Corner Office Confessions

One

Now was not the time to think about the kiss.

It had happened ten years ago, but Arlington Banks could still taste him. The roasted grain sweetness of beer snuck at a high school keg party. His adrenaline, sharp and metallic on her tongue. She could still feel the ghost of his fingers trailing up her ribs, goose bumps spilling from her scalp to her shoes.

Now, after a decade, they were in the same building.

Arlie stole one last glance at her reflection in the brushed metal elevator doors and tucked an escaped tendril back into the chignon she’d spent hours trying to make look effortless.

Tilting her chin to one side and then the other, she managed to confirm her carefully applied makeup was in place despite the door seam dividing her reflection.

And divided was exactly how she felt. Half of her knew that agreeing to a job interview with Samuel Kane, CEO of Kane Foods International, was perhaps the worst idea she’d ever had. The other half knew it was the best option given her circumstances.

Circumstances.

A rather polite word for the soul-sucking chaos she had recently dragged herself through.

Nails digging half-moons into her palms, she watched the glowing green numbers flash on the panel to the right of the doors: 12...13...14... Ten more to go before she reached the exalted floor that served as the executive offices.

The elevator car eased to a stop with a musical ping. Arlie took a deep breath, hoping the small, cold ball of her stomach would lower back to its normal position.

No such luck.

Stepping out onto the twenty-fourth floor, she turned and came face-to-face with French doors roughly a story tall.

This was the place, all right. The Kanes had never been much for understatement. At least, not in the fifteen years she had known the family.

A mechanical buzz sounded as she approached and the doors swung smoothly inward. Arlie bit back an unintentional gasp.

Acres of travertine marble flooring stretched before her, the sweeping curve of a grand staircase flanked on either side by intricately carved wrought-iron railing. The chandelier dangling above it was a hurricane of crystal shards forever suspended in a violent vortex. At its apex, a soaring opera house ceiling had been intricately painted a tranquil blue interrupted only by puffy clouds and cavorting cherubs. Around the border, expertly painted architectural details gave the impression of hand-carved stonework.

She had learned about this kind of hyper realistic paintings in an art history survey course in college once upon a time.

Trompe l’oiel.To deceive the eye.

In her experience, eyes weren’t the only things the Kane family was capable of deceiving.

Arlie wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there, mouth agape, when a smooth, honeyed voice dropped her back into the present.

“You must be Miss Banks.”

Tearing her gaze away from the ceiling, Arlie noticed the reception desk tucked neatly against the wall. Behind the lacquered expanse of inlaid wood, a petite brunette with designer eyeglasses beamed a warm wide smile at her. A small plaque at the desk’s beveled edge proclaimed her to be Evelyn Norris, Receptionist.

“I am. I have—”

“A nine o’clock interview with Mr. Kane,” Evelyn Norris, Receptionist finished for her with practiced efficiency. “Yes, Miss Westbrook informed me.”

“Samuel Kane,” Arlie said. Lord help her if she ended up at the desk of the wrong Kane. Not that there was a right Kane, if history was any indication.

“Yes, I see that.” Evelyn’s eyes flicked toward the oversized monitor on the desk. “If you wouldn’t mind taking a seat, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

“Of course.” Arlie readjusted the strap of her laptop bag. Within the lobby’s cavernous height, the echo of her stiletto heels sounded like gunshots as she wandered over to the waiting area.

Like her shoes, the rest of her outfit had been selected with almost surgical precision. A tight—but not too tight—fitting pencil skirt. A tailored—but not too tailored—crisp white V-necked blouse that revealed the barest hint of cleavage. The hairstyle had been the one element she’d agonized over. Standing in front of the mirror cursing her thick, wheat-colored strands, she’d summarily vetoed long and loose as too casual and nixed half pulled back as too indecisive before deciding on the simple updo.

Settling onto the buttery leather, Arlie drew her phone out of her bag and scrolled through her email to the message that had tossed her world straight off its axis.

Good afternoon,

I am reaching out on behalf of Mr. Samuel Kane, who wished for me to acquaint you with an immediate opening for Senior Food Stylist at Kane Foods International. Starting salary for the position would be $85k annually with full benefits. Should you be interested in learning more about this opportunity, please reach out at your earliest convenience.

Best,

Charlotte Westbrook