Chapter 5
961 Words
Chapter 5: Jennifer
I sit down in the chair across from his desk and try to look calm even though my heart is pounding in my chest. The office is huge, all glass and steel and that expensive look that screams money, and he's sitting there behind this massive desk like he owns the whole world.
Which he basically does, apparently.
Scott McCall.
The name is still bouncing around in my head, familiar but I can't place it. Maybe I saw it in the news or something. He looks like the type who's in the news a lot.
He's looking at me with this expression I can't read. Not cold exactly but not warm either. Just watching. Like he's trying to figure something out.
"So," he says, leaning back in his chair. "Jennifer Morgan."
"That's me."
"Your resume is impressive. Top of your class. Good recommendations."
"Thank you."
He doesn't say anything for a moment. Just keeps looking at me. I want to squirm but I don't. I hold his gaze like I'm not intimidated even though I totally am.
"Tell me," he says slowly, "why do you want to work here?"
I give him my prepared answer. Good company. Great opportunities. Want to grow my career. All that stuff you're supposed to say.
He listens but I can tell he's not really listening. He's studying me. Like he's looking for something.
I don't know what.
"Is everything okay?" I ask when he doesn't respond.
He smiles. A small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Everything's fine. I'm just trying to figure out where I've seen you before."
My heart stops for a second. "What?"
"You look familiar. I can't place it."
I laugh nervously. "I don't think we've met. I would remember."
Would I? Would I really?
He tilts his head. "You sure about that?"
Something about the way he says it makes my stomach flip. Like he knows something I don't.
"Pretty sure," I say, keeping my voice steady. "I don't exactly run in CEO circles."
He chuckles at that. A low sound that's almost warm. "No, I suppose you don't."
There's another pause. His eyes move over me, taking in the suit I borrowed from Ann, the way I'm sitting, the way I'm holding myself.
"You know," he says casually, "you look like someone who could use a little help."
I blink. "Excuse me?"
"Your suit. It's nice. But it's not original. Borrowed, maybe?"
My face heats up. "I don't think that's any of your business."
He ignores me. Keeps talking. "And the way you carry yourself. There's a toughness there. Like you've been through some things."
I don't say anything. I just stare at him.
"I had a feeling," he continues, "when I saw your file. The way you talk. The way you write. You seem like someone who's been fighting for a long time."
"What's your point?"
He leans forward, his eyes boring into mine. "My point is, I'm offering you a job. But I need to know if you can handle it. This place is not for the weak."
"I can handle it."
"Can you?"
"Yes."
He studies me for another long moment. Then he smiles again and it's different this time. Almost approving.
"Good," he says. "Because I think you're going to be interesting."
Interesting. That word hangs in the air between us.
"I need to ask you something personal," he says.
I tense. "Personal?"
"Just one question. Then we're done."
I don't want to say yes but I don't have a choice. "Fine."
"Are you okay?"
The question catches me off guard. I wasn't expecting that.
"What?"
"Are you okay? Financially, I mean. Emotionally. Life in general. You seem like someone who's struggling."
My mouth opens and closes. I don't know what to say.
"Why do you care?" I ask finally.
He shrugs. "I don't. Not really. But I like to know who I'm hiring. And you..." he pauses, "you look like you need someone to give you a break."
Something snaps inside me. All the tension and fear and hope and everything I've been holding in just pops.
"Look," I say, my voice sharper than I intended, "I don't know who you think you are, but I didn't come here for a therapy session. I came here for a job. If you want to hire me, hire me. If not, that's fine too. But I don't need your pity. I don't need your money. And I sure as hell don't need you pretending to care about me."
His eyebrows go up. I can't tell if he's surprised or amused or both.
"Oh," I continue, "and my suit might be borrowed, but at least I can afford my own clothes. Unlike some people who have to use money to make themselves feel important."
The words come out before I can stop them. I'm not even sure where they came from.
For a second he doesn't say anything.
Then he laughs.
Not a chuckle. A real laugh. Like I just told him the funniest joke he's heard in years.
"I knew it," he says, shaking his head. "I knew you had fire in you. That's why I hired you."
My jaw drops. "Wait. What?"
"You're hired. Congratulations."
"But I just—I just insulted you."
"I know. It's the most honest conversation I've had in months."
I stare at him. The man is insane. Completely insane.
"Report to HR on Monday," he says. "They'll handle the paperwork."
He stands up and walks around his desk and extends his hand. I take it, still in shock.
"Welcome to McCall Industries, Jennifer. I have a feeling you're going to be trouble."
I don't know if that's a compliment or a warning.
Either way, I'm in.
- Writer
