To Kiss A King

ONE

I’m pretty sure I met my soul mate while tied to a bed. Okay, I guess I should start at the beginning.

It was an average day. No, scratch that. It was a dream that totally ended as a nightmare. I was on the phone with my best friend, Denise, when a knock sounded at my door.

“Hold on, Denise,” I said into the phone. “Someone’s here.”

Time was of the essence, as I had to get ready for my big interview. Big didn’t fully explain how important it was. Today was the first chance I had to get myself hired at one of two companies I was hedging my entire career on.

“Who’s at your door at this hour?” Denise said with as much skepticism as I felt.

“I don’t know,” I said, reaching said door in seconds. I’ll call you back.”

My building had a doorman. Unless someone was on my approved list, they couldn’t get upstairs—in theory. Carelessly, I tore open my door and came face-to-face with a no-nonsense woman who pushed right past me like she owned the place.

Problem was, she could have, given that I was subletting, and if I didn’t get either job I was interviewing for this week, I would be homeless.

“Excuse me,” I said a moment too late as a team of people entered my apartment before I could shut the door in anyone’s face.

The petite but commanding woman showed no regard for her entrance. “I’m Suni Lee and I’m here at Mr. Fisk’s request.”

At that name, I dropped the scowl from my face.

“Yes,” she said with a tilted grin on her face. “You have a meeting with him later.”

Interview was a better descriptor and a little over an hour from now did count as later. So I just nodded because Mr. Fisk owned the company for whom I’d applied for said job.

“If you plan to work for Mr. Fisk, you should be prepared not to be prepared.” She waved a hand toward her team. “I have clothes, shoes, hairstylist and makeup artist here to get you ready for that meeting.”

I could feel the wrinkle lines crease my brow as I formed several questions in my head.

Her pointed stare silenced me. “Mr. Fisk assumed you might not have suitable attire for the venue.”

“Venue. The interview is at his office.”

“That’s changed. You’ll be meeting him at the 21 Club.”

The 21 Club was a famous New York restaurant frequented by some of the biggest stars. “Um…”

“Yes. Like I said, he assumed you wouldn’t have suitable attire.”

It wasn’t a jeans and t-shirt place, not that I’d planned to wear either for my interview. But my Ann Taylor off the rack suit also wouldn’t fit in.

“Okay,” I said, the word rolling off my tongue like it was more than four syllables.

Next thing I knew, I was being urged into a chair as the team got to work.

It would have felt like a gold star spa treatment if not for the total ambush. I kept wondering if I wanted a job with Mr. Fisk, if my life could easily be taken over at a moment’s notice.

When the team was done, I couldn’t argue with the results. I looked like an old-time movie star. My hair shined unnaturally as if I was in a commercial and swooped to one side in retro waves. I couldn’t complain, but I hardly looked like someone heading to a job interview. Especially when they crowned me with a hat more fitting for the Kentucky Derby.

The black sheath dress I wore had small cap sleeves framed by the draped, asymmetrical neckline. The wide, inset waistline—centered by a skinny leather belt—led into V-shaped seaming at the back.

Suni caught me eying myself in the mirror. “Very Jackie O.” When I didn’t immediately catch on, she said, “Jackie Kennedy Onassis.”

“Oh,” I mouthed, thinking of the former First Lady.

But it was the red sole shoes that kept drawing my attention. I leaned them this way and that as I took myself in.

“Time is of the essence,” Suni said.

My attention yanked toward the time on my phone. “Yes. I should go.”

“Don’t worry. We have you covered. A car is waiting outside.”

Suni waved a hand, and the team disappeared out the door, having picked up their tools of trade after tidying up after themselves as if they’d never been there.

I took a cleansing breath, and Suni smiled. “It will be fine, Miss Young. Mr. Fisk doesn’t bite. Unless you want him to.”

She winked before disappearing out the door as my jaw hung open.

Get yourself together. She was only teasing, I told myself. I grabbed the Chanel purse they provided that I’d already switched my things to and left, locking my apartment door behind me.

Suni and her team had vanished. I took the elevator and convinced myself I’d heard her wrong about the car and driver. If they weren’t there, I’d simply order an Uber. It was a luxury in my current financial situation I couldn’t afford, but I could always sell everything I wore, along with the purse, to make rent if I had to.