Emma said it'd only take a couple of minutes for Lance to decide if I'm even worth considering, otherwise I'd be in the restroom that my eyes have been glancing at for awhile now, because I'm almost peeing on myself. But I'm pacing back and forth to kill nervousness and hold my bladder still.
Four other ladies have joined me in the waiting hall since I got out. I met this blonde that wouldn't stop staring at me as soon as I stepped into the hall. I'm guessing she'd be next to be interviewed, that's only if Lance and Emma would just come out with whatever they've decided on.
The elevator dings for the fifth time. Monochrome lady comes out of it with a lady with very noticeable eyes. If they'd judge us by our outfits today, I'm sure not getting this job. Every one of these ladies is dressed to kill. I'm dressed to be killed.
"Hello," the lady says while she takes a seat next to the second person that met me here.
I send monochrome lady a genuine smile. She doesn't get to smile back before we hear a bang that I'm startled by. I swirl around and my eyes meet Lance dashing out of his office in what seems like a furious manner.
"So what's going to happen to the rest?" Emma stomps out too, saying.
"Figure it out, Lawson. I don't have time for that." He raises his wrist to his eye level to check is watch.
We, the newbies, stare at the both of them cluelessly. I swear we're all confused. Me because if Lance is leaving right now, then my chances of getting the job is zero percent, because there's nothing to remember me by, expect that I was rude, which doesn't even count.
"Look," Emma mentions, gesticulating towards those that are for the same interview. "These are people waiting on you." She continues, "There's more. I think I had about 70 mails sent out yesterday scheduling their appointments for today. I can't just cancel it. It's not professional."
Lance takes a step towards her with a brow raised. "Is it professional that you're having this conversation in front of these people?"
She's utterly silent. I see a ball of saliva run down her throat.
"That's it! Figure it out. You're very professional," he makes sure to sound as sarcastic as possible. "Like I said before now, there's something very important that needs my attention, I can't sit down for another minute." His eyes flicker to mine and I gasp, looking away immediately. "The tricky thing is, I need a fucking secretary. And now."
I knew it. I knew I wouldn't pass this interview. I'm done for. Noah's gonna kill me. Even Lance looks at me as a failure.
"You!" I hear Lance call out. I know it can't be me so I don't look up. "Grace!" He says again, moving another step forward. He calls my name like he's known me for ages. I don't have one more nerve in me to face him, yet I can't help but look at him with a gaze that suggests I'm paying attention.
"You seem pretty confident. I don't know if you're hardworking like you claim." He gestures his hand like he doesn't exactly care if I am. "But I do need someone pretty confident right now."
He walks into that office that I suspected was for the last secretary and picks a bunch of paperworks, multiple files and a bag that'll fit everything he's holding. With a handful of these things, he comes out, walks directly to me and dumps them in my stiff hands after lifting them up to hold everything. "You still have time to prove how hardworking you are-"
"B-but sir-" I stutter. I'm striving to ask him what he's doing, if I passed the interview, and what I'm to do next. I'm totally confused. It's not supposed to work this way, is it?
Then he says. "Follow me, Grace. We have some important things to deal with here in San Fran that can't wait." He gives me his back and faces the elevator ahead. "Lawson, by the end of today, I'll let you know if I'll keep this one or have you put up the vacancy ad again."
Still in disbelief, I ask, "Are you hiring me? Like right now... Sir?"
Lance doesn't stop to turn. He presses the elevator button as he replies me. "Yes. At least for now."
• • •
Personally, never in my life had I experienced an extravagant lifestyle. My parents were average class. Even though my dad made a lot from being and editor in The Eagle's Eye Capitol, it still couldn't change his status from average class to rich. My mom was a midwife. That, together with my dad's earnings were what really what helped us live the fair life we lived as kids. They strove together, but that was until my dad had a car accident. After his death, I could still buy what I desired, and the good part was that I didn't desire what I couldn't afford.
To finally get to ride in a car this high-priced, I don't even feel like I belong here. This life of having a chauffeur that holds the door for you until you're in and closes it after you. The life of always being a target, you'd need have to be guarded by two security vans—one in front and the other behind. The life of authority, it wasn't made for everyone. Lance seems very comfortable with it. I certainly don't.
I don't have phlegm in my throat, but I clear it before I open my mouth. "Mr Lance, where are we going, please." I genuinely want to know. We've been driving for awhile now and it's starting to trouble me, especially as Lance has been too time conscious, over the edge and deadly quiet.
"Saint Haven."
I'm confused. "But we just left Saint-"
"Towers are different from mere Hotels, and those are different from Clubs and Lounges, Grace," He says simply. "Someone just died in my club. I'd like to get there before the press does. If I could beat the police to it, I would. Today's not the day for a scandal like this." His eyes are outside the car as he speaks. It's as if he's very calm and also worried. I've never seen two conflicting personalities concurrently present in one person.
"What happened?" I ask, more worried than interested.
"He jumped." His voice gives out completely. "The lounge is 25 feet above the club and I don't know what he was thinking when he jumped. Was he drunk? On drugs? Is he a minor? These are things that could get us in trouble."
I like the fact he used us. It kind of means he's considering me his assistant, even if it may be temporarily. "Do you know anything about that?" I probe further.
"He's a politician's son. I got too angry to listen to the manager when he called, because he mentioned something about the guy turning eighteen next month. I'm guessing he bent the rules because of that... or the guy tipped him, which is also a serious offense."
My heart sinks immediately. I open my mouth to ask more questions about the situation but my words don't form. Turns out I'm more of a human than a journalist.
I stare out my own side of the window. Only now do I see the building. Saint Havens. There's a peculiar look between all Saint Haven buildings. We still seem kind of far from it but the building is so tall to go unnoticed from where we are. The light are phenomenal, most especially the ones against the signage which is made of thick glass.
The car descends a road, makes a u-turn and we're finally on Saint Haven's street. Every street that has a Saint Haven building is called a Saint Haven street. These streets have names, but those names are very insignificant compare to Haven's name.
"Stop," Lance orders before the car is completely off the road. He pulls the door open when the car screeches and comes hurtling out of it.
Prior to when I open the door to my side and jump out, I stare at him until he disappears from my view
A second later, I plunge forward, calling his name. I could not have imagined a more perturbed scene like the one I'm seeing right now. I shove a few people aside to get to Lance, who currently has vanished into the dismayed clubbers. I'm rushing in the opposite direction of the crowd. Seemingly, they're running from something.
The first thing I think of is to cull out my phone, turn on recorder and ask a few people questions. Or, take pictures and and make videos of the chaos. But then I remember I'm not a journalist, I'm a personal assistant and what a personal assistant does is to stand by in case her boss needs anything.
When we're finally able to get into the club, we meet it almost empty. The first thing I notice is the yellow crime scene tape that reads 'DO NOT CROSS' around the area. Before I even see the body, I come in sight of yellow card-like papers that have numbers on them from 1 to 5.
Then I see a pair of sneakers joined to ankles that are twisted in a weird way, soaked in blood. I move further in and see his jeans all drenched in the flowing blood. I'm about to take another step to look at the face of this boy when someone taps my shoulder.
I muffle out a scream as I spin around to look who's behind me, touched me and scared the fuck out of me.
The detective squeezes my shoulder, attempting to calm me down. "You shouldn't be in here," he says, striving to pacify me.
"I uhm-" words fail me. I try to say I'm looking for Mr Lance when I hear his voice from a distance, saying I'm with him.
The detective looks past me and nods. He lets go of my shoulder and walks away. I then hear him tell Lance they'd need to ask him a few questions.
"Do you need your lawyer?" I raise my voice so Lance can hear me because he's already way up the stairs.
"He's already in my office."
I spend the next half hour following the news on the blog as I pace the landing.
By the time Lance comes out of his office, they'd already evacuated the body from the club. I watched them bag the body like it was never alive. This is the fifth time in my twenty five years of living that I've watched paramedics bag up a body so quickly like the people weren't lively at any point.
The detective, who jolted me earlier, strolls out of the office behind Lance. Our eyes meet and I pretend to be affronted, but inwardly I'm pleased. I'm pleased he's finally done questioning Lance. There's more we need to worry about.
I don't see the Lawyer, even after I stretch my neck to look into the office. I shrug, because it is weird. "Reporters have swept the area already," I say, walking towards Lance.
"I'm not surprised." He looks at me, shaking his head.
Just then, my phone rings abruptly. I turn the screen to myself and see it's Noah. It's very weird that I still have his name saved as 'overbearing boss' when my new boss is standing in front of me and has his eyes on the screen of my phone.
The moment is awkward, I try to act normal. I don't answer Noah's call. As a matter of fact, I reject it and turn the phone screen to kiss my palm so if it rings again, Lance would not see it.
My eyes travel to Lance's eyes and I see doubt in them. It's as though he wants to ask me about something but feels he'd be too intrusive.
My phone beeps in my hand again. Twice this time. Then lance speaks up. "Aren't you going to get it?"
I shake my head and brush it off. "He probably wants me back," I say. "But I'm enjoying my new job." I assure him with a lie. There's nothing fun about watching people clean the blood of a human and carry the corpse away.
Lance hums. A hum that sounds like he's not near convinced. "Anyways, whatever the case may be, avoid as much as breathing into the recorders of those reporters if we go out there. Avoid looking into their cameras. Don't give them any information, not even the ability for them to read your eyes or lips. Anything can be-"
"Used against me," I finish his sentence. I should be the one telling him this, though he doesn't know that.
"You're sure getting hang of this," he looks at his phone and says. "I haven't come out yet, those reporters may not leave until they get me in the new."
"What else do we need to do here?" There's this weird habit I have of being too inquisitive. Now I can't tell if it's because I'm a journalist, an assistant or I actually do care to know about these things I ask.
"I have a huge distaste to be in the news today, especially for something so tragic. So while I'm discussing with the manager and attorney, you'd be going through those paperworks I handed to-" it's now he notices I'm not with them. He points outside the window. "Please don't tell me you left them in the-"
"I did. I'm hugely sorry. I didn't know I'd need them in here." I place my palms together in a pleading manner.
"It's fine," he tells me, eyes on his phone. From a straight expression, his face suddenly starts to carve a frown. I see his mouth mumble, indicating he's reading something. "I knew it!" He snaps. "This, right here is why I hate journalists."
My gut stirs some of my undigested food and I instantly taste bile. I can place a bet on it being the fact that I am one, that is why I have a huge problem with those words 'hate journalists'.
"Is Saint Havens at it again?" He reads aloud. "A minor jumps to his death after being drunk in Saint Havens club. The deceased, being the son of popular politician Garry Hamm was welcomed into club...and sweet talked into drinking..." He says the last part like it's a question. He looks up from his phone. "Sweet talked," he whispers and gives forced smile. Then his eyes return to his phone and he continues to read. "After a few bottles of beer and some shots of vodka, the minor couldn't handle his excitement, so he jumped off the building."
"Did he jump off the building?" I cut in, very annoyed by the propaganda.
"That's one." He continues, "The word minor has been used as many times as the word jumped. This guy has a name. I don't even know it, and that's because his age is more important than his name to them. You know why?"
I shake my head like I do not know. But I do. I'm very much aware.
"It's attractive that way," he remarks
I exhale deeply and take a gulp of my saliva.
"If he wasn't a minor, it wouldn't be this attractive," he mutters. "Call Emma, tell her to make arrangements, we're going to pay Garry Hamm a visit. Let's clear some things up."
I back off from him after nodding. Now I have enough room to check my phone again. I see Noah's sent a text—'I know you got the job. So that means you must be at the crime scene. Stay away from those cameras, Anderson. Or Someone's gonna spot you and you'd not have an excuse for being there. Don't ruin this.'
I read it so fast and delete it immediately. I wonder how he already knows I work for Lance when I haven't gotten the chance to inform him. I push the thought away and turn around. Lance is no longer behind me. It's as if his presence has stopped me from breathing. Now that I don't see him anywhere, I respire so fast, trying to calm my nerves.
I never envisioned leading a double life to be this hectic. It's only my first day and I can hear my conscience screaming at me from both ends of the table. It's telling me to abandon this whole thing and run the fuck away. Because if I'm caught, a man as powerful as Lance would sure make my life more miserable than I think it would be if I didn't have a job.