Emily: Sex and Sensibility (The Wilde Sisters 1)

“Actually, my father was—is—um, he’s in the military, so—”

“Very interesting.”

“Right.” Emily hesitated. “But, you know, about the piano thing. This Wednesday, right? I don’t know much about it. For instance, how many hours will it involve? What’s the starting time? Would you want me to play popular music? Contemporary? Classical? Light?”

“Oh. That.”

That? That?

“We can work out those details later, Emily. May I call you Emily?”

“Sure. But—”

“For now, let’s move right along to the interview.”

Baffled, Emily stared at her. “I thought this was the interview.”

“Yes, of course, but…”

“Oh. I understand. You want me to audition.”

Barnett smiled brightly. “Exactly. If you’d take the elevator to the fiftieth floor—the executive offices. I’ll phone ahead and tell them you’re coming. And, Emily?” She rose and stuck out her hand. “Good luck.”

What a strange woman, Emily thought as she took the elevator to the top floor. And what an odd place to house a piano, but then, what did she really know about corporate procedure?

The car doors opened onto a vast, high-ceilinged space filled with light. Double glass doors led to an attractive receptionist, seated at her desk with a telephone at her ear.

“You must be Emily.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

The receptionist smiled. “HR called to say you were on your way. In fact, I’m trying to reach the boss’s PA and announce you, but she’s not picking up. Well, never mind. Mrs. Barnett said to move you right along. Through those doors, please, turn left and go to the end of the corridor.”

Impressive, Emily thought as she followed directions. The doors were massive-looking but opened at the touch of her hand; the corridor was hung with brilliantly colored works of modern art, and the carpet underfoot was so deep that her heels threatened to sink into it and disappear.

Eventually, the corridor opened onto another huge, brightly lit space. A waiting room, obviously: teak-and-leather chairs, a pair of couches, a big coffee table and, just far enough away to command some privacy, a desk, a chair and a cluster of office machines—printer, fax—arranged outside a set of teak double doors.

The desk was unattended. And after the handsome, sleek furniture, the artwork, the reception area, it was, well, out of place.

Papers were strewn across the surface and piled in teetering stacks. A computer monitor blinked in woeful silence. Two drawers were half opened. A mug of murky black liquid stood next to a space-age telephone, lights blinking in desperation.

For the first time, Emily felt uneasy. She took an inadvertent step back.

What was this? The Mad Hatter’s tea party? That peculiar interview and now this unlikely mess, topped off by the closed teak doors…

It wasn’t too late.

She’d considered her options.

Wait until somebody showed up.

Or retrace her steps straight down to the lobby…

And straight out of a chance at a job. A paycheck. Maybe even the prospect of meeting someone in the art world.

Really, she had decided, there wasn’t a choice.

So she’d squared her shoulders. Breathed deep. Marched past the disaster area of a desk directly to the closed double doors, knocked more politely than she’d figured the situation warranted, opened the doors…