She’d moved quickly after that.
By twelve thirty, she was dressed for corporate America. Thank goodness for the clothes she’d brought from Texas to New York. Cream silk blouse. Gray wool suit. High-heeled black pumps. A pair of small gold hoop earrings.
She looked in the mirror. Good. Fine. Demure but stylish.
She was ready.
She took the N train to Fifth Avenue and 53rd Street, walked to Madison Avenue, checked the numbers of the buildings…
Her jaw dropped.
She’d figured out that Marco Santini was rich and powerful but this was more than she’d imagined. MS Enterprises was not housed in a touch-the-clouds skyscraper—it was the skyscraper.
This job, a one-day gig for a corporation like this, could be a lot more important than all those miserable weeks at the Tune-In.
Back straight, shoulders squared, she went briskly through the doors and to the lobby reception desk. She identified herself, one of the receptionists made a call, smiled pleasantly and directed her to the tenth floor.
At Human Resources, another smiling individual handed her a stack of papers and a pencil. She spent ten minutes filling out the usual stuff required for corporate job interviews, not just her name and address but, basically, her life story: schooling, degrees, skills, etc. It seemed a waste of time, considering they were going to hire her for one day and
only to play the piano but she’d gone this route before, even when she’d applied for a waitressing job at a fancy Upper East Side restaurant.
At precisely one thirty, she was ushered into Jane Barnett’s office.
“Ms. Madison,” the HR manager said pleasantly, “I must be honest and tell you that I don’t know very much about music and musicians.”
Emily smiled just as pleasantly.
“Then I must be equally honest and tell you that I don’t know much about MS Enterprises.”
Polite laughter on both sides. Then Jane Barnett motioned her to a chair opposite her desk and began reading Emily’s application.
Emily waited, feet placed neatly together, hands folded in her lap. She’d been through this before, often enough to know that the reading would take perhaps two minutes.
Wrong.
Barnett started by skimming the document. Midway through, she stopped, looked at Emily and then went back and started at the beginning. She read more and more slowly, looked up, stared at Emily, looked down, looked up…
Emily gave a discreet cough. “Is there a problem?”
Barnett put down the application, removed her glasses, then put them on again.
“Impressive,” she said. “Four languages?”
“Well, yes. But—”
“A degree in art. Dean’s list. Graduated with honors.”
“Did I give too much information? I only meant to answer the quest—”
“I’ll bet you loved academia,” Barnett said, leaning forward. “You know, doing research, writing papers, taking notes, that sort of thing.”
What, Emily thought, did any of this have to do with her skills as a piano player? Unless… Her mouth went dry. Was this leading to a request for references? Max wouldn’t give any. Gus wouldn’t, either. In fact, he’d probably do his best to —
“Am I correct, Ms. Madison?”
“Yes. I mean, I was a good student but—but I love playing piano. I took lessons for—”
“Oh, of course. I’m sure you’re a fine pianist. But you have such an, uh, an interesting résumé… Have you been to Europe? South America?” Barnett picked up a pencil, tapped it on the desk. “I don’t suppose you spent any time abroad…?”