Daddy's Rich Enemy

The blonde nods. She passes me a sticker with ‘Ally’ scrawled on it. Before I can correct her on the spelling of my name, she clears her throat.

“Take an elevator from the third bank and wait in reception.”

“Who…who am I meeting with, please?”

The blonde rolls her eyes at me ever so subtly.

“I don’t know,” she enunciates perfectly. “When you go upstairs they’ll tell you.”

With my tail between my legs, I paste ‘Ally’ on my chest and walk over to the elevator. My feet are already killing me and I wish that I’d taken the time to break these heels in. I don’t know how women can stand it: after less than an hour of being in heeled pumps, I feel like crying.

I know I should be thinking about the interview and any tough questions they may ask, but as soon as the glass elevator begins to ascend, my breath is taken away. The building keeps growing more beautiful with every second. Golden Art Deco swirls and shapes cover the ceiling, and the pink marble walls deepen in color as you rise higher and higher.

When the doors ding open, I step into a second, smaller lobby. This one is more modern with lots of tinted glass and clean shapes. I swallow nervously and wipe the sweat from my brow – it feels like it’s a thousand degrees in here and I can’t stop perspiring.

“Allie Carter?”

I gasp in surprise and whirl around to see a pleasant-looked woman in her late thirties standing beside me.

“Yes!” I chirp. “I mean, I’m her. I’m sorry – I wasn’t

expecting someone to be waiting for me.”

The woman gives me a bemused smile. “Of course. The front desk called and told me to look out for you.”

“Oh, of course they did,” I say. An awkward feeling of stupidity washes over me and I look down at my feet. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she says crisply. “I’m Tracy Morgan, the head of Human Resources here at Lockdown. Please follow me.”

Without waiting for an answer, Tracy turns on her heel and leads me down a long corridor. The walls feature tasteful artwork, none of the usual imitation prints, and I’m in awe by the time we wind up in a small office with a round table instead of a desk.

“We do things very differently here at Lockdown,” Tracy says in a smooth voice. “Mr. Andersen has a vision of how his company should be run.”

“Mr. Andersen?”

Tracy looks up at me with a frown. “The CEO,” she says slowly. “Mr. Dane Andersen.”

I blush beet red. “Of course,” I mutter. “I’m such an idiot.”

A flicker of annoyance passes over Tracy’s features and I feel like melting into the floor. Then she looks up at me with a professional smile.

“So, Allie, tell me. Why are you interested in interning for Lockdown?”

It’s a question that I’ve practiced answering in my mirror over thirty times, but my mind suddenly goes blank.

“Um,” I say in a nervous attempt to buy myself more time. “Well, it’s just such a prestigious company.”

“It is,” Tracy agrees. Another hot flash breaks over my body and I lick my dry lips. “As you know, we are a premier security company, catering to every kind of celebrity imaginable.”

“Yes,” I say weakly. “That’s why I’m so eager to work here.”

“Because of the celebrities?” Tracy says slowly. “Because if so, I hate to tell you but this internship isn’t client-facing.” My head whirls. What does client-facing mean? I panic for a moment before remembering. Oh right. It just means that I won’t be working with clients in this position.

“Of course not,” I say in a rush. “It’s just an internship. I meant I want to work here because of the prestige of Lockdown. It would be very exciting to work for such a great company.”

Tracy nods, satisfied. “So can you tell me more about yourself, Allie?”

Now it’s my turn to blink at her.