Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
He looked edible.
I stepped forward, my hand out, my gaze again scanning the living room, where Chuck and Zoey were already setting up. “Hale, good morning.”
I went back to him when he took my hand in a firm grip and murmured, “Morning, Elsa.”
His gaze was on my dress.
I pulled my hand away.
When I did, his gaze zoomed up to my eyes and the crinkles by his came out in sharp relief.
It made him even more attractive, which was infuriating.
“I’d like to introduce you to Felicity Jones, the makeup artist I told you about in my text,” I stated formally, turning and indicating Fliss at my side.
He appeared perplexed for a moment, as he would, considering my hair and makeup were fully done.
Nugget of news: I’d been unable to talk my friend down.
I’d told her and Carole about my run-ins with Hale Wheeler, and obviously this included what an ass he was, and Fliss demanded to accompany me for moral support.
I knew she knew this also came in the form of me seeming to have a posse, which would give me more cachet. I suspected this further had something to do with her possibly being able to do makeup for Hale.
When I told her that last was unlikely, she’d said, “Considering my calling, I can’t in good conscious allow him to appear before camera looking splotchy with gigantic pores.”
Even if I assured her he was neither splotchy nor did he have any issues with his pores, and indeed he was damnably tanned, healthy and perfect, she was adamant, and when Fliss was adamant about something, you let her do it.
She offered her hand to Hale as Chuck called out, “Elz, we’re thinking sofa. Come over here and have a look.”
I walked deeper into the space, noting the closer you got to, well…everything, the better it was.
Another nugget of news: this was what I wanted, exactly what I wanted. A roomy, fantastic apartment in Manhattan that was still homey and welcoming.
I tucked that thought away, and as I got closer, I also noted that Chuck had it set up so Hale and I were sitting on the same couch.
It was a deep-seated sectional that had an open-backed space in the middle that gave it interest. But Chuck had the four cameras set up, two at corners, two angled from the ends so they could get long shots of both of us—me facing Hale, Hale facing me—as we both sat on the same couch.
“Maybe Hale can be on the couch, and I can be in a chair,” I suggested.
Chuck sidled closer, and talking low, he said, “This is your first onsite interview. Always up to you, babe, but I think you should go in warm. A relaxed, informal chat between friends. This is going to make your mark. Where do you want to go from here? How do you want it to come off? What do you want to be your signature?”
It wasn’t like I hadn’t thought about this, it was just that, with my team, I wanted them to know I thought their input was important and they should always feel free to give it. As such, I always made time to listen to what they had to say. Not to mention, we hadn’t had the opportunity to scout the location, so we had to make this decision on the fly.
And Chuck was right, having this come off as a friendly chat would be what I preferred.
It was just that I personally didn’t want to sit on the sofa with Hale, no matter how big it was, because, to put a fine point on it, I thought he was a dick.
Yes, in the last couple of days, I’d come to the difficult realization that I’d committed the absolute unprofessional. I’d avoided this interview with Hale because I had a crush on him.
Mm-hmm, me avoiding conducting a career defining interview because I had the hots for a guy.
Also, and fortunately, in the last couple of days, he’d cured me of that crush.
But I could no longer let personal get in the way of professional.
He wasn’t the first dick I’d interviewed, and he wouldn’t be the last.
I nodded to Chuck. “Carry on.”
He smiled at me.
Zoey approached.
I was twenty-seven years old.
She was younger, twenty-two.
But she had it together. She also had chutzpah. She was born and bred in the Bronx. Nothing fazed her. Which made her perfect for her job.
Until now.
She appeared hesitant and star struck.
Fabulous.
“Head in the game,” I said quietly.
She blinked and focused on me.
Then she asked, “You want me to go out for coffees or something?”
I nodded again. “Yes, thanks. And ask Mr. Wheeler, and everybody, what they want, please.”
“Will do,” she said and moved off.
At this point, Fliss called, “Hale says I can set up in the kitchen. I’m going to do some moisturizer and powder for him. Then I want you for touch ups.”