Neanderthal Seeks Human

Keira moved her attention to an impressively large monitor on her desk and nodded, “Yes, here you are. Today is your first day- right?”

I opened my mouth and a small squeak came out before I said, “No, no- I’m just here for an interview.”

She moved her attention back to me, confusion clouding her angular features, “But, didn’t Mr. Sullivan recruit you?”

“I wasn’t- Qui- I mean, Mr. Sullivan arranged for the interview, yes-”

I was interrupted by a new voice. “Ah- you must be Janie Morris.”

I turned to my left at the words and tried to smile warmly at the approaching man but was struck momentarily speechless. With my heels on he was exactly my height and he was the definition of, what my friend Ashley liked to call, a brown sugar hottie. His dark chocolate eyes were framed with long, black lashes, his skin was warm olive, and he had a slow, easy smile bracketed by dimples. He wore a grey suit, white shirt, and silver tie.

“Yes, I’m Janie.” I half croaked as I extended my hand. He enclosed my hand in both of his and gave it a firm, professional shake.

“I’m Carlos. I’m so glad you could start on such short notice. Come with me, I’ll get you settled in.”

“I- start?” My voice was strained and hoarse so I cleared my throat, “Um, wait. I- that is, I was under the impression that this was an interview.”

Carlos blinked his pretty lashes at me, his smile waning but not disappearing, “Oh, I see.” His eyes moved between mine, his gaze still warm, “Certainly, we can start with an interview if you wish.” He turned and motioned for me to follow him down the hall.

If I wish?

I matched his stride and tried to suppress a new flutter of uncertainty as I walked next to him, “I have extra copies of my resume if you need them.”

He softly chuckled, “No, no need. We’ve done a background check, you’re very qualified and have excellent references.”

My face warmed at the compliment I wasn’t sure I deserved. He led me past a series of offices and I noted the lack of cubicles. He paused at one office and asked me to wait a moment. I heard him ask the inhabitant to join us then we continued.

Carlos’s office was moderately sized, not huge but not small either, and seemed to be only slightly larger than the rest of the rooms we’d passed. He motioned for me to sit in one of two brown leather club chairs as he walked around his desk.

“So, Ms. Morris. Why don’t you start by telling me about yourself?” His voice was very soothing and his brown eyes sparkled as he leaned back in his chair.

As I was doing my best to give a good impression, carefully choosing my words and trying to stay on topic, another man entered. He was tall and lean; his blond hair disheveled as though he’d been running his hands through it, his grey eyes peered at me from behind fashionably black horned-rimmed glasses perched on a nose which was a little too pronounced for his thin face.

He immediately crossed to me and held out his hand, “Oh, thank God you’re here! I’m Steven, we’re going to be great friends.” He gave me a single shake then half sank, half collapsed into the empty brown club chair next to mine, “These people! There is so much to do. I spent this morning summarizing the projects for you.”

Carlos cleared his throat and gave Steven a friendly smile, “Ms. Morris is here for an interview. I don’t believe she has accepted the position yet.”

Steven looked between me and Carlos, his face betraying his inner horror, “What?!”

Carlos dipped his head, “Steven.” his voice was thick with warning.

Steven affixed his attention squarely on me, “Janie- can I call you Janie?” I nodded but he didn’t wait for me to ascent before he continued, “Janie, I need help. As Carlos explained it, you are a numbers person. You have experience managing client accounts. Your references say you are a hellva accountant. You have no criminal record. You tutor children once a week so that means you’re good with big babies. You look like a Scandinavian version of Diana Prince.” I coughed at the comparison between me and Wonder Woman’s alter-ego; but Steven continued, “And, assuming you can string three words together, you’ll be a smashing success with our business partners. I’ll be honest, Janie, they don’t like me. I’m not pretty enough to go out in public. I’m a hard worker and I’m a tax wizard but I make the clients uncomfortable. You’ll do nicely.”

“Steven, Ms. Morris was just telling me about her work experience-”

Ignoring Carlos, Steven scooted his seat closer to mine and drew my attention to an iPad on his lap, “Now, these are all the current accounts,” he trailed his finger down a column of numbers, codes which denoted account names, and I noted that the columns had no title headings, “and these are the payment terms, the filing terms, here are the estimated expenditures for this quarter and the actual for last quarter. This is the project balance for the year. Got it?”

I nodded, looking over the spreadsheet, “Why don’t you use column headings?”

“They slow me down.”

“Hm.” His response made no sense. I tried not to focus on the gargantuan size of the dollar figures but instead on scrutinizing the veracity of the calculated amounts, “Your formula is wrong here and-” I pointed to two separate boxes on the spreadsheet, “here. Also, when did this account open? The balance should be negative if the projected expenditure column is correct.”

I looked up at Steven, his thin lips were pressed together in a quivering smile. “Good girl. Test passed. I think I love you, Janie. Let’s get married and not have children.”

My eyes widened for a brief moment; I felt sure he was teasing me but, looking into his dancing grey eyes, I knew he meant it as a compliment. I returned his smile. I liked Steven.

Carlos broke the silence, “Ms. Morris, the job is yours if you’d like it.”

“Oh, please say yes.” Steven’s smile widened.

“To the proposal or the job?” I asked.

“If you have to pick one, to the job.” Steven handed the iPad to me then reached out his hand to shake mine again, “I snore and you’re too tall, we’d divorce within a year.”

I laughed, stood, and shook his hand, not minding that he’d remarked on my height. “Fine then, I accept the job.” I turned to Carlos, who was also standing at this point, “Although, I’d like to see a job description; I’d like to make sure I can actually do the job you’ve apparently hired me for.”

Carlos gave me another disarming dimpled smile which could only be described as adorable; “Of course. You get settled in with Steven and I’ll have Olivia email it to you.” He came around the desk and, like before, shook my hand with both of his, “And if you have any questions please don’t hesitate to come find me.”

It was decided that, instead of meeting at Kat’s apartment for knitting night, as it was her turn, we were all to meet for drinks then dinner at South Water Kitchen for a Janie-is-once-again-able-to-pay-income-taxes celebration. It was a Tuesday, it was the second day at my new job, and it was exactly two weeks since my worst-day-ever.

Almost immediately upon settling into our seats, Elizabeth introduced the subject of Quinn along with Friday night, monkeys, na**d cage dances, Saturday morning McHotpants breakfast, and the business card that led to my new job by saying:

“You all remember McHotpants, the security guard? Well, Janie and I saw him at that new club where the na**d ladies dance with the monkeys, his name is Quinn, and she went home with him after being drugged. They had breakfast together Saturday and he got her the interview for her new job.”

It was like throwing Hustler magazines at sex addicts. After a two second lull of stunned silence, everyone started talking excitedly at once. Elizabeth sent me a sweet smile over her ice water.

The entire first half hour of the evening was consumed by me regaling the ladies with the events of my weekend plus the Monday non-interview job interview. A few questions, largely relating to trivial clarifications, interrupted my story but mostly they sat and listened with a grave, almost reverential silence. Every time the waiter came by to take our order Sandra and Ashley would shoo him away by demanding wine with quiet, urgent whispers.

As I neared the end of my story I could feel the tension building in the group; I sensed that they were restless with questions but Elizabeth seemed to have an agenda and, when I finally reached my conclusion, she interjected:

“This is what I don’t understand: how did Quinn know you were up in the Canopy room? Or did he? Did he go up there to get you or did he just happen to go up there? And is that why he was suddenly like ‘you need to leave’ when he found out the Canopy room people bought us drinks? He must have known the people up there were shady. And- furthermore- since we suspect that you were slipped something, what is to be done about it?”

She glowed with an almost Sherlock Holmes-esque satisfaction and sat back in her seat while the group speculated on her questions. Undeniably, Elizabeth seemed to have given the entire encounter a great deal more thought than I.

Although I tended to obsess about topics like the English vernacular, the height of the average Brazil nut tree, and international date standards, I had a habit of ignoring important details like who drugged me and how did I feel about blacking out only to wake up mostly na**d in a strange apartment with seven pieces of furniture.