Courting the Clown (6 page)

Sylvie hesitated. “Oh, just a temp job,” she then said off-hand. She didn’t need another lecture. “Just something to get me through the holidays.”

“I’m not sure yet, might be an office job. And anyway, I’m a starving artist, remember?” Sylvie quipped. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

Chapter 4

I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.

Sylvie took a deep breath, looking at herself in the mirror. She was looking neat and professional. Her hair was brushed, and neatly pinned up, her make-up looked natural and she was wearing a simple conservative suit in subtle shades of gray. All in all she should fade naturally into the walls of any office, like a good office slave should.

No ridiculous clown make-up. No scary polka dots. No horrid wig. She looked like a normal person. A normal person ready to tackle a new exciting job – and, damnit, with cheeks ever so slightly tinged with red because of her soon-to-be boss.

Stupid, she chastised herself. He wouldn’t even recognize her again. He’d met a bedraggled clown, her real self well hidden behind paint and polka dots. She was determined to show him her professional side today, to prove that she would make a valuable employee -- but there was no need for her heart to race. This was just a job interview.

The building was one of the glassy skyscrapers in the city center. She circled it a few times before finding a parking place, and used the time to pray they had employee parking somewhere not too far away. Running through the city center every morning and afternoon at rush hour this time of year would not be fun.

After loitering a bit in the nearby shops, killing time because she was way early, she walked back to the office building and pushed through the revolving door with some trepidation. What if he just looked at her and frowned, wondering what the hell she was doing here? His daughter might have forgotten all about the wretched clown already, and when she did, so would he.

Still, she was here. Holding Nick’s card, where he’d written down the time for her appointment. No turning back now.

She found herself in an intimidating marble foyer with fancy leather couches, huge impressive paintings on the walls, and a grand piano prominently displayed in the center of the room.

What? No fountain? What was a foyer without a fountain?

“Good morning! Can I help you?”

A smiling receptionist waited behind a huge counter, and Sylvie hurried towards here. “Good morning. I’m here for a job interview with Nicholas Falcon.”

“ Job interview with Mr. Falcon
personally
?” the receptionist asked with a brow raised.

Obviously that was unusual. “Yes,” she said decisively, hoping she was right. “Mr. Falcon, 10 o’clock.” She re-checked the card he’d given her, but there was no clue there. Just the date and time. He hasn’t mentioned a personnel office, had he? He’d said “they” would talk. Or course it could have been some sort of corporate “we”.

“Of course. Mr. Falcon’s office is on the top floor,” the receptionist said, pointing towards the elevators. “Just go straight up and you’ll get to his offices.”

Sylvie thanked the woman and walked into the mirrored elevator. Top floor? Was this entire building a part of his business? This was not helping her peace of mind.

She sighed, and all around, dozens of her sighed, too. They did this on purpose. They put mirrors in all the elevator walls with the sole purpose of lowering a person’s confidence. She peered anxiously at her face, almost expecting to see the remains of the clown make-up despite the one bath and two showers she’d taken since then. The elevator door slid open, and she took another deep breath before walking out. Back straight. Head held high. Confidence. That was the key.

“Nicholas Falcon’s office?” she asked another receptionist was sitting at a desk just outside the elevator, guarding a big mahogany door.

“Yes?”

“I’m Sylvie Farrell. He’s expecting me.”

The woman clicked a few keys and stared intently at her screen. “Farrell? I’m sorry, I don’t see you here. Are you sure this was today?”

Damn. Should she be at the personnel department? Or had he forgotten all about her already?

“Are you sure?” Sylvie handed Nick’s card to the receptionist. “Ten o’clock appointment.”

The woman took her card. “Yes, it’s his handwriting.” She glanced at Sylvie’s face, then back at the screen. “Iffy?” she asked. “That’s his ten o’clock appointment. Mr. Falcon entered it into the computer himself. Would that be your.... nickname?”

Sylvie groaned. Relief or irritation? She wasn’t sure which to pick. “Yes. That’s me.”

“Of course. He’s in another meeting now. Have a seat, please, he should be right with you.”

Right with you. That phrase was obviously relative as fifteen minutes passed before a small group of people left the office and Nick’s assistant finally ushered her in.

It was a large corner office with huge windows overlooking the city. Under piles of paper, she could just see that the desk was gleaming mahogany – almost the same color as Nick’s hair, she noticed. The room wasn’t neat. It was filled with all sorts of junk, from books and magazines stacked on tables and shelves, to electronic parts scattered everywhere.

Nick was standing by his desk, bending over some files, but he looked up as he heard the door close behind her. Suit and tie, neat and perfect. No glistening snow in his hair, no five o’clock shadow, and he didn’t have a child or two clinging to him. He looked different. Very different.

But just as good, damnit.

He stared hard at her for a minute, without the least sign of recognition, his expression serious and slightly bemused. “Hi there,” he said. “Iffy the Clown? Is it really you?”

Sylvie shook her head. “Even your receptionist calls me Iffy. I prefer Sylvie, but yes. It’s me.”

Nick grinned. It was a slow sunrise that woke the butterflies in her stomach from the hibernation she’d forced them into. “Sorry. The girls talked about you all evening, so I’m still thinking of you as Iffy.” He strode forward and held out his hand. “Hello again. I’ve been looking forward to seeing what you look like behind the mask.”

Sylvie took his hand, and resisted the impulse to twirl around to show him she didn’t have a donkey’s tail stuck to her behind. “Your coat,” she blurted out. “I forgot to give it back to you, but I guess it was for the best because it was covered in stains from the costume. It’s at the cleaners. They weren’t sure if they’d get all the dye out, but if they can’t, I’ll of course replace it. We should know tomorrow.”

Nick shrugged dismissively. “It’s just a coat. Don’t worry about it.”

“I do worry about it,” she insisted. “I’m not in the habit of ruining other people’s clothes.”

Nick smiled wryly. “Well, I’m not in the habit of blackmailing innocent people, so I guess we’re even.” He sat down behind the desk. “Have a seat, Sylvie. You’re here – so I assume we still have a deal?”

Would he let her back out now?

She stared at him for a moment, then decided not to tempt fate. She did need this job, and she’d pretty much resigned herself to the clown job. And Lana’s eyes...

“Yes. If you still want me, of course.” A blush crept up on her as she realized what she’d said, although Nick hadn’t seemed to take any notice. Of course there was nothing to take notice of, unless his mind was in the same gutter as hers. “I mean, if you still want Iffy at Lana’s birthday party,” she clarified just in case, “I’ll do it.”

“Yes.” Nick nodded. “We do want you. Lana will be thrilled to have you there. We’ll all be thrilled.”

“Well, then... Good. Our deal stands.”

Nick smiled. The colors of his tie matched his eyes. Was that why he’d bought it? No, a man probably wouldn’t think of such things. She bet a woman had bought him the tie. Someone who appreciated what the hypnotic effect of dark blue depths of his eyes did to a woman.

Well, either that, or his mother.

“Excellent,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “Unfortunately my early meeting ran late, so we don’t have much time. Let’s see what kind of a job we can find for you. Did you bring your CV?”

She dug her CV out of her purse and handed it to him, nervously watching as he flipped through the few pages. She had plenty of skills, she told herself. And plenty of experience. She was first and foremost a musician, but she’d been working so many different jobs the last few years. She was pretty much ready for anything – except working as a children’s entertainer.

But then, as Susie had reminded her, she had no idea what kind of a job this man would be offering her. The building or the office hadn’t given her any clues yet. “Mr. Falcon, I realized that I’d forgotten to ask what kind of business you’re in.”

His brows drew together as he glanced up quickly before flipping to the second page. “Call me Nick. I thought we were already on first name basis.”

She debated telling him that if he intended to keep calling her Iffy, she’d much prefer Miss Farrell. Or even “hey you”. Pretty much anything other than Iffy. “If you’re going to be my boss I don’t think it’s approp--.”

“Nick,” he insisted. “And as for my business -- we have a multi-layered operation. Invention, production, wholesale, retail. We pretty much see our products through from creation to the consumer.”

Nick was distracted, flipping through the last pages of her CV where she’d listed all the multiple part-time and freelance jobs she’d held lately. Then he put the pages down and leaned back in his seat. “So, you’re a musician?” he asked.

“Yeah. Starving Artist in the flesh,” she quipped.

“Hard to get a job?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes. Sometimes not. The hard part is finding something steady and reliable. I had one, but the place went bankrupt just a couple of weeks ago. And it’s not the best time of the year to be out of a job.”

“Do you teach?”

She froze. “If you’re looking for a piano teacher for your daughters...”

Nick chuckled. “Don’t worry. Not right now. I’m just curious. I’d have thought musicians could always fall back on teaching during tough times.”

“Yeah, I could always get a job teaching, but well – as you know already, I find children rather intimidating. I do give lessons to adults sometimes, but nothing beats a safe steady paycheck. I’m renting now, but I’d like to save up for a deposit on my own place.”

Did he need to know all that? No, he didn’t. She was babbling. A sure symptom of being nervous.

Nick nodded. “A worthy cause. Well – I’m afraid we don’t have a lot of openings for musicians.”

“I realize that. I’m not picky.” She gestured at her CV. “As you can see, I have plenty of experience with different jobs. I’m a fast typist. It’s a different kind of keyboard from the piano, of course, but the principle is pretty much the same.”

His eyes gleamed. “Interesting. Can you type Beethoven’s Ninth?”

Sylvie leaned her head to the side and pursed her mouth. “I don’t know about that, but I could certainly try
Fűr Elise
.”

Nick chuckled. “I’ll have to take you up on that some day.” He tapped his fingers on the desk and glanced out the window. “Actually, we could offer you a position playing live music in one of our stores for the holiday season, if you’d like. But it would only be for the holidays, and maybe around Valentine’s Day or other special occasions.” He flipped a page. “But I see you’ve got plenty of office experience too. So if you wouldn’t mind dividing your time between playing when we can use live music, and office work or retail at other times, that would be a pretty steady job.”

She blinked. “Uh, sure. No problem.” She glanced at her watch. “Assuming I have time to get there. What kind of a store is this? And where is it?”

He glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry, but I have to be on my way. The store is called R&R. It’s located just around the corner, so you have plenty of time to grab lunch before you start. I recommend the deli on the ground floor. Report at R&R just before 1 o’clock. Ask for Mary. Doris – my assistant -- will call her and tell her to expect you. Mary will show you the ropes.”

His buzzer sounded and he stood, grabbing a briefcase from behind the desk. “Sorry to cut this so short, but I’m needed across town and must rush.” He picked up a sheet of paper and handed it to her. “These are the terms we’re offering you. Take a look, and if you approve, we’ll have it signed and sealed tomorrow. Okay?”

Okay, indeed.

Nick was a fast mover. He vanished out of the office in a flash, and had disappeared by the time she made it out into the hallway. The receptionist was on the phone, one hand holding a pen and moving furiously over a pad as she muttered a series of “yes.” She looked up and gestured at Sylvie to wait.

Then she hung up and smiled. “That was Mr. Falcon,” she said. “He tells me you’re a new recruit and that he’s putting you straight to work.”

Sylvie blinked. “Wait a minute. He just walked past here, but he called you to tell you about me?”