Cross Your Mind (Little x Trilogy #1)

Chapter 1

THE ONE POSITIVE OF A COLD SHOWER was that I no longer needed a coffee.

I thumped the lever down, prickling goosebumps already climbing my body, when the invasive tones of my phone reached me.

I fumbled knotting a towel around me as I scurried to the kitchen, wet footprints soaking the carpet in my wake.

“Hello?”

“Is this Nancy Cooper?” a well-spoken woman hesitantly asked.

“Yeah, that’s me. I mean, yes, speaking.” I switched to my most convincing business tone.

“Well, I’m glad I’ve caught you. Is this a good time?” She sounded dubious, and I knew her question was more of a statement. She wasn’t the sort to call back at a better time.

“Of course. This is a great time.”

“Good. Ms Cooper, my name is Jennifer Calibre, HR manager for Goldfields. I believe you recently sent us an application for our graduate apprenticeship.”

“I did, but I received a rejection letter a few weeks ago.”

“That’s why I’m calling. Although your application was rejected during the initial selection process, we placed you on a reserve list. We’ve had an unexpected dropout from the programme a few weeks in, and your application is next in line for an offer.”

“You’re offering me the job!” I did a mental fist pump.

“No, Ms Cooper,” she drew out. “We’re offering you an interview for an apprenticeship position. That is the standard process for Goldfields, and we don’t make exceptions… Even when it is the eleventh hour.”

I wasn’t sure if Jennifer was irritable with me or the dropout who’d landed more work on her desk. Perhaps both. “Yes, of course. When should I come in for an interview?”

“Today at two p.m.”

“Two p.m.?” I checked the display. “But that’s in a couple of hours.” Mum entered the lounge with bleary eyes and a pillow-marked face. She’d not long gone to bed after her night shift. “I’m sorry,” I mouthed.

“It is…is there a problem? If you can’t make it, I can always go to the next graduate on the reserve list. I’m sure that candidate would jump at the opportunity if you are indisposed.”

Yep, she’s definitely irritated with me. “No, no, of course I can come to Goldfields for two. That’s no problem at all.” I shot Mum a stressed look. She patted my shoulder, then calmly put the kettle on.

“Good, then. Ask for David Warner at reception. He’s the director of the Forensics and Auditing division and will be interviewing you. As this is last minute, we’ve had to squeeze you into Mr Warner’s busy schedule, so make sure you’re not late. Do you understand?

The knots in my shoulders pinched at her condescending tone, but I managed to fawn out a reply. “Absolutely, Ms Calibre. I won’t keep Mr Warner waiting. I’ll be there for two, and thank you so much for this incredible opportunity.”

“Yes, well…good afternoon, Ms Cooper,” Jennifer finished and dropped the call.

I looked down at my phone, and a tremor of excitement travelled up my spine.

“What’s going on?” Mum asked croakily.

I looked up with a grin. “That was Goldfields. They’re one of the largest accounting firms in London, and they’ve offered me an interview for their graduate apprenticeship!”

“Oh my god!” She pulled me into a hug. “I’m so proud of you!” She pulled back, taking in my dishevelled state. “Did she say two?”

“Yeah, I need to get ready.”

“I’ll help, it’s gonna be tight.”

I rushed into my bedroom to retrieve my one and only suit, which I’d bought as a graduation-cum-interview outfit. It had sat crumpled in the back of the wardrobe for over a month since my last unsuccessful interview. Mum pulled out the ironing board to press it while I got ready.

With my hands still shaking, I carefully mixed a few drops of bronze foundation with moisturiser and smoothed it over my face, then added mascara, eyeliner, and a lipstick that accentuated my natural tone, provocatively named ‘beach nude’.

I wasn’t exactly sure what was expected of my appearance at such a prestigious company as Goldfields, except that I should be smart and sophisticated—if I could manage it.

“Nancy, get a move on! I need to work on your hair!”

I glanced down at my phone and grimaced. Why did time pass so quickly when you needed more of it? I flew into the lounge, grabbed the cream blouse from the back of the breakfast stool, then hopped into each trouser leg. Mum guided me to a chair, every bit the hairdresser.

“I think we’ll go with a French braid. It’ll be quickest and look professional.”

While I’d retained Mum’s lighter brunette tones, my hair’s texture was all from Dad’s Jamaican side.

Tight coils fell in two arcs from a centre parting, framing my face in a bouncy bob.

I’d never been disciplined enough to maintain a particular style, so I kept my hair free and springy or tied back into a bun. Everything else I left to Mum.

“I’ll get the oil and comb!” she yelled mid-run to the bathroom.

With just half an hour of expert wrestling, Mum managed to create a perfectly even and shiny braid without a flyaway in sight.

I shrugged on the suit jacket and checked my phone.

Only fifty minutes to get from Chelsea to the City of London.

That was cutting it tight. “I’m gonna have to take the motorcycle. ”

Mum looked at me, horrified. “No you are not! I didn’t put all that effort into your hair for you to stick your head in a crash helmet. You’ll look a wreck when you get there.”

“Then how?”

She grabbed her purse and took out the last of her notes. “Here, take this for a cab.”

“Mum, I can’t.”

“Don’t argue about it. I’m doing Nadia’s hair tomorrow, and it’s only a few days until my cleaning pay clears.” She took me by the shoulders. “The most important thing is to get to that interview and wow them like I know you will. Now, go grab it with both hands, Nancy Cooper.”

I felt myself welling up, but Mum had already turned me around and pushed me towards the door. “I love you!”

“I love you, too,” I managed before she shut the door behind me.

The iconic red brick that made up the high-rise blocks of World’s End Estate was almost invisible after a lifetime living within its walls.

The framed view of the affluent side of Chelsea looked like a model village from the exposed window by the steel lift, of which only the even floors were working.

Luckily, we lived on fourteen. I pressed the button.

Five minutes later, I was hurrying along Chelsea Embankment, past the colourful houseboats moored on the Thames. The sun was out, but a spring chill remained I was thankful for as I kept up a fast pace. The last thing I needed was to look like a sweaty mess.

I hadn’t bothered to check for an Uber nearby (with ￡1.

90 in my bank account, I couldn’t pay by card anyway), so my only option was an exorbitant black cab.

Luck was on my side as I reached Battersea Bridge.

A hackney with its light on was waiting at the lights.

I hailed it and ran over to the window. “Can you take me to the Goldfields building in the City?”

The cabbie glanced at me and pointed a thumb behind. “Get in, love.” I clambered into the back as the lights turned green, and without pause, he hit the accelerator, thudding me back against the leather seat.

Trevor, as I gleaned from his badge, was very chatty and utterly petrifying.

He swung the cab in and out of the lanes, narrowly avoiding cyclists, city cars, and luxury SUVs while maintaining a cheery attitude.

It was exactly the distraction I needed as we raced past Westminster and up Victoria Embankment.

When he asked why I was in a rush, I explained I was a recent graduate heading for a last-minute interview.

He switched off the meter, much to my gratitude.

It turned out his eldest daughter had just graduated too and was struggling to land her first job with the economy the way it was.

“You make sure you knock ’em dead.” He shot me a toothy grin as I stepped onto the pavement.

“Thanks, Trev!” I waved him off as he swerved out, narrowly missing a white van man, with whom he exchanged various rude hand gestures before speeding off.

I drew a deep breath and turned to face the imposing building that was Goldfields Accounting and Finance.

The mirror glass covering the front merged into grey Georgian stone, telling two different stories that together embodied the firm inside.

Goldfields was two centuries old but always a step ahead.

They were stable yet innovative—qualities I strived for—although after three hundred applications and only three interviews, I would’ve settled for any entry-level job if it got me on the ladder.

I pushed through the revolving doors and was greeted by stark white marble covering the entire surface of the lobby. Dominating the centre of the airy space was a piece of corporate art that resembled a steel phallus, pointing suggestively towards the sky. I eyed it as I walked to reception.

The blonde behind the desk was informing an unfortunate caller that she would be placing them on hold again. Once finished, her eyes drew over to me, then down my suit, assessing. I thought I spotted a grimace before she schooled her face.

Jeez, thanks for the vote of confidence.

“I have an interview with David Warner this afternoon. My name is Nancy Cooper”

The receptionist wordlessly typed in unison, then held out a lanyard. “Display your pass at all times. Take the lift to the twentieth floor and wait at reception.” She pointed beyond, then turned away.

“Thank you,” I said louder than necessary.

I scanned the pass at the security gates, and the Plexiglass swooshed open. A woman was exiting a car just as I reached the lifts, so I hopped in.

“Hold the door!” a voice yelled from behind, and I scrambled for the open button. A man of around thirty rushed in wearing a tailored navy three-piece suit and sexy black-rimmed Ralph Lauren spectacles. He gave me an apologetic smile so charming it could’ve stopped traffic. “Thank you.”