Chapter 7 #2
When I looked up at Steven, I saw that his thin lips were pressed together in a quivering smile. “Good girl. Test passed. I think I love you, Janie. Let’s get married and not have children.”
My eyes widened for a brief moment. I felt sure he was teasing me, but when I looked into his dancing gray eyes, I knew he meant it as a compliment. I returned his smile. I liked Steven.
Carlos broke the silence. “Ms. Morris, the job is yours if you’d like it.”
“Oh, please say yes.” Steven’s smile widened.
“To the proposal or the job?” I asked.
“If you have to pick one, let it be the job.” Steven handed the iPad to me then reached out his hand to shake mine again. “I snore and you’re too tall; we’d divorce within a year.”
I laughed, stood, and shook his hand, not minding that he’d remarked on my height. “Fine, then; I accept the job.” I turned to Carlos, who was also standing by now. “Although, I’d like to see a job description. I’d like to make sure I can actually do the job you’ve apparently hired me for.”
Carlos gave me another disarming, dimpled smile, which could only be described as adorable.
“Of course. You get settled in with Steven, and I’ll have Olivia email it to you.
” He came around the desk and, like before, shook my hand with both of his.
“And if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to find me. ”
It was decided that, instead of meeting at Kat’s apartment for knitting night, as it was her turn to host, we were all to meet for drinks, then dinner at South Water Kitchen for a Janie-is-once-again-able-to-pay-income-taxes celebration.
It was a Tuesday, it was the second day at my new job, and it was exactly two weeks since my worst day ever.
Almost immediately after settling into our seats, Elizabeth introduced the subject of Quinn along with Friday night, monkeys, naked cage dances, Saturday morning McHotpants breakfast, and the business card that led to my new job.
“You all remember McHotpants, the security guard? Well, Janie and I saw him at that new club where the naked ladies dance with the monkeys—yes, that club called Outrageous! Anyway, his name is Quinn, and she went home with him after being drugged. They had breakfast together Saturday morning, and he got her the interview for her new job.”
It was like throwing Hustler magazines at sex addicts. After a two-second lull of stunned silence, everyone started talking excitedly at once. Elizabeth sent me a sweet smile over her ice water.
The entire first half-hour of the evening was consumed by me regaling the ladies with the events of my weekend, plus the Monday non-interview job interview.
A few questions interrupted my story, largely relating to trivial clarifications, but mostly they sat and listened with a grave, almost reverential silence.
Every time the waiter came by to take our order, Sandra and Ashley shooed him away by demanding wine with quiet, urgent whispers.
As I neared the end of my story, I could feel the tension building in the group. I sensed that they were restless with questions, but Elizabeth seemed to have an agenda and, when I finally reached my conclusion, she interjected.
“This is what I don’t understand: How did Quinn know you were up in the Canopy Room?
Or did he? Did he go up there to get you, or did he just happen to go up there and see that you needed rescuing?
And is that why he was suddenly like ‘you need to leave’ when he found out the Canopy Room people bought us drinks?
He must have known the people up there were shady.
Furthermore, since we suspect that you were slipped something, what is to be done about it? ”
She glowed with an almost Sherlock Holmes-esque satisfaction and sat back in her seat while the group speculated on her questions. Undeniably, Elizabeth seemed to have given the entire encounter a great deal more thought than I had.
Although I tended to obsess about topics like the English vernacular, the height of the average Brazil nut tree, and international date standards, I had a habit of ignoring important details, such as who drugged me and how I felt about blacking out only to wake up mostly naked in a strange apartment with seven pieces of furniture.
I shivered a little, finally feeling the weight of my recklessness and truly understanding what a dangerous situation I’d been in.
Likewise, my stomach flipped at the thought of Quinn finding me, carrying me out the second-story room, and taking me to his sister’s place, all while I was blacked out.
Maybe I wouldn’t need to be rescued, escorted, or coddled so much if I focused on actually important details rather than dreaming up an appropriate collective noun for every plural eventuality.
In the end, I promised the ladies I would attempt to corner Quinn when I saw him at work, at which point I would question him about the Canopy Room, as well as actions taken to ensure the safety of unsuspecting female guests in the future.
The waiter reappeared and, thankfully, everyone placed her order, thus giving me a reprieve from the hour-long investigation into my weekend.
“Have you seen him yet? In the office I mean?” Marie asked, leaning toward me and fixing me with her bright blue eyes.
“Quinn? No, today was only my second day. Mostly, I just filled out paperwork, met with lawyers, and settled into my office.”
“You met with lawyers?” Fiona’s steady voice sounded from my right.
“I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement and a non-compete agreement.”
Fiona frowned. Her eyes met Marie’s for an instant then moved back to me. “Why did you need to sign that?”
“Well, basically, I’m not to disclose the nature of my work or who I work with.”
Fiona’s frown deepened. “You mean their names? You’re not allowed to talk about your coworkers?”
I shook my head and finished a thirsty sip of my wine. “No, I mean I’m not allowed to discuss any of the clients I work with: their names, how much they pay us, what we do for them, or what services we offer—that kind of thing.”
I recalled my conversation with two lawyers from earlier in the day. They were both egg-shaped men in their early thirties and reminded me of Tweedledee and Tweedledum in appearance. But when they spoke, their French accents clouded my earlier impression.
Le Dee and Le Dum both made it extremely clear that I was not to disclose any details about the clients with which I was soon to interact: no names, no characteristics, no impressions, no nothing.
I was also not allowed to discuss what I did at work, including my job description or duties, or what services Cypher Systems offered.
I could, however, communicate my job title if asked.
It was Marie’s turn to order; I took the opportunity to glance at the menu, but Fiona pressed me on the subject. “I guess it makes sense…” Her voice trailed off as though she expected me to fill in a blank.
I turned my attention to her and found her elfin eyes softened with concern. I gave her a comforting smile. “Oh, it does; it does make sense. It’s not really a top secret I’d-tell-you-but-I’d-have-to-kill-you kind of thing; it’s more of a proprietary thing—trade secrets and such.”
That answer seemed to pacify her, because she returned my smile and let me go back to studying the menu.