Don’t Move Your Desk (Crowhill Cove)

Keaton

I took the deepest of deep breaths and stood up, forcing myself not to linger. I had the feeling that if I hesitated for even a moment, I wouldn’t go in at all.

I plastered a smile onto my face and met the eyes of the man who had called my name.

He looked Asian, maybe Korean, with straight black hair long enough to dust the top of his shirt collar.

At least I could feel comfortable that they weren’t looking for everyone to have neat, close-cropped hair here.

I resisted the urge to run a hand through my own unruly brown curls, knowing that I would push them all out of place and end up walking into the interview looking like I’d been caught in a hurricane.

The interviewer led me down a short corridor to a meeting room.

We passed by several offices with closed doors on the way.

I caught glimpses through small inset windows each time: mostly men with phones to their ears, leaning back in their chairs.

The kind of athletic, tall, handsome men who had easy-going smiles and an easy time fitting into a cut-throat corporate environment like this one.

Even my interviewer, despite the long hair, had a clearly muscular build that was easily recognizable through the cut of his expensive suit.

I cleared my throat nervously as I caught sight of my own reflection in one of the glass panels: average height, slim build, and with a suit that was wearing me instead of the other way around.

No wonder, given that I’d had to borrow it from a friend.

Despite my best efforts in the bathroom this morning, my hair had already escaped the style I’d attempted to force on it and was looking about halfway to that hurricane anyway.

Add the tortoiseshell glasses perched on my nose for the final touch to really hammer the nail in.

I did not look for a second like any of these jocks.

I just had to hope against hope that one of them thought I at least looked like a secretary.

“Take a seat,” my interviewer said with a smile, gesturing for me to sit in the one empty chair facing the conference table. There were three chairs opposite me, but only one person to fill them. I took the seat, unbuttoning my jacket and immediately feeling anxious in the silence.

“Um,” I said, and then hated, hated, hated the fact that the first word out of my mouth in an interview was ‘um’. “So, are you Mr. Harvey?”

It was a stupid question to ask. I knew what Mr. Harvey looked like. But I didn’t want to give away exactly how much research I had done for this role. How keen I was to work for Mr. Harvey in particular.

It was very important to me that they not understand my reasons for wanting this job.

The man laughed heartily, then caught sight of my nervous face and stopped abruptly. “Oh, ah, no. No, I’m one of the agents here. Ace Park.” He stuck out his hand as he sat in front of me, and I leaned forward to shake it.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Park,” I told him.

He rolled his eyes and gave a fake shudder. “Ace, please,” he said. “I hate Mr. Park. That’s my father.”

“Sorry,” I said reflexively. Then I wondered if it was the right response. Maybe I should try to act tough and not like a complete pushover. Unless they wanted a pushover. I had no idea whether they wanted a submissive secretary or someone with a bit more fire.

I was floundering, and I knew it.

“So, you’re Keaton,” he said, glancing over what I assumed was a print-out of my resume and then setting it aside. He fixed me with a clear but friendly look. “You don’t have a lot of experience in the world of sports.”

I swallowed. Bad start. “No, that’s true,” I said. “But I learn very fast, and I’m willing to do the homework. I do have experience of secretarial work and a lot of teamwork, so I think that’s really important for the role.”

Ace nodded as if he was happy with my answer. “What do you know about the Harvey Agency and our founder?”

“Well, I know you’re one of the top sports agencies in the country,” I said.

I felt my hands shake slightly under the table and pressed them together so I wouldn’t give myself away.

I could only hope my hours of research last night had paid off.

“Mr. Harvey founded the agency not long after college. He was supposed to be an up-and-coming pro player, but a bad injury in the final year of college ended his career before it really began. He played a few games in the pro leagues before he got injured again in the same spot and had to give it up entirely. I read in an interview that he thought being an agent was a way to stay close to his dream and not have to give it up entirely.”

Ace tilted his head. His lips quirked just slightly like I was amusing him, but he didn’t give anything else away. “How’d he get that injury?”

“A collision with teammate Caleb Coleman,” I said, near enough quoting from memory.

“Coleman was also injured but went on to play five seasons of pro football before he had a different career-ending injury, and he ended up becoming a sports agent too. The Coleman Group is now considered the Harvey Agency’s biggest rival. ”

“Very good,” Ace chuckled. “Now tell me something that isn’t on Wikipedia.”

Oh, god. “Uh, okay. I noticed that Mr. Harvey prefers to wear black suits and turtlenecks, rather than a white shirt and tie. That sets him apart from a lot of the other sports agents. Some people think it’s a bit informal, but I think it suits him pretty well.

He still wears his college championship ring on his left hand.

And there have never been any confirmed relationships in his life – a few rumors about supermodels, but he keeps his personal life pretty private. ”

Ace looks at me for a long moment.

“Which I’m totally okay with,” I find myself saying, trying to fill the silence. “You know, keeping it private. I can be very discreet. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“So, you knew what he looked like when you asked me if I was him?”

I flushed bright red. Shit. “Sorry. I just… I don’t know why I said that. I’m nervous. I’m usually a lot more… together than this. I’m very reliable – I promise.”

Ace narrowed his eyes further. “Keaton Dunbar,” he said thoughtfully. He glanced over my resume again. “Are you gay?”

My eyes popped open so wide that I felt like they were going to fall out, like this was a cartoon. “I… don’t think you can ask me that.”

Ace looked slightly guilty, but not enough to stop. “Right, uh. This isn’t for demographics or anything. I just wondered. I’m gay, myself, and I thought I might be sensing a vibe.”

I blinked. Well. This was either a trap that I was about to walk into, or it was going to be something I could bond with my interviewer over and potentially have a better chance of getting the job. Either way, at least I could say I was true to myself.

“Yes,” I said, raising my chin a little higher. “I am.”

Ace broke out into a grin. “Alright, well, I can tell you you’re not going to face any discrimination or nasty comments here. I know it can be a bit daunting coming into a sports company, but I’ve been working here for years and I’ve got everyone pretty much straightened out. Oh, no pun intended.”

I laughed. “Got it.” Was I being overly eager, or did it sound as if he was talking like he was going to offer me the job? “How did you figure it out?”

“No one else has come in here talking about Olly’s clothing or his private life,” Ace chuckled.

“Not to be stereotypical about it, but it did seem to be a bit of a sign. And if I was going to analyze it a bit more closely, maybe people like us are more aware of what we give away and don’t give away, especially in the public eye. ”

I nodded soberly. “That’s true. Are you…?”

“Out and proud,” Ace confirmed. “I also rep three of the biggest gay football stars on the field. Well, the only three, for now. But we’re looking to change that.”

“That sounds like a goal I could get behind,” I smiled.

“Why do you want to work here, Keaton?” Ace asked, resuming serious interviewer mode – though he looked even more relaxed than before. He leaned back on his chair, letting it tip onto two legs.

“Well, two reasons,” I lied. “One, I like this kind of work and I think I’m good at it.

And two… well, to be honest with you, I need to make better money than I’m making right now.

There’s not a lot of career progression in secretarial work, so I want to work for the best of the best.” And three, the real reason: because your boss is one of the most famous sports agents of all time, and I know from experience that he’s also a major asshole.

And if I can capture that on a hidden camera, I’m hoping I can leak it to the press and it will be the film that finally launches the career I really want.

Because if it pays well enough, I can actually afford to produce a real documentary, too.

Ace nodded decisively and brought his chair back down to earth. “Well, Keaton Dunbar, I’d like to offer you the role of Mr. Harvey’s secretary. What do you say?”

I gaped at him for a moment. “Um,” I say. “Just like that? Don’t you have anyone else to interview?” I was the last person left in the waiting room, but when I arrived earlier there were at least three other young men in suits who had to be waiting for the same opportunity.

“We did,” Ace said casually. “Mr. Harvey sat in on the first batch of interviews with me and he dismissed every single one of them on the spot. To put it bluntly, Keaton, you’re our last hope.

It’s either you or we go out and start the recruiting process over again from the start, and believe me, I am already on my last nerve as far as that’s concerned. So? Do you want the job?”

I looked down at the table between us. So, the boss was very particular, and he was undoubtedly prickly to work with.

But this was only a temporary measure. And if he did turn out to be prickly with me – or even better, aggressive in some way – then it would make for good documentary footage.

That was what I was here for. There was no sense in getting scared and backing out now.

“Okay,” I said, looking up. “Yes, I’d like the job. When do you need me to start?”

Ace gave me a disarming grin. I felt like we were going to be good friends already – so long as he wasn’t about to feed me to a lion. “How about right now?”