Page 65 of Wicked Takeover
Dante was again in the back room at a time he wasn’t usually there. She knew because she’d tracked his movements these last days and religiously checked his schedule. Too bad she hadn’t thought to look at the monitor. Unlike the few other instances they’d run into each other, this time she didn’t race away.
He smiled softly at her paisley skirt, a look of longing in his eyes.
Today was the first time since she’d hollered at him that she hadn’t worn jeans. She was also back to ditching her panties. She figured she was sending him—and herself—mixed messages but couldn’t seem to stop.
Nor could she run any longer. It was time to face him. “Hey. You doing okay?”
He regarded her with unmasked yearning. “Are you?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I—”
Van Gogh shuffled into the room, looking as gloomy as always. He sank into a chair, ready to take his afternoon break. Not wanting him as a spectator to her fucked-up feelings, she hurried to her office, terrified Dante would knock on the door and want to talk, since she’d finally broken the ice between them. When he didn’t, her spirits sank even further.
She forced herself to surf job boards, then summoned her courage and checked her email. More than fifty messages stuffed her inbox, many from employment websites, big box stores having sales, horoscope sites with her daily reading, and one from a K. Ivers.
Lauren frowned at the vaguely familiar last name and tried to place it but couldn’t. The subject line was typical—“Regarding your candidacy”—and meant bad news was coming.
On a muttered oath, she opened the email and read:
Good afternoon, Lauren,
In March, you interviewed for a human resources position with us at our West Palm Beach office. Although that job has been filled, we have a new opening we believe you’re quite suited for and would like…
She stopped reading, too floored to concentrate. The sentences kept swimming. She ordered herself to calm down and reread the message repeatedly. She even checked the email address to make certain this was actually for her and hadn’t been misdirected from some other Lauren’s account, if that were even possible.
The company wanted to interview her this Thursday for a senior HR position. Three days from now. K, for Karen, wanted Lauren to call to confirm that she was still interested and would be able to make the interview.
Her hands shook. She could barely tap in the number on her smartphone.
On the second ring, the receptionist answered with the company name.
Lauren went blank and couldn’t speak.
The young woman did. “How may I direct your call?”
She tried to get a grip. At last, she stated her name and the reason she’d phoned.
“I’ll put you on the calendar for Thursday.” She gave Lauren the time. “Will that be okay?”
After all these months of little hope, it was perfect. “Yes, I’ll be there.”
“We’ll see you then. Have a wonderful day.”
Lauren said the same, ended the connection, and reread Karen’s email several times to make certain she hadn’t misunderstood anything. Convinced she was on firm footing, she replied that she’d just confirmed her Thursday appointment. A precaution should the receptionist forget to tell Karen about it.
Almost immediately, her inbox chimed with Karen’s warm response stating how much she looked forward to their meeting.
Lauren trembled with happiness, then went numb as doubt settled in, not knowing how to feel. She’d waited so long for this. Unfortunately, it sounded too freaking good. Common sense and her usual lousy luck told her not to believe it. This would probably fall through just like everything else had.
To be on the safe side, she applied to several other positions. After slogging through the online forms, she checked her inbox again. This time there was an answer to her ad about the parlor. She’d gotten several in the last few days, all worthless. Not expecting much, she opened the email and got her second surprise today.
Unlike the other replies she’d received, this one provided detailed information about the potential buyer, including several website links. Lauren checked them out. The guy already had numerous tattoo parlors across the state and was looking to expand. She returned to his email and read carefully, especially near the end.
I’d like to see a prospectus of Wicked Brand.
Please send one at your earliest convenience.
His request impressed Lauren the most. Weeks ago, she’d slaved over a PowerPoint presentation and her video of the parlor, figuring she was wasting her time since no one would ask for them. Hell, the others who responded to her ads wouldn’t have known what the word “prospectus” meant. Given their poor grammar and crude language, she suspected they were more into porn sites than finance.
