Chapter One
My heel catches on the rough grooves of the sticky bus floor, and I stumble down the stairs, maintaining my balance enough to prop myself up against the nearby stoplight. I straighten my black pump, which dislodged from my foot, run a hand over my tailored blouse, and gaze up at the imposing fifty-story skyscraper.
This is the first job interview I’ve had in six months. I sold my ’97 Honda Civic to buy food, pay my share of the rent, and to have just enough cash not to be scared shitless. Now that small stash was running out. My $38,000 college loans are deferred for only three more months. I try to push the desperate thoughts out of my mind for the sake of looking professional, but they weigh on me like a ton of bricks.
Breathe, Annabelle. Don’t forget to breathe.
My eyes roam the building directory encased in marble and glass to find TALVIS Advertising Agency. It occupies the entire top floor. The elevator whisks me up, and I walk through the sleek double glass doors to be greeted by the friendly receptionist.
“Good morning. May I help you?”
“Hi. I’m Annabelle Ried. I’m here to see Kalin Davis for a job interview.” My tense nerves cause my statement to sound more like a question.
“Certainly. Please sign in and follow me.” The office buzzes with activity as the receptionist guides me to a conference room. She is trim and tall in an elegant green and black dress that highlights her striking green eyes. Her straight blond hair flows elegantly over her back. “Mr. Davis will be right with you. May I get you some coffee or some water?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
She smiles and closes the glass door.
I wonder if everyone who works here has to be a ten. I sit down at a table much too large for two people. The view of New York is dramatic, with the rivers of cars and pedestrians flowing through the canyon walls of the city. Steel-framed skyscrapers topped with spires, antennas, and pyramid-shaped crowns reach skyward like mountain peaks against the backdrop of the city lanes and surrounding bay.
I settle in a cushy leather chair and fold my hands on the table, rehearsing memorized lines about my education, experience, and goals. This is my last chance. If I don’t get this job, I’ll have to resort to doing just about anything.
“Miss Ried.”
I turn to see a tall figure standing before me in what must be a five-thousand-dollar Italian suit. His dark hair is pushed back over the sharp features of his handsome, square face. His broad shoulders and chest fill his suit to a delightful athletic shape that tapers over his tall frame. The red tie draws my attention to his firm and sensual lips.
“Annabelle Ried.” His deep, rich voice vibrates over me. I drop my pen and scurry to the floor to pick it up.
I jerk my arm forward to grab the pen, and Mr. Davis crouches down and hands it to me. I try to ignore his clean, sweet scent that washes over me. We both stand up, my nerves fluttering in my stomach. “Thank you, Mr. Davis. It’s nice to meet you,” I say in a cracked voice.
“Nice to meet you, Miss Ried. Kalin Davis. Please, sit down.” He extends his arm back toward my chair and waits for me to sit down before he takes his place at the table.
Mr. Davis opens the portfolio and glances over my resume, shifting his big brown eyes to me, and back to the resume. “University of Texas. Excellent marketing program. How’d you like it?”
“It was beautiful. The location was par excellence. Close to home too.”
“Close to the beach, close to rivers and mountains.” He continues to scan my resume.
“You certainly pay a premium for it.” I try to make light of the situation, while hinting at the reality of the high cost.
“Like most things worth having, Miss Ried.” A hint of a smile appears on his face while he continues roaming my resume. “The reason I am interviewing you personally, Miss Ried, is because you will be working with me personally.”
“It sounds like a wonderful opportunity,” I say.
“Good.” He casts me a slight smile. “I am going to ask you a series of questions, and I want you to give me your honest answer.”
“Okay.” What is he testing, exactly?
“Ready?” He glances at me before returning to his papers.
“Yes.”
“Do you think a sleek car makes a person sexier?”
“Sometimes.”
“Fashionable clothes?”
“Definitely.”
“A beer?”
“Not really.”
“Don’t tell our clients that.”
“Of course.”
“Every consumer wants three things, Annabelle. What are they? Don’t worry about being politically correct. Just give me the answers that come to your mind.”