Chapter 2 #2
Perhaps Julian has a menu for me to look at, but if the options are Ahi tuna steaks—or any of the other stuff I saw people eating—it’s not like I’m going to be able to afford it, anyway. Not today, and certainly not daily for the duration of my employment here.
“They can make whatever you want.” Julian waves his hand nonchalantly again, before stepping up to the window, resting his chin on his fist. “And it’s all free to employees.”
“Julian,” the guy behind the window says jovially when he sees him propped there. “What can we do for you?”
“Good morning, Boris. I’ll have the Rocoto Relleno,” he says, the words rolling off his tongue smoothly.
The chef—Boris, apparently—laughs, the sound loud and booming, echoing off the chrome appliances around him and through the little opening in the wall. “Again?”
“It was so good last time. It’s all I’ve been thinking about.” Julian’s voice is liquid, and he leans against the window, eyes sparkling.
I’ve only just met him, but I get the sense that he’s just charismatic and sounds like he’s flirting with anyone he talks to. The chef grins, punches Julian’s order into a computer screen, and shifts his attention to me, a wide, expectant smile on his face. “And for you?”
“Uh,” I panic, looking up again for a menu that doesn’t exist. “How about a… hamburger?”
The chef presses his lips together and raises his eyebrows. “A hamburger? Any… special requests for that? Flavors you’re looking for?”
“No,” I hurry to say, feeling the weight of stares on my back, a little ball of anxiety swirling in my chest. “I’ll eat whatever you make.”
“Coming right up,” he says.
Then Julian leads me to a table by the window, pours water into little crystal glasses, and sits me down.
“Okay,” he says, glancing between me and the kitchen window. “We’ll work on that later. For now, what the hell are you wearing, girl? What was Aunt Ruby thinking, letting you walk out like that? Coming here?”
I blink, glance down at my dress, and flush all over again. “I didn’t run it by her. Guess maybe I should have.”
“She knows what it’s like here,” Julian says, rolling his eyes. “You’re going to have to get a new wardrobe, or the culture freaks might stuff you in a dumpster outside.”
At my horrified expression, he says, “Not really,” before rising to fetch our food, which is, apparently, ready.
Mine is the best burger I’ve ever had. It doesn’t taste quite like beef—maybe it’s bison, or elk, or something else? There’s a fresh cabbage slaw topping it, slightly sweet, and pickled red onions that pop against the hot, rich patty.
“Looks good,” Julian says, before digging into his own meal, which looks like some sort of peppers with meat and cheese.
Through his bite, only half covering his mouth, he says, “But seriously, you can’t ever come dressed in mass fashion again.
I’m shocked you got hired in that dress.
I’m shocked they let you in the building wearing that. Who interviewed you?”
Julian shows the appropriate amount of surprise and disbelief when I admit, “Dane Rourke.”
“Holy shit,” he hisses, glancing around. Returning his intense honey eyes to mine, he says, “Okay, Old Navy, apparently you’re doing something right, because Rourke clearly liked the look of you.”
I choke on a bite of my burger and hack into a napkin for a full minute before wheezing, “No, no, they’re just desperate for an assistant.”
“Desperate is right,” Julian grins, holding his water and eying me, amused. “I wouldn’t say that lightly. Rourke hardly looks at anyone. I would know. I’ve been trying to get his attention for years, and he still doesn’t even know I work here.”
“…is he gay?” I ask, brow wrinkling, feeling a little disappointment hovering at my insides. Surely, I would have heard about something like that, especially with how high-profile he is. Although maybe all those NDAs I had to sign really are up to the task of keeping secrets.
Julian lets out a laugh, then shrugs, “I have no idea. Probably not. But that can’t stop a queen from trying.”
The rest of the meal goes by in a blur of getting to know Julian, getting to know the company through his gossip, and him telling me three more times that I can’t come dressed in anything like this tomorrow.
“I’ll talk to Aunt Ruby about borrowing some money,” I say, though I’m not totally convinced she has the money to lend me.
Her apartment is nothing like Ember—an eclectic mix of thrifted furniture and hand-made decorative items. She composts and grows her own vegetables on the balcony.
Her apartment doesn’t scream wealth, but I also know she’s always hanging out with rich people and saw her write a donation check for over a thousand dollars to the Girl Scouts instead of buying cookies outside the grocery store a few days ago.
Either she’s loaded and can throw money like that around, or she doesn’t have a lot because she does things like write massive checks to little girls.
So, I guess my future at Ember hinges on whether or not Aunt Ruby actually has that kind of money. And my future, period, will suddenly include a very hefty clothing loan I’ll eventually need to pay back to my aunt.
Julian and I are just stacking up our plates at the bussing station when there’s a voice behind me and a finger on my shoulder.
“Mr. Rourke wants to see you,” the HR assistant says, frowning at me when I turn. Clearly, he wasn’t hoping to see me again, either. “And you’ll need to get your pager figured out, so he can contact you directly.”
“Right,” I say, face heating at the look Julian gives me. “Of course. I was just…”
“Don’t care,” the HR assistant says, turning and walking out again.
“Well, I’d better get going,” I say to Julian, jerking my thumb over my shoulder in the direction I think the elevators are in.
“Here,” he says, wincing at my gesture and pulling me in the opposite direction. “I’ll help you get there.”