Chapter Fifteen
Terese strolled into the lobby of Drake Industries as if she owned the place. The Chanel suit inspired serious confidence. Combined with the expensive shoes, her hair in a perfect chignon, and a strand of pearls, and she’d dominate the competition. She arrived a little early in case someone failed to show for their interview.
The large lobby sported leather couches, a modest reception desk, and mystery doors on the left and right. Everything was closed and quiet, except for some low and tasteful Muzak. She scanned the empty space, considering her plan. Perhaps she’d overdone her outfit.
She sauntered up to the receptionist’s desk and stated her name. The young girl nodded, eyeing Terese’s spectacular outfit. The receptionist, Nancy, according to the nameplate, smiled behind her hand. Terese hoped the smile signaled approval and not derision.
“Follow me please, Miss Brock.”
Terese trailed behind Nancy behind Door Number Two. It opened into a typical office space with a few cubicles in the center with offices around the outside of the rectangle. The only difference seemed to be the decor. Drake seemed classier than the average cubicle farm. Terese smiled, liking the atmosphere.
Nancy led her off to the left to a double-door flanked by several large windows. Light spilled between the slats of the blinds, but seeing inside was impossible. She hoped for a panel interview. A small group helped, more people to bounce ideas off, more heads to turn. In an interview with only one person, she tended to come on too strong.
Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself at the door. She thanked the receptionist and entered the room. Fate was messing with her. In an anti-chamber to a boardroom, a woman, dressed in an expensive suit and oozing sex appeal, sat behind a credenza, flooded with file folders. Along the wall, leather seats contained all the other candidates. Well, probably not all. Three people sat calmly filling out paperwork on clipboards. Terese frowned. So much for being early and dazzling them.
She focused on the sex bomb sitting behind the desk. Was Miss Thing here the interviewer?
“Terese Brock.”
The busty assistant checked her list, pulled out a folder, and set it on top of the blotter. She flipped through the pages, nodding, and saying, “Uh-huh,” as she went.
“Excellent. Everything seems to be in order here. We’re running a bit behind schedule though. Fill out these forms, please.” She handed over a clipboard. More paperwork? Where are we? S-Mart? Terese snapped her hanging mouth shut on an ugly comment.
Instead, she smiled. “Of course.”
“I know you from somewhere, don’t I?” the woman asked. Terese inclined her head but said nothing. “Oh, I know. You’re a waitress at Oakwood Tavern. Love that bar. The boys here go over for Friday Happy Hour all the time.” She flashed her pearly whites. Her smooth façade and perfect demeanor slipping into the annoying zone.
A wave of irritation rushed through Terese until she saw the glob of lipstick on the woman’s teeth. Stifling a giggle, she leaned forward slightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name.”
“Oh, it’s Maura.” She put her hand out for a shake, and Terese grabbed the dead fish offered. Geez, a firm handshake marked the cornerstone of a good interview. Please don’t let her be in charge of hiring.
“Hi, Maura. I’m glad you and your coworkers enjoy Oakwood Tavern. I’ve been the manager there for almost four years now.” She winked, hoping the comment didn’t lose her the job. But damned if she’d be labeled a waitress in a Chanel suit.
Taking the clipboard and the offered pen, Terese found a seat between two of the other applicants. She eyed them coolly as she filled out another form.
One woman with a severe bun wore a tight black suit obviously too small. She smiled briefly as their gaze met. Her forehead didn’t move. Botox victim, for sure. She might be a candidate for the Event Coordinator position or maybe the concierge, same as Terese. The woman raised her hand to her mouth. Her jagged nails told Terese volumes.
The other two candidates, men, sported suits. Terese noted one wore an off-the-rack number, but the second man had on a nice Brooks Brothers. Professional and well groomed, he must be after a top position. He was definitely tougher competition. She watched him for a minute, scanning for flaws. None appeared. Damn. At least multiple positions were open.
Terese filled out her paperwork and waited. And waited. Eleven and still no interview. The others passed through the door Maura guarded, one at a time over the next hour and a half. Terese tried to be patient, fiddling with her phone, checking her briefcase. After uncrossing and crossing her legs for the hundredth time, her foot started to shake. God, waiting was the worst, almost as bad as Drew’s “easy trail.”
The delay allowed her plenty of time to think. She calculated her potential income versus her current salary. A signing bonus would be helpful. The dress, shoes, and new briefcase represented a portion of her rent, cell phone, and grocery allotment. Without a bonus, something had to go. Not the cell phone. Life required one these days. She’d have to sneak food from the bar, or wait more tables for tips, unless Angelina didn’t want to share.
An icy chill crawled up her arms. She needed to get the job. Even if it wasn’t the event planner or concierge, bartending was an option or even, ick, waitressing. Chewing her lip, she regretted putting her eggs in one basket. As her panic rose, she listed off items ready to sell on eBay or Craig’s List to scrabble a few bucks for the rent.
A light sweat formed on her neck as a serious case of nerves set in. The money issues loomed larger the longer she waited. Shaking her head, she focused on the positive. She was by far the best qualified of the candidates here. She’d get the job and celebrate with Drew. The IRS guys could suck it.
The thought of her guy brought a smile to her face as she fished out her phone to text him.
Must tell you about today. Come by the bar…
“Miss Brock, are you ready?” Maura asked in an expectant voice, as if they hadn’t been staring at each other for the past thirty minutes.
Clicking the screen off, Terese shoved the phone in her purse and gathered up her case and clipboard. “Ready,” she said in a confident, professional tone. Grateful her voice didn’t reflect her pounding heart or sweaty palms, she followed Maura through the inner door.
The boardroom sang of elegance. A long cherry table dominated the center of the room with sleek leather chairs flanking both sides. The view through the wall of windows displayed downtown Iverton and Cliffside far to the west. Gorgeous.
Maura strutted down the length of the table to a lone man, surrounded by paperwork. Terese couldn’t see him around the assistant and grumbled in frustration. She plastered on a plastic smile. A positive attitude would only help.
Maura handed over a folder to the man. “Mr. Drake, this is Terese Brock.” Maura stepped back, disappearing out the door. Terese hardly noticed because her body went into shock, her mouth gaping open like a fish. “Mr. Drake” was not Drake senior.
Drew.
All the breath rushed out of Terese’s body as she wobbled in her heels. He stood, his mouth pressed into a grimace. Drew, in a great suit, his wild hair tamed, and thin wire glasses perched on his nose. Her Drew was Andrew Drake, the CEO’s son, an up-and-coming man in the company. She’d seen pictures of him when she researched the company. Her Drew looked nothing like Andrew’s picture. Or did it?
She studied him, especially the brown eyes, and saw the truth. She’d slept with the man about to interview her, made the same mistake so many other women had in business. She’d turned a cheap trick for a job. Her stomach lurched, and her insides melted into jelly. Instinctively, she stepped back.
Dipping his chin, Drew’s face turned brilliant shades of pink. But he said nothing. They stood three feet apart but were separated by miles. They stared at each other, neither breaking the stalemate.
What must he think of her? The Chanel suit instantly morphed into polyester, cheap and scratchy, as if she were playing dress up. But her unease wasn’t the only feeling bubbling inside her. A sense of betrayal and discontent whirled around her. Slowly, an ache rose in her chest.
Her brain screamed for her to run, but she couldn’t move. Frozen in place, her mind looped “why, why, why?” Finally, she snapped her eyes shut, praying it was only a pre-interview nightmare.
The clipboard hit the floor, breaking the spell.
“Let me get that,” he said.
Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice. As he hurried forward to assist, her churning emotions swirled into a tornado. She backpedaled, wanting distance between them. The cold sweat on her neck turning to icicles.
An ugly voice boomed in her mind. You screwed the boss’s son. Terese shook her head, stepping back another foot. The whole world folded in on her. “You blew it. Ha, you blew him.” A tight band of panic roped around her stomach. She whirled, searching for the door.
She paused, peeking over her shoulder for a millisecond as he called, “Terese, wait!” He hadn’t moved an inch, still clutching that stupid clipboard. She met his gaze, and the final puzzle piece clicked into place.
He’d lied. Set her up to fail from the start.
Her hand clapped over her mouth as a sob burst from her lips. Tears pooled as she stared at him in that frickin’ suit. Her Drew, but really, a man she knew nothing about.
She wrenched open the door and stormed from the conference room, no longer caring about her unprofessional behavior. It didn’t matter anymore. She didn’t need the job. Not with a boss who was a liar and a manipulator, probably a manwhore too. She banged through the outer doors, causing the receptionist to squeak in surprise. Was Drew sleeping with her too? How about Maura?
Anger poured through her like molten lava. He’d deceived her. Never told her his last name. Never corrected her when she talked about his classes or school. Her face burned. She’d fallen in love with a man she didn’t know. Jabbing a finger repeatedly at the elevator call button, she hoped for a speedy exit.
****
“Terese, will you wait?” Drew hurried after her, hoping to catch her before she disappeared into the elevator. She jerked her head toward him. Her face transformed into a mask of fury and betrayal, not unlike her expression the night she bounced that drunk from the bar. “We should talk about this.”
She snorted and continued pressing the call button.
He closed the distance between them and put his hand on her arm. She twisted away immediately, taking a few tottering steps back.
“Get away from me. I never want to see you again,” she hissed. Whipping around him, she bolted for the stairwell. Drew scowled, as anger rose in his chest. This wasn’t the place for a fight, but he’d be damned if he let her stomp out the door like some six-year-old child.
He snatched her arm before she launched herself down the stairs. He tucked her against his side, whispering into her ear. “Let’s go somewhere and talk about it. Like adults, okay?” That got him a red-hot glare, but he coaxed her back, past a stunned Maura, and into the boardroom.
Once inside, Terese wrenched her arm from his grip and threw her bag and briefcase into a chair. She turned to him, mouth pursed, arms crossed with an “I will castrate you” glare in her eye. Other than that, she was beautiful. Drew took a moment to memorize her Jackie O look. Sexy, but her tapping foot said she wasn’t in the mood for compliments.
He kicked himself for not being honest with her from the start. “I can explain.” Then he realized how lame it sounded. He should’ve known Terese would apply at the conference center. She had mad skills. Hell, he’d spoken with his father about it, but not her. “I…”
Wagging a finger, she said, “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to explain away this ridiculous game. I trusted you, and you didn’t even tell me your last name.”
Drew’s back went up. “You never asked.” A douche answer, but she wasn’t playing fair either.
She stared at him hard for a minute, then began pacing. “Not once did you mention your dad is Spencer Drake. Not once did you say ‘Hey, Terese, I’m not some college kid. I’m actually an executive at Drake Industries.’ You left me swinging in the wind, thinking I had some golden boy chasing me.”
“So you’d rather I’d been some college kid chasing you. Cougar much?” He regretted the words as they flew from his lips. He flinched at his own ugliness.
Terese lifted her chin, her nostrils flaring. “I took a chance on you. I didn’t know you were ‘in disguise.’” Flashing quote-y fingers, she spat the last word with as much sarcasm as a person could squish into three syllables.
“You knew what I looked like before?” Maybe she’d remembered him. He waited.
“Of course, I did.” She threw her arms up in frustration.
“How?” Drew crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes. If she’d remembered the first time he asked her out, he’d go ape shit. The rejection had rocked his world. He’d changed so much because of it.
Changed for her.
Terese glowered at him for a moment before replying, “Your picture is on Drake’s website. Along with your real name.”