“My job is a little unorthodox, but I never have to deal with that shit.” Mel shifts in her seat.
I glance at her. “Unorthodox? What do you mean?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see.” We drive on in silence.
About forty minutes later, we are at a building in Manhattan. A street light floods the sidewalk in front. It looks like an office building. We go inside and ride the elevator up to the seventeenth floor. When the doors open, we’re standing in an open space. The room is decorated in browns and beiges with little splashes of color here or there. It looks like an office.
I glance at Mel. “I thought you worked at a hotel?”
“I do, but this is where I check in.” She walks past me and turns a corner. I follow her down a hallway. Mel stops in front of an office door. She smoothes her dress, like she’s nervous, and knocks. Looking back at me she says quickly, “Don’t say anything. Just listen and answer whatever she asks you.”
My brows pull together. What the hell am I doing here? Mel is dressed up and from the looks of it, we are in an empty office space. There’s no music, no noise. It’s totally silent.
“Enter,” a female voice says, and Melony pushes the door open. A woman in her early forties sits behind a glass desk. She doesn’t look up. “Right on time. Come in and close the door.”
Mel’s voice cracks, “I brought someone for you to meet.” The woman at the desk lifts her eyes and sees me. She immediately shoots daggers at Mel. Mel holds up her hands, explaining, “I didn’t say anything. I told her to come and talk to you. I didn’t breech my contract, Miss Black. I need to keep this job, but my friend here is in the same position as I was and I thought you were looking for someone new.”
I know Mel told me to stay quiet, but I can’t. I don’t want her to lose her job because of me. “It’s all right. I can wait in the car.” I turn to leave.
The woman behind the desk rises. Her gaze slips over me quickly. She says to Mel, “Family? Boyfriend? Funding?”
“No to all three,” Mel answers.
I stop and stare at the two of them.
“Come with me, Miss. We’ll have a chat. Melony can wait here.” The woman walks swiftly past me. We move to a table in the back corner of the floor. There is a couch behind us and some more nondescript art on the walls. She sits at the table. It’s metal with a glass top. I sit across from her and cross my ankles and pull them under my seat. It feels like an interview.
“Miss Black,” I say apologetically, “I’m sorry for disrupting your evening. Mel said this was a good job and I need a good job, so I came.”
She nods at me. Miss Black crosses her legs at the knee and leans back in her chair. “How old are you? Twenty-two?” I nod. “Family?”
“Deceased.” I still feel the knot in my throat when I say it. I wonder if that’ll ever go away.
“What are you attending school for?”
“I want to be a marriage and family counselor when I graduate. I have to finish undergrad and grad school first. I have a very generous scholarship that pays for my classes, fees, and books, but I still have to pay for rent and food.”
“You need a job with better pay and fewer hours?” she asks, and I nod. “Are you involved with anyone?”
My eyebrows start to creep up my face. “No, but—”
“Any piercings or tattoos?” Miss Black’s eyes sweep over me, like she’s looking for them through my dress.
“No,” I blurt out, confused. What does it matter if a hotel clerk has tattoos?
“And I’m guessing that’s the best dress and shoes you own.” I nod, not wanting to answer. It’s all I could afford. I thought I looked nice, but I was already at work and then there was the thing with my car. “If you work for us, we expect you to have a certain kind of attire. There are stores where you have to shop. It’s not optional. Is that a problem?”
“Only if I can’t afford to shop there.”
She smiles, “Oh, you’ll be able to afford it. Listen. You seem like the type of girl we are looking for—no attachments, driven, hardworking, and ethical.” I try not to smile. I still don’t know what the job is, but my heart starts to race like I want it very badly. Miss Black takes a card from her pocket and slips it across the table to me. “That is starting salary. It’s paid weekly, in cash.”
A warning bell is chiming softly in my head before I glance at the card. Cash, why is it cash? Some companies hire extra staff off the books. It shouldn’t spook me, but it does when I lift the card. My jaw drops open. “This is more money than I make in a month.” Holy shit! Mel wasn’t exaggerating.