Seven
I’ve barely settled into my desk and turned on my computer the next morning when my inbox pings. “Laurel, come to my office as soon as you read this.” My stomach hiccups when I see the email is from the Manicotti.
Am I fired already? But wait, how could Mr. Mantoni fire me if my dad owns the company? Besides, I haven’t done anything.
Exactly, I think as I stand up to meet my summoner. I haven’t done anything to help the interns yet. Crud.
I pass Carlos as I rush down the stairs.
“You going on a donut run?” His smile crinkles the skin around his eyes.
“No. I have a meeting with Mr. Mantoni.”
His smile falters. “Good luck.”
“Thanks, I need it.”
Mr. Mantoni’s head gleams under the industrial lighting in his office. He glances up as soon as I enter his peripheral vision. He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t look ready to throw me overboard, either.
“Laurel. Come in. Shut the door behind you and take a seat.”
Uh-oh. I close the door, feeling like Qa’hr trapped with the scary alien. I sit across from a desk piled high with stacks of papers.
“So.” His eyes narrow behind the creepy rimless glasses. “How’s it going so far?”
“It’s, um, okay. Sort of quiet as everyone gets settled.”
He studies me without blinking and it takes all my effort to keep my eyes wide and innocent, my lips forming what I hope is an “I love it here” smile.
He glances down at a stack of papers and straightens it, which seems futile.
“Your father and I have discussed your role here. We want your honest evaluation of all the interns. We want you to get to know them over the next couple of months.”
I nod, recalling my convo with my sister. I clear my throat. “Um, do you think maybe I could see their applications?”
He frowns, rubbing a hand over his bald head. “Hmm. Those applications are confidential. Let me think about it.” He pins with me a look that makes me grateful for Dad Vader. “You heard each of their introductions already.”
“Yeah but…that’s what they wanted us to hear.” Not that they weren’t honest, but those intros were like the cover of a book—shiny and enticing, but only a hint of what’s inside.
“You can get to know them on a level that we can’t, Laurel. You’re their age, speak their language.” He waves his hand around like he’s talking about a magic formula he doesn’t understand.
“But, um, what about Trish?” I dare to ask. “I’m not evaluating her, right?”
Mr. Mantoni’s face closes up like a garage door. “No. Probably best if you give her a wide berth.”
I can’t ignore her. That will just make her dislike me even more.
“Check LinkedIn,” he says gruffly. “We made them fill out online profiles as part of the application process.” He picks up another messy stack of papers and shuffles it, then looks at me with a narrowed squint. “People are more than meets the eye, Laurel. Remember that. Each of them has something…big…they’re dealing with.”
He turns his attention back to his computer and jerks his head toward the door. I stand up and back away from his desk, escaping into the hallway. His words churn in my mind. How can I evaluate them if I don’t know whatever their “something big” is?
I hope there are donuts again today because I desperately need sugar. I relax as I enter the cheery kitchen, a stark contrast to the weirdness I just escaped. A few employees are gathered around the espresso machine, including Brian, the copier tutor. He smiles and nods in my direction, then refocuses on the conversation.
No donuts today, but I spot a few brownies in one of the snack baskets, so I grab one. I’d love a cappuccino, but I don’t want to interrupt the conversation, so I turn to leave, running smack into Jason and Trish.
“Hey, Laurel.” Jason smiles at me, but I don’t feel a swoon coming on.
Trish grunts as she moves past me. “’Scuse me, I need coffee,” she says to the group gathered at the counter. They move out of her way.
“How’s everything going?” Jason asks. We’ve spoken more in three days than our entire school tenure together. This should make me deliriously happy, but I still can’t shake the feeling that the pedestal I’ve put him on for years was made of cotton.
“Okay.” I shrug. “How about you? What do you think of the job so far?”
Why did I ask that? Considering who my dad is, I’ve just put him on the spot. And based on his flushing face, that’s exactly how he feels.
“Uh, well, it’s great. I’m grateful for the awesome opportunity.” He answers like I’m a sports reporter at a game: “We just got out there and executed. I’m grateful Coach gave me a chance to play.”
“Yeah, I, um, hope it works out for you.”
When his eyes widen, I wonder if I shouldn’t have said that. Does it sound like I’m playing favorites? Argh.
My eyes flick toward the coffee machine. Trish is finished so I take her place, relieved to be interacting with an inanimate object. I expect her to leave as my cappuccino brews, but she doesn’t. She watches me like a hawk stalking a baby rabbit. I hope she kills fast and painlessly.
Laughter bounces off the walls as the other interns enter the kitchen. Elijah heads straight for the coffee, flashing me a grin as he grabs an espresso pod.
“Mornin’, Laurel. How’s our personal assistant today?” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice. I wonder if he’s sucking up to the boss’s kid or if he’s just a decent guy being friendly.
I pick the second option, hoping it’s true.
“I’m great,” I lie. “How are you?” The coffee machine burbles and steams. My eyes flick toward everyone else. Jason is chattering animatedly to Ashley while Trish scowls at Carlos, who studies the brownie in his hand like it’s the Rosetta Stone.
“I’m stupendous,” Elijah says, recapturing my attention. “Ready to spread the awesome Death Star speaker far and wide.” He winks, and I feel my cheeks flush. He takes a step closer and lowers his voice. “I’m the biggest Star Wars nerd around.” His eyebrows lift in a question. “Except maybe for you?”
My blush deepens. “Uh, yeah.” I swallow and decide to go for it. “You go to Comic Con?”
His grin is bone-melting. “Every year. Last year my girlfriend went as Rey and I went as Finn. I had to represent.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “How about you? Were you one of the awesome Reys I saw running around the con last year?”
I don’t think I’ve ever been on the receiving end of attention from a guy as charming and fabulously nerdy as Elijah. He’s going to be easy to get to know.
“Yeah,” I manage to squeak out. “I made my costume.”
I’d gone as Rey even though I knew a million other people would, too. I wonder if his girlfriend was one of the many Reys I’d asked to pose for a photo. Heck, I might even have a picture of both of them on my computer. Half the reason I loved Comic Con was photographing the amazing cosplayers.
Elijah raises his hand and I meet him halfway for a resounding high-five. The conversation among the other interns ceases as everyone turns to stare at us.
“Nothing to see here,” Elijah says to our audience. “Move along.”
I giggle at his Star Wars quote and he shoots me another wink, but now I know it’s conspiratorial, not flirtatious. Honestly, I’m relieved he has a girlfriend. I appreciate his friendliness.
“We should head upstairs.” Carlos’s curious gaze slides between Elijah and me. “Before the big guy busts us.” He freezes and turns to Trish. “Sorry. I, uh––”
Trish shrugs. “It’s okay. I’ve heard him called worse. And you’re right, he’ll be pissed if he thinks we’re just messing around instead of working.”
She turns to leave the kitchen and a flicker of sympathy twinges in my chest. Maybe this gig is as hard for her as it is for me. Maybe worse, since her dad is so weird, and my dad’s…well, possibly not nearly as bad as I assumed.
Ashley and Jason leave, but Carlos hangs back, waiting for Elijah, I assume.
I trail behind them, and Carlos pauses, glancing over his shoulder at me. “Elevator or stairs?”
So, he’s including me? I’m surprised but try not to show it. “Either,” I say as we walk down the hallway, but then remember I forgot to tell Miss Emmaline a joke this morning.
“You guys go ahead. I need to do something.” I cross the lobby, putting my friendliest grin in place.
Miss Emmaline glances up. The intensity of her glare matches the intensity of my smile, which fuels my determination.
“Hi, Miss Emmaline.” I rest my arms on the raised counter that surrounds her desk. “Did you hear about the pancake, fried egg, and strip of bacon that walked into a bar?” I wait, but she’s silent as a stone. “The bartender said, ‘Sorry, we don’t serve breakfast.’”
Miss Emmaline’s face remains frozen, but behind me I hear a groan and a laugh. Ugh. Why’d they have to follow me over here? I keep my smile in place and drum my fingers on the counter. “Have a fabulous day, Miss Emmaline. I’ll see if I can do better tomorrow.” I whirl around, heading for the elevator, Elijah and Carlos flanking me.
I stab the elevator button, wishing they hadn’t overheard my stupid joke.
“What was that about?” Carlos asks, laughter dancing in his eyes.
I glance at him, but I can’t maintain eye contact because a) I’m embarrassed and b) his deep brown gaze does all sorts of crazy stuff to my insides.
“You trying to suck up to Miss Emmaline?” Elijah asks as we step into the elevator.
The doors slide shut and I stare at my feet. “Maybe,” I mutter.
“Why?” they ask simultaneously.
I glance up. “Because she…”
No. I’m not going to confess my pathetic need for approval. I already look like a total dork, why make it worse?
“It’s weird that she didn’t laugh,” Carlos says. “I mean, other than the fact it was a dumb joke. Usually she’s friendly.”
I glare at him. “Old people like corny jokes. And maybe she’s friendly to you but not to me.”
The elevator doors slide open and Elijah backs out, pointing to me as he walks backward. “Pro tip, Laurel. Never call old people ‘old.’”
“Good point.” Carlos laughs softly next to me. His arm brushes mine and a tingle zooms from my fingers to my heart.
“I’m not rude,” I say, doing my best to ignore the tingle. “I’d never say that to her face. I just—”
“Hustle up, interns!” Mr. Mantoni looms in the doorway to the sky box.
Carlos and Elijah speed up, but I hang back to gather my composure.
When I enter the vast room, everyone is gathered by the windows at a round table, with the Death Star on display. I realize belatedly there isn’t a chair for me at the table. I hesitate, then turn toward my desk.
“Jason, grab a chair for Laurel.” Carlos’s voice stops me in my tracks. Jason jumps up and follows orders. Ashley grumbles as he wedges the chair next to her. Carlos shoots Ashley a warning look, so she moves just enough for the chair to slide in. After all that commotion, I have no choice but to join them.
“All right,” the Manicotti says. “You all know your task. I expect good things.” He tugs at his yellow tie. “Also, you’re all invited to Friday Foosball. If you want to challenge the regular staff, a sign-up sheet is in the kitchen. We’ll have beer but none of you are to touch it, understood?” He encompasses all of us with his glare.
We all nod, except for Trish, whose mouth twists in a defiant smirk. I wonder if she’ll do a keg stand.
“I’ll leave you to it.” Mr. Mantoni steps away from the table. “You know where to find me or Ms. Simmons if you have questions. Email works, too.” He glances at me. “Laurel, make sure everyone has whatever office supplies they need. Ask Miss Emmaline for the key to the valuables cabinet in the supply room if you need it.”
Carlos and Elijah dart me amused glances, though Carlos’s lingers longer than Elijah’s.
“Oh, excellent,” Ashley chirps. “I have a list of things I need.”
Great.
As soon as the Manicotti is out of earshot, Trish leans forward.
“Look, guys. I know you all think my dad is crazy. Hell, I think he’s certifiable. But I…” She takes a breath and I inhale with her, feeling like she’s speaking for both of us. “If you could just…try to forget he’s my dad, okay? Just think of me as one of you.”
Envy and admiration pulse through me. Why didn’t I think of saying that?
“Deal,” Carlos says. He tilts his chin and grins at her, and everyone else chimes in their agreement. All eyes turn to me and I realize I haven’t acknowledged her request. I take a deep breath as I meet Trish’s suspicious gaze.
“Of course,” I say. “I know just how you feel.”
“It’s different for you.” Trish’s voice is tight. “Everyone likes your dad. Plus, he owns the place.” Her lips curve, but not in a friendly way. “Anyway, you’re not an intern so it doesn’t matter.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I spin my peace symbol ring around my finger. I sure don’t feel peaceful right now, and I wish Carlos hadn’t forced me to join them. Someone coughs. Jason shifts next to me on his chair and Ashley tosses her hair over her shoulder, a few shiny strands whacking me in the face.
“Okay,” Trish says, sounding determined. “Let’s get to work on selling this stupid toy.”
“Hey,” Elijah protests. “I told you before, this isn’t a toy. This is a legit lifestyle accessory.”
If I thought anyone would listen to me, I’d back up Elijah. The chattering fills my ears like a flock of hungry seagulls. I think about Qa’hr making repairs to the rickety spaceship she’s hitched a ride on, finding a way to make herself useful. With a surge of determination, I stand up.
“Where are you going?” asks Trish, eyes narrowed.
I meet her challenging stare and channel my inner Qa’hr. “Paper clip emergency.” I turn to Ashley. “Give me your list of supplies.” She tears it out of her notebook.
Halfway to the door, I turn back. “I’m your only hope. If I don’t come back with supplies, save yourselves.” Then I flounce away, hoping I look more like a confident Leia than a stiff C-3PO.
Deep laughter rolls across the room, and I’m pretty sure it’s Carlos who’s laughing.
…
After I gather the supplies on Ashley’s list and a few items for me, I swing by Ms. Romero’s office for a confidence boost from a friendly ally.
“How’s it going up there?” Her voice is warm, like she cares about my answer.
“Fine.” I square my shoulders. I’m not going to complain anymore. I’ve got to make this work.
“How about Trish? You two getting along?” Ms. Romero’s gaze is sharp, leaving no doubt she’s pegged our dynamic.
“Sure.” I reach up to push a curl behind my ear and smile brightly.
She looks skeptical, but before she can respond, the door to my dad’s office opens and he steps out, adjusting his striped tie. He freezes mid-step when he sees me.
“Laurel. Do you need something?”
“No, I just stopped by to say hi to Ms. Romero.”
Dad nods, then taps his watch. “I need to get to a meeting. See you back here after five, all right?”
“Sure.” For a second, I hoped he might ask me to join him for lunch, but that’s never going to happen. He has worlds to conquer.
Heaviness weighs me down as I trudge up the stairs to the sky box. I hoped I’d get more time with my dad by working here, but he’s so busy I doubt I will. Maybe I should use a fake name and call Ms. Romero to get on his calendar.
Back in the sky box, the interns are still gathered around the table, having what my mom would euphemistically call a “healthy debate.”
I settle at my desk, surprised to see a single-serving box of Special K cereal on my desk. A post-it note is stuck to the box: If your dad is Mr. K, then you must be Special K. I eye the interns suspiciously, wondering who did this.
With a sigh, I shove the box in a desk drawer, then put in my earbuds and check my email. Another all-employee message about the foosball event, bemoaning the lack of dessert signups. Maybe I’ll make something, like a good little assistant.
Since I’m not allowed access to the interns’ job applications, I decide to check them out on LinkedIn like the Manicotti suggested.
Candidate one, the supermodel. Ashley’s face pops up, along with a résumé listing all of her fabulous volunteer activities, her volleyball stardom, her student advisory board service and her college major plans. Nothing surprises me––she’s perfect on paper. And yet…something in her life isn’t perfect or she wouldn’t be here. I doodle a row of question marks in my notebook, then type Jason’s name into the search box.
His profile picture reminds me of all of the yearbook photos I used to drool over. I glance at the table where the debate rages on. I wonder what it’s about, but I don’t want to look desperate to be included, so I return to Jason’s profile. It’s a lot like Ashley’s, full of volunteer projects, sports, and of course, the plays.
I wonder what I’ll put on my LinkedIn profile when it’s time to make one. I suppose I can list this job, but I’ll have to lie. “Advised interns on proper work attire and lunch options.” I snicker to myself, then pull up Elijah’s page.
Elijah’s profile is dynamic, just like him. Activities and interests leap off the page. I wonder what his backstory is. Someday I might know him well enough to ask, since he’s the friendliest of the bunch.
I realize I’ve saved Carlos for last. Was it intentional? I check the table to make sure everyone is still occupied. The interns have unearthed a pad of giant paper and affixed a sheet to the window. Carlos is standing, scribbling on the paper with a marker as everyone else talks and gestures.
On my computer screen, Carlos grins like whoever took the photo was a friend. His eyes sparkle with humor and a dimple peeks out on the left side of his mouth. Like everyone else, his profile lists clubs, activities, and college major interests. For the past three years, he’s worked at a restaurant called Encantado on the west side of town. He’s done everything from washing dishes to cooking to waiting tables.
Curious, I look up the restaurant online. A website pops up with photos that are a bit fuzzy and out-of-focus. The interior shots of the colorful restaurant are fun, except for the focus issues. I click the “about us” button and strike gold.
“The Rubio family has owned Encantado for nineteen years. Encantado means ‘charmed’ and our restaurant reflects the warmth and love we share as a family. We love to welcome friends to our family table and hope you will be charmed by our people and our menu.”
Nice ad copy. I wonder if Carlos wrote it? I study the family photo, wishing it was clearer. I assume the middle-aged couple are his parents. Carlos stands next to his mom. On his other side is a boy who looks about ten, and next to him are two younger girls who must be twins. Fanning out from the dad’s side of the photo are several people who look to be in their twenties and thirties, and an older couple who might be grandparents.
Everyone has dark hair and beautiful eyes. And gorgeous smiles. My fingers itch to retake the photo so it does them justice. I’d like to reshoot the restaurant photos, too, at better angles and with better composition.
“Hey.”
I almost jump out of my chair when Carlos appears at my desk, then fumble with my mouse to minimize my browser.
“What’s up?” I try to look bored, not at all obsessed with retaking his photo.
He runs a hand through his dark hair, the hair I now know is a family trait. He’s wearing khakis again today, and a pale blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing sinewy forearms.
“Sorry about how things went earlier.” His gaze locks on mine and my oxygen levels plummet. “You’re part of the team, too, Laurel.” He glances toward the table. “Trish was…out of line.”
“Maybe she just said what everyone else is thinking.” I draw circles on my desk with my finger. “That I’m a spoiled rich girl who’s only here because of her dad.”
Carlos shoves his hands in his pockets. “That’s not what I think.” He sounds frustrated. “I don’t know what’s up with you and Trish, but not everyone is your enemy.”
Guilt snakes through me. It was decent of him to try to make me feel better.
“Sorry, I just…I don’t know.” I force a half smile. “Even Miss Emmaline doesn’t like me. I feel like the unwanted little sister everyone has to put up with.”
He blinks, those chocolatey eyes wide and surprised. “But you’re…” He clears his throat and glances away, then back again. “I guess it’s hard being the boss’s daughter. But that doesn’t mean everyone hates you.”
My pulse throbs in my ears and wrists, which is ridiculous because whatever this is, it’s not flirting. It can’t be.
“We’re going to grab sandwiches at the deli,” he says. “You want to come with us?”
“I…uh…” I remember my plan to take photos for the Faces of Denver contest. “I have plans. But thanks for asking.” Ask me again another day, I want to say, just you.
He shrugs and steps back. “Maybe join us after lunch? We can’t agree on a Death Star plan. Maybe you can be the deciding vote.” His lips quirk up. “Again.”
“Okay.” I want him to like me. Not like that, because that’s a pipe dream, but as a person with good ideas. An equal.
He slants me a quick smile, flashing the dimple, then heads back to the table as the eighth rule flashes like a scoreboard in my mind: NO FRATERNIZING!!!