I walk into the building and give the receptionist my name, take the visitor pass she gives me and ride the elevator up.
“Good afternoon Miss Van Adams. Mr. Kilworth will see you now.” Ok. Here we go. I walk into the office and immediately see that everything is pristine. New, polished, and... distinguished.
“Please, have a seat,” he says, gesturing toward the chair. “So, tell me why a woman such as yourself, who has means and money, would want to come here and be my runaround girl?”
Although I was prepared and anticipating the question, something about the way he says it makes it sound like more than his PA. I brush it aside, certain that I am reading too much into it and answer the question.
“It’s simple. I want to be more.” He stares and studies me, trying to see how serious I am.
“Well, let’s get this interview started… shall we?”
The interview lasted for an hour with questions about my talents, my goals, and my end game. He asked me how I could be useful to him and what I could bring to the company. At the end of it, he held out his hand and told me I was hired. I literally wanted to jump up and down and squeal. I didn’t of course because that would be unprofessional. But I cannot say it didn’t feel good.
“Let me walk you out.” He ushers me to the door and down the elevator. I get the feeling as if there is something more to this job, or something more to him hiring me. It could be my self-doubt sinking in, but something is starting to tingle at the back of my neck. When we reach the ground floor, his hand is at the small of my back. He walks me to my car and holds out his hand. “I look forward to you working for me, Miss Van Adams.” hmm. Ok. An interesting way to put it.
“Me as well, Mr. Kilworth. I won’t let you down.” He nods and walks away.
I am about to get in the car when I see the same guy across the street taking pictures, and it looks like… writing? Deciding to go over there, I begin to cross the street when the theme from the Adams family starts playing. I know it is my parents calling.
“Mom,” I say, my voice drab and without emotion.
“Esther, your father wants you to come home. Neither one of us understands why you insist on living in that apartment when you don’t have to. Now that Frannie is married and moved out, you come back here and take your place.” I roll my eyes. Same old shit.
“What place would that be mom? An airhead, who is not sure what the difference is between a chicken of the sea or by the sea?” Sarcasm is dripping from every fiber of my body. This is what I am trying to leave behind me.
“I resent your tone, young lady. Your father said that if you aren’t home by the end of the week, he is going to remove your inheritance.”
“Tell him to go ahead. I am not coming back there.”
“Esther, I don’t know why you are being so stubborn about this. Your sister has no problem being home. You and your brother have always rebelled against everything.” She's right. Tyler and I have never done things the way they wanted us too. I have always liked that about us.
“Well, good for Skylar. But I don't want that life. Now if you will excuse me, I have to get ready for my first day of work.” Huh. Take that. I think as I put my phone in my purse. Looking across the street, I note the guy with the camera is gone. Probably paparazzi. Driving away, I can’t help but smile. One step closer to fulfilling all my dreams.Chapter ThreeDukeI’ve been trying to work all day, but to no avail. For once I am having a light day and I can’t get through the measly amount of shit to do that is sitting on my desk. After a quick lunch with Baron, I have a meeting with the PI I hired to keep an eye on Esther. Everything I’ve learned so far about her makes me want to know more, and I want to hear the information from her. I need her to tell me everything. Every little detail that shows me what makes her tick. She even has me considering telling her everything about myself and shit, that never happens.
“Sir, I have Mr. Delarosa here for you,” Bernie says through the intercom of my desk phone, jarring me from my thoughts.
“Thank you, Bernie. Please send him in,” I say, standing. “Enrique, it’s good to see you.” Shaking hands, I gesture for him to have a seat. Enrique Delarosa is about sixty years old and has been in this business since before I was born.