There is dirt under my nails.
I sit tucked into the corner seat of the train and glare at my dirty fingernails. Why is there dirt under my nails? I'm a very clean person, thank you very much. I shower almost daily. Mostly. Occasionally. Okay, I shower when I need to and never before have I been told that I stink or that I need a shower so really I am a very clean person.
And I always wash my hands before eating and after using the washroom.
For the last twenty minutes of my commute across town, I've been trying to rid the dirt from under my nails to no avail. Finally, I give up and exhale a loud huff. So loud that the woman seated across from me startles and gives me a dirty look.
"What?" I snarl at the woman. The woman narrows her eyes, tightening her coat around her. She stands up quickly, holding her purse pressed against her side. As though I would actually try to take it from her.
"I don't want your bloody purse, you know," I call after the woman as she scuttles down the aisle away from me. "And even if I did," I continue to shout, "I don't think clutching it to your hip is really going to stop me from getting it!"
The woman gasps before hurriedly leaving the train car. The other occupants mostly ignore my outburst, but a few boldly stare back at me. Testing me. And my patience.
This is my life now. Yelling at strangers on the subway. Lovely.
Though, not my fault really. If it were up to me, I wouldn't even be in this situation. I mean, seriously. I hate people. I hate them all. I'm a very angry person and if you're looking at me thinking I have a secret sweet side, you're delusional. I'm not some Sour Patch Kid, okay?
But the time had come for me to finally get a job. I've had jobs before, sure, but since my current roommate has kicked me out for what I suspect may actually be the last time, then I really have no choice but to get a better job than the weekly bartending gig I have at O'Flannery's.
I'm an adventurer, you see. Or I'd like to be. Really, I just roam around until I bump into someone that I find interesting and then I latch onto that person until they can't stand me and sometimes issue a restraining order. Oh, did I mention I'm a psychopath? Because while I'm not sure, every day more signs lead to the certifiably insane category. I'm sure the woman I just scared off would agree with that statement.
But I mean, why worry about that now? Right now, I am single-minded. I am focused. I am ready to nail this mother-fucking job interview if it's the only good thing that comes out of today. I'm confident this time. Those other jobs I applied for, they weren't for me. They were boring jobs like data entry, or folding clothes, or stocking shelves. I mean, apparently I wasn't 'qualified' or 'didn't have the right attitude.' Just bullshit anyways.
I have a great attitude. People just ruin it.
Finally, the train stops at my destination. So I grab my bag and glare at the other passengers still occasionally giving me looks like I'm two seconds from revealing a bomb strapped to my chest. Over dramatic imbeciles. Instead of another outburst though, I exit the train with my head held high.
"That's it, Maddison," I say to myself aloud, garnering more worried looks from people walking alongside me. I ignore them. I'm in pep talk mode. "One foot in front of the other. Head held high. Walk in like you own the place, cause hey, who knows? Maybe someday you will." I snort at myself.
See, this job interview I'm going for is different than the rest. All the other jobs I applied using my abysmal work experience on my resume, but not this time. I may have ... embellished a little. Because, hey, desperate times call for desperate measures. And I need a job right now.
So I went on LinkedIn and looked up the work history of a girl I went to high school with that is super successful and living a truly ballin' lifestyle. I have not a single clue what she actually does, but if there's one thing I know how to do, I know how to bullshit.
I took a few business classes in college. I did okay. But I didn't really study for them. Still I think I have what it takes to work for Asher Enterprises. Plus, it's an Executive Administrative Assistant position. I mean, come on... I'll be a glorified secretary in no time.
Still channeling my inner confidence, I strut through the doors of the sky-scraping tower that holds Asher Enterprises. The lobby is immaculate and decorated. So clean, I could probably lick my lunch off the floor. I act like I'm not impressed though. Like I see shit like this on the daily. You'd need more than crystal chandeliers and marble counter-tops and luxurious lounge couches, that I imagine are probably pretty uncomfortable and not really made for relaxing on, to impress me.
I ignore the other business professionals gallivanting past me like they're in a parade of very-important-people off to do very-important-things. I stroll up to the model sitting behind the counter against the far wall. She looks up at me as I approach and I can see the look on her face, already judging me like I don't belong here.
Um, excuse me, princess. I belong here.
"Can I help you?" she asks me, her eyes dipping down to take in my outfit. I know it's not couture or whatever, but it's the best I had. This morning I threw on my pencil skirt, my silk blouse, and my black blazer looking super professional, in my opinion. Business Woman of the Year over here. But I still have to show I'm unique, so I threw on a pair of bright teal catch-your-eye heels. The nicest ones I own. Bought directly off the sales rack at Macy's. Suck it.
"I have a meeting with Penelope Reynolds," I tell her, trying to sound like she should already know this.
The young girl purses her perfectly pouty lips and turns her gaze to her computer monitor. She types a few things then raises her eyes to look at me. "What's your name?"
"Maddison Jacobs." I give her a snooty smile that causes the corners of her eyes to tighten.
"52nd Floor, Miss Jacobs," she says. She points a manicured finger to a wall of elevators adjacent to her desk. I flash her another terse smile before turning to the elevator. For good measure, I flick my long blonde hair over my shoulder as I walk away.
Ole girl was jealous of me. I know she was.
I press the up button and wait for the elevator to arrive, watching the numbers above the doors as it descends, taking its sweet damn time. Before I have a chance to huff in frustration, I hear a ding from further down signaling a different elevator arriving.
I quickly move inside the lift and press the button for 52, the top floor.
I hear a shout. "Hold the elevator!"
I make no moves to hold the elevator. In fact, I reach forward and press the Door Close button. Nothing is more annoying to me than sharing an elevator with a stranger. Especially for 52 floors. Spare me.
I sigh happily as the doors begin to slide closed, but my relief is short-lived as a hand snakes through quickly blocking the doors. As the doors slide back open, a man stands on the other side, an annoyed look shadowing the hard planes of his face.
I raise my eyebrows at the sight of him. Dude is hot. I mean, my mouth has never watered before at the sight of anyone, but fuck me. Everything is wet at the sight of him, not just my mouth.
He steps in next to me, almost inappropriately close, and I can smell a sexy cologne following him into the lift. He towers over me, even in my sky-high stilettos. His shoulders are square and strong. Though he wears a suit, he fills it out so nicely. I can't help but inspect him at this close proximity. His square cut jaw would probably slice my finger if I ran my hand across it. The skin of his cheeks are smooth as though he had just shaved, but I kind of want to see what he would look like with a little stubble. Five o'clock shadow on the right guy is hot. And I have no doubt it would be smokin' on this guy.
"What floor?" I ask, keeping my cool, like I hadn't just attempted to block this guy from entering my elevator.
"Ah, 52," he said, his voice deeper and enveloping me, wrapping around me and making me feel desperate to hear him say more. Oh, a deep voice gets me every time. A man's voice.
He continues, "I see you're already headed there."
"Right." I nod and give an awkward smile, turning away from him. I need to focus. And this guy...this fucking guy right here... he has the most hypnotizing eyes. I mean, of course right? Hot dude has gotta have hot eyes.
Okay, focus Maddison. I couldn't get distracted by Hottie McHottie over here. I need this job. Eye on the prize, Mads. Eye on the prize.
As the lift continues to ascend, I let myself forget the enigmatic stranger sharing the small space with me. Until he opens his mouth, of course.
"So what brings you to the 52nd floor?" he asks, using that damn voice again to shoot all my pep talks right out of my mind.
"I actually have an interview." I stand a bit taller.
"Oh, really?" He sounds a little different this time. His voice sounds almost calculated, or rehearsed. "What position?"
"The Executive Administrative Assistant position." I decide to flip the conversation back to him. Men love talking about themselves. Especially important business men. "Can I ask what you do?"
He chuckles at an inside joke, I guess. "You didn't do much research on the job, did you?"
Time stops for a second as I wonder what the fuck that means. Who is this guy? Must be somebody important the way he's implying I should know him... Actually, he does look familiar...
A ding fills the silence that met his question as the doors slide open. He takes a step out, pausing in the doorway and looking back at me, a scary smirk on face. "I'm Shane Asher," he says. "If you get the job, then I guess you'll be my assistant."
I gulp as his grin widens exposing a perfect smile of straight white teeth. A smile that I've seen grace covers of magazines and tabloids now that I'm thinking clearly. My stomach drops. How could I not have recognized him? Shane Asher, the CEO of Asher Enterprises.
And I just tried to close the elevator on him.
Well, fuck me sideways.