3
“Thank you so much.”
Perhaps she’d sounded a less sarcastic in her life, but Sarah Hemmings doubted it. She watched her father exit her room, frustration on her face. She’d graduated in October and yet, here she was, jobless. She’d tried, oh, how she’d tried. She had gone to job interviews, recruiting campaigns, group interviews, company tours, drug tests, networking meetings, and a thousand other business-related events. Each and every one of them had hit a dead end eventually. Each ended in disappointment, be it due to her father, her lack of experience, or even for simply being a woman. No one had wanted to hire her. She’d tried a false name to distance herself from her father's reputation as a shrewd businessman with an eye for hostile takeovers. That had gone about as well as every other venture: failure, all over.
Sarah swung her legs back and forth, her slip-on flats scuffing the ground under her feet. She stared down at the plush carpet with annoyance, and blew a stray hair from her face. It wasn’t that she was strictly against working with her father's best friend, but that no one had thought to ask her. In truth, she was eager to work with Garrett; he was a clever and ingenious businessman who ran a rather transparent company. He did things not only by the book, but he ascribed to doing things in such a way that it might help others. His business funded housing for the homeless, and donated to charity regularly. All in all it wasn’t a bad gig, but she hated that no one had thought to ask her how she felt about it. Yes, there was a certain amount of privilege being the daughter of one of America’s most wealthy men, but Sarah had never really asked for anything either. She lived rather humbly, despite her upbringing. Her father had been a humble man before he’d built his way to the top, and so he’d instilled the same value into Sarah. ‘Money did not make the heart fund, or the deed good,’ he’d always told her.
She stood and paced in front of the window, considering her options. She could refuse, but that was really just shooting herself in the foot. She didn’t want to rely on her father for help, and this still felt like relying on him. Yet it wouldn’t be with him, and Garrett had said he would treat her like anyone else. She hoped not, at least not by him. Her stomach did a funny little flip-flop at the thought of him, and she blushed. It was normal, she thought, for girls to experience lust for male figures in their lives. But it had proved to be more than infatuation or lust; she’d been looking at him since she had hit puberty. She still remembered when he’d married that awful ice queen. He’d asked her to be his flower girl, and told her he was getting married. She had cried, and he had hugged her and held her, wrongly assuming she was crying in joy. Sarah had never bothered to correct him.
It wasn’t so bad, she finally decided. After all, she could be close to Garrett, and that would make it all the better.
*****
Entering the immense Watt’s Tower, Sarah made her way to the elevator without stopping at reception. Hitting the button, she waited anxiously as she watched the three to see which one would come down fastest.
“Ma’am? Are you Sarah Hemmings?” the receptionist looked just as nervous as Sarah felt.
“Yes, I’m here for my 9:30 appointment with Mr. Skjaervo,” Sarah informed her quickly, as if the woman might eject her for her nervousness.
“Oh, good, here, you’ll need this key! The elevator won’t take you to the top without it,” the nervous brunette shuffled around her desk before retrieving a black card and heading over to hand it off to Sarah.
“Thank you,” Sarah said, rushing into elevator that opened nearest to her. She inserted the key under the 61st floor, and hit the button, sending the elevator quietly rising. For the tenth time since entering the building, she took a look at her watch to confirm she was five minutes early. Lastly, she straightened her black midi skirt and made sure her grey cardigan looked good. A final check of her up-do ponytail and her makeup in the elevator’s reflective paneling, and she was ready.
The doors opened with a near silent ding and Sarah stepped out, momentarily lost. There was a reception area in cool blues and chrome. A desk with two attractive, nearly identical brunettes sat in front of a wall of frosted glass, both typing away on keyboards. Neither looked up to see her until she approached.
“Excuse me, I have-”
“A 9:30 with Mr. Skjaervo. We know,” said the leftmost one cheerfully. The woman on the right was already dialing into a phone, and speaking. Sarah could hear her tell the other person that Sarah Hemmings was here. For a moment, a wave of defeat crashed over her. This would be just the same as any other interview – not even her longtime family friend would hire her for an internship!
“Mr. Skjaervo will see you now,” chirped the left one again, indicating a recess in the glass panel to her left.
Sarah nodded a thank you, headed to the recess, and walked down the hall. Entering the office, Sarah wondered why he ever went home. The three walls that did not face the reception area were glass, giving an incredible view of the city and its skyline. The floors and ceiling were a disorienting black shade of tile, and the room was decorated modernly with chrome and white fixtures. There was a fish tank to one side, a chaise lounge with sitting area, a wet bar, and two more enormous fish tanks. A fireplace sat near the seating area, and at the far back was a black marble desk.
The desk itself was immense. It seemed to be raw cut from a large piece of granite with white fissures breaking up the sleek, dark color. The front was roughhewn, but the top was as smooth as could be. For a moment, Sarah wondered if the front of the desk might give someone bending over the desk a place to grip. Was it designed for that? Would Sarah ever get to test it out?
She wanted to.
Sarah swallowed and made her way towards the desk and the single white chair opposite. Garrett stood near the furthest corner, a headset indicating the person he was speaking to was not her.
Framed in the light of an early morning, Sarah tried her best not to swoon. Garrett was a hair taller than her father, his physique under his suit all lean muscle. His jaw was square, and he’d taken to letting a beard grow, though he kept it closely trimmed. His hair was dark and cut short, styled up with the minimum effort he liked to put into his hair. The smattering of silver throughout hair and beard did not detract from his look, but seemed to instead enhance it. His skin was tan, more from his mixed heritage than any time in the sun or tanning bed, and his eyes were a lovely, warm shade of blue.
He finished his phone call and turned to Sarah, his lips quirking up into that sexy almost-smile that still sent a thrill of lust down her spine.
“Let's begin, shall we?”