out of her chair. “You’ll never make it through the morning on an empty stomach, kiddo.” She pulls a bag of apples off the kitchen counter and empties them into a bowl. After rubbing one on her jean-clad thigh, she offers me the biggest one. “Here, you can eat this on the way.”
I feel guilty even taking it, knowing how much of our meager student income has been spent on just the few groceries we have on hand. Maybe I should have accepted a paying job, even as a waitress or store clerk, temporarily. Four months without pay is really going to keep us living on the edge. Dear, sweet Lacey spent all her tips on this week’s grub, and the bag of Granny Smiths was a veritable splurge.
“Thanks, Lace. What would I do without you?”
“Oh, probably starve to death,” she counters nonchalantly. “But I’m not worried. Once you snag this big-time job, you’ll be picking up the grocery bills from now on.”