3. Felicity
The LeMonde Diamond winked at me from across the Veritique lobby. Or should I say, a LeMonde replica, since the real hundred-carat gem was currently on exhibit in the Dubai Museum. Industry gossip suggested that a prince was currently trying to buy the massive thing, but the EVP wasn’t having it. I knew everything about everything when it came to Veritique, the good and the bad—and right now, there was plenty of both. They were an amazing brand with a long, storied history, but their current PR disaster was a mess for them…and a huge opportunity for me.
Was I a little nervous about the work ahead of me if I got the job? Well, sure, of course. It was a challenge on a way bigger scale than the stuff I usually dealt with. No one cared that the company’s new CEO was finally taking the right steps toward dealing with conditions in the mines. People only cared that the ginormous jackass who had been the previous CEO had done literally nothing but shout back at everyone who criticized him and then pouted like a toddler when—big shocker—no one wanted to buy from him anymore. He’d basically shit all over his brand, and cleaning that shit away wasn’t going to be easy.
But I was nimble, and I looked at challenging scenarios with a fresh perspective, which was why I’d been called back a week after my initial interview for more meetings. I was a little sweaty and shaky, but so far, I was killing it. The social media director position was within reach, if I could just ace my last meeting of the day. I’d been at the office for hours, moving from conference room to office to lounge as I met with various executives. All that was left was an interview with the CEO. I was ready. Nothing could knock me off my game.
“Felicity, you’re still here,” a voice rang out behind me.
I turned to find Sandrine, the VP of Corporate Affairs and Strategy, walking toward me.
“I am, just one more meeting,” I smiled at the woman, who’d been my easiest interview of the day. “With Mr. O’Connor.”
“Oh, okay.” Her pleasant expression shifted to a frown, so fast I almost missed it. “That should be fine. Anyway, I’m glad I caught you, because I thought of another social media question for you.”
Before I knew it, we’d jumped right into a discussion about measuring return on investment from micro-influencer product placement campaigns. I knew a ton about it, so I took my time explaining my perspective, relishing the way Sandrine drank it all in. I barely noticed the elegant chignon-ed blonde drifting toward us. She stood off to the side while I showed off my knowledge, shifting her weight nervously. Sandrine finally glanced at her.
“Alessandra, can I help you?”
The woman glanced at the tablet she was clutching. “Yes, I’m so sorry to interrupt, but Felicity was due to begin her interview with Mr. O’Connor five minutes ago.”
Sandrine frowned again, and I felt a nervous clench in my stomach. Why were they both so on edge about the CEO?
“Of course.” Sandrine turned to me and gave me an apologetic smile. “Let me walk with you to let him know I’m the reason you’re running behind. He can be a stickler about timing, and I should take the blame, not you.”
Shit. I knew I should have done more research on the CEO, but with him still pretty new to the job, I’d figured there wouldn’t be much out there, so I’d focused my prep work on other things. Plus, his photo was the only one missing from the executive page, which clued me in that things were still shifting into place at the company. Was lateness a big pet peeve of his? Big enough to keep him from hiring me? Punctuality was tough for me. It was a trait I’d willingly offer up during an interview when asked to talk about my weaknesses. Admitting to being late occasionally was usually considered a minor sin, but apparently not when it came to the big man. Noted. At least in this case, I’d have Sandrine to speak for me.
We chatted as we made our way down the long hall to the executive suites until her phone interrupted us. She glanced down at the number.
“Oh no, I completely forgot about this conference call. I need to run.” She grimaced. “But please, tell him it’s my fault. I’m sure he’ll understand. Good luck!”
My heart sank as we ended up in front of double doors with a handle so big it required Alessandra to bend at the waist and wrench it open with all her might. My ally was gone.
“Mr. O’Connor? Felicity Rhodes is here.”
She backed out of the room quickly, right as the leather chair in front of the windows swiveled around.
It took me a second to square the fact that the drop-dead gorgeous man frowning at me, who held my future in his hands, was the exact same one I’d called a “complete asshole” a week prior, right before I’d come to Veritique for my first round of interviews.
My heart dropped to my heels.
“You’re late,” he barked at me as he stood up, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head as he added, in a voice dripping with sarcasm, “Couldn’t find a cab?”
So that was how it was going to be. Right then. Dream job, right out the window. Should have known my luck hadn’t changed after all. For a beat, I considered playing polite, maybe apologizing, trying to convince him to give me a chance.
But no. The cold look in his eyes told me this wasn’t a man who gave second chances. He’d made up his mind about me from the moment we’d met. Apologizing would be a waste of my time—and of the little bit of pride I still had left.
Screw politeness. This interview was blown anyway. I might as well just say what I felt.
“Shockingly, I didn’t have to wrestle any spoiled baby-men to get one today. Lucky me,” I snapped. “And I’ll have you know I was early to my first meeting this morning at nine, with Mr. Cook.” I paused. “He told me that if he had his way, he’d hire me yesterday.”
He laughed at me. “Good thing Roger doesn’t have the final say. I’m the only one who knows the real…” he paused to glance at his laptop, “…Felicity Rhodes.”
He said my name like it tasted foul on his tongue.
“Yes, and I’m happy I already have an understanding of your leadership style, Mr. O’Connor.”
“Please, call me Cameron.” It came out fake, like he was a cat gently toying with a mouse before delivering the killing blow.
“No thank you, Mr. O’Connor,” I sniffed. “Anyway, as I was saying, I have no desire to work for a company that values personal gain over fairness. I’m confident my vision won’t mesh with your direction.”
It was a struggle to say the lie, because up until this very moment I’d never wanted a job quite as badly as I wanted this one. I knew I could help find a way out of the disaster they were facing. Just sitting in the interviews all day presented me with a half dozen possible directions. I respected Veritique despite their current struggles, I adored their products, I’d vibed with every person I’d met so far, I liked the office culture, and the salary? Mouthwatering. That’s why I had to force myself to pretend the job didn’t matter to me. I couldn’t let on just how much walking away was going to hurt.
“And how would you know what my direction is?”
I laughed in his face. “Do you need me to say it out loud, Mr. O’Connor?”
He swept his hand out in front of him. “Please, I’d love to hear your take on Veritique.”
“I’ll let your recent press do it for me.” I cleared my throat. “‘Veritique remains mum on diamond mine working conditions in South Africa despite public outcry,’ The New York Times. ‘Veritique is lone holdout on mine conditions statement, amid calls for reform,’ Washington Post. ‘Top three diamond retailers unite to create a universal mining and conditions code of ethics, Veritique is lone holdout,’ The Atlantic.” I paused to stare at him. “It took you forever to come out with a statement about your workers’ deplorable treatment, and in PR, delaying your response is a response. I thought I could join the team and help change the public’s perception, but now I’m discovering that’s probably not possible.”
“Now hold on,” he fumed, stomping toward me. “Those headlines don’t take into account that it was my father who refused to make a statement or bring about change. Things are different now that I’m in charge.”
I laughed in his face. “Oh, is that a fact? You’re the ethical billionaire? I beg to differ.”
“You seem to think that one stupid incident can sum up the entirety of a person,” he seethed, “but if that’s the case, what do you think it told me about you?”
I steeled my spine. If he thought he could tear me to shreds with his words, he was welcome to try. He wouldn’t be the first.
“I can see you’re dying to tell me, so why don’t you?” I shot back.
“Oh, you want to hear it?”
“Can’t wait.”
My skin prickled under the weight of his gaze. The air in the room was charged with static, and my pulse was racing. He watched me with an intensity I could only write off as pure loathing. I didn’t enjoy fighting with the man, but I also didn’t not enjoy it. Although “enjoy” was the wrong word.
I felt…alive as we bickered. Like I had to think fast on my feet to keep up with him. Nothing was sexier to me than an intelligent man, although I wasn’t about to admit I found him sexy.
Even though I did.
“I don’t see how that would be worth my time. I think we’re done here, Miss Rhodes.”
I nearly stomped my foot like a child because he’d beat me to the punchline. I wanted to be the one to end the interview. And admittedly, I’d been a little curious as to what he really thought of me. But there was no way I was going to let him see my disappointment.
“You took the words right out of my mouth,” I lied.
“So we agree on something,” he shot back.
“A first for us!” I took a few steps toward the door. “Normally, I’d say thank you for your time, but I know firsthand that manners aren’t important to you.”
His jaw was working overtime. “You are…”
“Out of here,” I finished for him, backing out of the room and closing the door behind me.
I’d gotten the last word, which made me happy until I realized I’d just argued my way out of the best job in the world.
But then, if it meant working with that man, it couldn’t be that great, could it? Maybe I’d dodged a bullet. At least this way, I’d never have to lay eyes on him again.
“Is the beer helping?” Nina asked, leaning close to shout in my ear above the noise of an old Grateful Dead song.
My beloved roommate had dragged me out after I gave her a play-by-play of the disastrous interview. Normally I avoided overcrowded dive bars, but one of the bartenders at the place had lived on our hall in college, and out of old Lafayette Hall loyalty, she slipped us free alcohol. Given my underemployed status, and Nina’s job as a librarian in the Hunter College Special Collections section, we needed all the free mood-altering drinks we could get.
I shook my head at her. “Not really.”
“Maybe some good music would do the trick?” she hollered back at me. “I think the band is getting ready to start.”
She craned her neck to get a better view of the stage, which was all but impossible given that she was about a foot shorter than the people in front of her. Nina and I were opposites, our love of books being the one thing we agreed on. But our many differences bonded us tightly together as well, like we were sisters. For someone whose job was to make other people look good, my own appearance was pretty low on my priority list. I was a hair up, soft pants kind of person. By contrast, Nina lived her life like she was on a catwalk. Even though few people came into her branch of the library, she styled her red hair and dressed to kill every damn day. Tonight, she looked the part of a devoted concert attendee, in a vintage Def Leppard concert t-shirt and ripped jeans.
I didn’t want my sour mood to ruin her night since she loved live music, so I let her grab my hand and drag me closer to the stage, so she could see everything.
“Oh my gosh,” she leaned over and sighed to me as the lead singer took his position behind the mic stand. “Look at him. Gorgeous!”
Even though skinny rocker-types weren’t my thing, I had to agree with her. The guy was clearly at home with every eye on him, even as he fiddled with his guitar trying to tune it. He oozed that magnetic something, from his floppy dark hair that kept falling into his eyes to his lanky frame. He was born to be on stage.
Nina grabbed my arm and squeezed it. “Hold on! I think that’s Tyler Boyd!”
The name didn’t ring a bell. I shook my head at her.
She rolled her eyes. “‘Carved on my Heart’? You don’t remember that song? It was everywhere! Or ‘Bad Decision’?” Nina pumped her fist in the air as she sang, “‘You’re the best bad decision that I ever made!’”
I squinted at her. “Maybe?”
“I need to beef up your music education—you’re hopeless,” she laughed, glancing back at the guy, who paused a half second on her as he scanned the room.
As much as I wanted to go home and fall into bed for the next week or so, I sucked it up so Nina could enjoy the night. The music was good, and I tried to lose myself in it, but I couldn’t quite shake off my day enough to really let go. Nina, on the other hand, never stopped dancing.
“I need to hit the bathroom,” I shouted in her ear. She gave me a nod and went back to rocking out.
I threaded through the crowd of young, too-cool types, who had piercings in places that looked painful and wore clothing that would work in a Nirvana video. For once, my jeans and ratty t-shirt made me fit in.
I tried to keep my head down on my way back to Nina, to avoid eye contact with any of the hungry-looking guys, but my eyes were drawn to check out a figure just on the edge of the room. Maybe because he looked so out of place in the crowd of people vibing to the music. The guy was standing ramrod straight, eyes locked onto the stage with such laser intensity that he had to be the band’s manager or something. I only had a three-quarter view of him, but he was way overdressed from what I could see, in a blazer surrounded by a sea of denim. Maybe he was an industry guy, scouting the band? They seemed good enough to get some attention. Or at least the lead singer was.
The out-of-place guy turned abruptly, and when I saw his face, I almost dropped to my knees to hide from him.
Shit! What the hell was Cameron O’Connor doing at The Sty?
I ducked behind two guys head banging until he refocused on the band. Luckily, Nina was on the opposite side of the stage, near a column I could hide behind to make sure The Enemy didn’t spot me. There was no way I wanted to chance running into him, especially given my sewer rat appearance. I needed to leave, now.
I slid up to Nina and leaned close to yell in her ear. “Do you mind if I bail? I’m not feeling it tonight.”
She pushed out her bottom lip as she grasped my hand. “I’m sorry—do you want to go somewhere else? We could get ice cream! Or cookies? There’s an Insomnia Cookies not far from here.”
“No way am I cheating on my Levain Bakery,” I replied with a smile. “Just because you’ve been seduced to the dark side by their hours.” The bakery was famous for being open until three a.m., which meant it was right up Nina’s night owl alley. “You don’t need to babysit me—I know you’ve got your Batshit Book Club tonight.”
Nina was a charter member of the late-night horror and paranormal book club that met in a different creepy location each month. She kept pressuring me to join, but my bookish tastes ran more to lighthearted romances.
She insisted she didn’t mind skipping it if I wanted company, but I assured her I’d be fine and headed for the door. I slunk out of the place with my head down, so there was no way the cab-stealing dickhead would see me.
After a long subway ride home, complete with breakdancing panhandlers and more loud music, I could barely keep my eyes open. But did I take the direct route from the station to our building? No, of course not, because I was still avoiding the indie bookstore on the way that had quickly gone from my favorite spot in the city to my arch nemesis thanks to a window display that was a slap to my face every time I saw it.
They didn’t do it on purpose, of course. And it wasn’t like I could say anything to Maggie, the owner, because talking about the problem would draw more attention to it, and that was the last thing I wanted. Instead, I opted for one of my favorite coping techniques: avoidance. I walked an extra three blocks so I wouldn’t have to pass by the thing that was making my life more miserable than losing out on the job of a lifetime.