Hart’s Desires (Volume One – The First Day) (Hart's Desires)

Hart’s Desires

Volume One – The First Day

By Ana Vela

© 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This story is intended for mature adults only. It contains sexual scenarios, dirty language, hot action, and much more! Please store your digital files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

~ Vol. 1 – The First Day ~

The key turned, but the engine refused to make any noise. In the stale air of my car, I stared at the instrument panel, praying that it would see my desperation. The orange check engine light blinked back at me. The fuel gauge said the tank was half full, but I learned a long time ago to never trust it.

I turned the key again. The engine grunted, but refused to go any further.

I slammed my hand against the top of the steering wheel. It stung back. There was no question about it: I was going to be late for my first day.

I turned the key a third time, afraid of flooding the engine, but more afraid that I would never get to my new job and they would fire me before I clocked in.

The engine grunted, the car shook, but it started this time and I took a deep breath. I felt the sweat coating my back, perspiration on my forehead. I told myself to relax.

I put the car into reverse, pressed down on the accelerator pedal and nearly hit one of my neighbors walking her fluffy white poodle. I waved out my back window for forgiveness. She looked back in with a dirty stare. She took her time moving out of my way, but then I was finally free. Or at least until I hit the traffic on the interstate headed towards downtown. I reminded myself that I left early so I would have enough time, but as I inched closer to downtown Tampa, the clock ticked closer to 9 a.m.

I needed this job. I couldn’t afford to be late. Sure droning away in retail sales paid most of the bills, but it’s not what I went to college for four years to do. I didn’t want to be trapped in a job like that for the next ten years. I earned a degree in business marketing, it may not be from a fancy Ivy League school, but still I paid my dues. A receptionist wasn’t exactly my dream job, but it was going in the right direction. After I graduated last May, I applied to entry-level marketing positions. I sent out maybe a hundred resumes, but heard back a grand total of two companies. After a month, I fell back into retail, what I had done since high school. I kept sending the resumes out, but I started looking at other positions. After three months, my first interview had been a week ago with Hart Technologies Inc. It would be back to the drawing board if I showed up late.

I did everything I could to prepare for my first day, I did a test drive last Friday to go fill out my human resources paperwork and to make sure that I wouldn’t be late, yet when I pulled into the parking lot my dashboard clock told me I was already five minutes late. The only spot I found was near the back of the large parking lot. I jumped out of my car and hurried towards the front door. My heels clicking as I dived between cars in the straightest route to the building.

I bought a whole new business wardrobe so I would look the part, maxing out my second credit card in the process. Today I wore a grey skirt suit with a white blouse, professional, yet still feminine looking. I felt so grown up trying on the clothes in the fitting room at the store, ready to take on the whole world and climb the career ladder. However, just looking at myself in the reflective glass doors, I looked like a mess. My blouse was wrinkled, my skirt looked one size too small and not in the sexy way. Not to mention my hair that was becoming a frizzy mess in the hot and humid Florida late summer air. Just walking through the glass doors and seeing the other people in the busy lobby, I had a feeling of being out of place at Hart Technologies Inc. Everyone looked so perfect, so stylish, and so beautiful. I stood out like a sore thumb.

I hurried through the crowd to get to the front desk, bumping into several people along the way. The clock on the computer said it was 9:08. I was late. The look my new coworker, Samantha, gave me made me fear that my firing was imminent. “Olivia! Where were you?” she growled.

“Car wouldn’t start. Traffic.” The excuses fumbled out of my mouth, neither sounding acceptable, even to my own ears.

“Monday is our busiest morning.” She pushed back her blonde hair and glared at me. With her looks, she could’ve been a fashion model; she towered over me. I felt like the ugly stepsister standing next to her. ”Make sure you’re here early next Monday.
If
you survive here that long.”

“Will do.” I didn’t know what else to say. I wanted to sound professional, but inside I already wanted to curl up behind the desk and start crying.

“Can you make sure people sign? Can you handle that?” she said it loud enough for most of the people near our desk to hear her and her bitchy tone. When I met her on the Friday before, she had been sweet to me, even sounded glad to meet me. Now, I was guessing that was just an act that she put on because Mrs. Rodriguez, the H.R. director was giving me a tour. Now that she wasn’t there, Samantha quickly showed what she really thought of me.

“Sure.” I tried to put on a fake smile. I couldn’t even do that right.

“Make sure they put who they are here to see or you’ll have to guess and I don’t see that going very well.” She pointed towards the sign-in sheet and the long line of people, and then turned back to the phone.

I made sure they filled out their information correctly and kept the line moving. I rubbed my tired eyes. I needed coffee, but didn’t dare ask for some. I ran out of time this morning to make coffee and I prayed that somewhere nearby there would be a coffee machine that I could use when it slowed down, if it ever slowed down.

After twenty minutes, the line disappeared and we had everyone going in the right direction. I wiped off my forehead and hoped that we would get a break before the next rush.

“Good job there,” Samantha said with a sarcastic tone that told me she didn’t really mean it.

“Thanks.”

“Ready to learn how to answer the phone?”

“Sure.” How hard could that be? I thought to myself.

“When the phone rings, a light will blink next to the line number. All you have to do is pick up the phone and match the blinking light. You can do that, right?”

“Sure.” I wanted to say that I wasn’t a two year old and of course I could do that. But I stayed silent.

“Then you say, ‘Thank you for calling Hart Technologies Inc., how can I help you?’ Got it?” Although Samantha looked about my age, she reminded me of the 90-year-old teacher I had in sixth grade. She was close to retiring, but couldn’t yet and she took out her frustration on the students. “If they ask you a question that you don’t know, which will probably happen a lot, press the big orange hold button and hand the phone to me.”

I nodded my head yes.

“If we’re busy, we still have to answer the phone. Just answer it, and then ask them to hold. So far so good?”

“Yes.”

“If they know who they want to talk to, hit the grey transfer button, then type in the extension number.” She handed me a small stack of papers, giving me a paper cut on my palm in the process. She saw me start to bleed, but didn’t do or say anything. I found a tissue and pressed it against the cut, afraid to show any signs of pain or weakness. “The front page is extensions for each department. The pages after that are alphabetical by last name. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. When the phone rings next, it’s all you.”

Right on cue, the phone rang and started blinking. I picked it up, and then carefully pressed the button with the blinking light. My finger shook; at this point I was honestly not sure if I would even be able to answer a phone right. “Hello,” I said unsure of myself, “thank you for calling Hart Technologies Inc. How can I help you?”

“Accounts payable please,” the male voice on the other end of the phone said.

“Please hold.” I looked down at the list in front of me. None of the departments on the list said accounts payable. I looked towards Samantha, but she was focused on her computer screen. Seconds were passing by. I could hear his breathing on the other side. I pressed the hold button and asked Samantha, “What department is accounts payable?”

“Accounting,” she pointed to the paper as though I obviously should have known that. “Extension 220.”

I looked back at the phone to take him off hold and transfer him, but none of the lights blinked. “If I put someone on hold, how do I know which line they’re on?”

“The line will be blinking,” Samantha said, sounding bored with my questions.

I looked down at the phone again. Still no blinking lights. “What does it mean if there’s no blinking lights?”

“You hung up on them.” I wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement. Either way, I knew my firing was coming even closer.

The phone rang and I jumped back from the desk. The sound startled me. I looked at Samantha and she looked at me as though I’d better be able to answer the phone, or this would be my last chance.

I picked it up again, pressed the button with the blinking light and said, “Thank you for calling…”

“Accounts payable.” The same male voice said, sounding less agreeable than a few moments earlier.

“I’m sorry about that. Please, um, hold.” I pressed the transfer button, then the extension number. I checked to see if he was still there, but the line was silent.

“Good job.” Samantha said again with a sarcastic tone. “Since you figured out the phones, let’s get you logged into your computer so you can start processing emails, so I don’t have sit here and do them all alone. Are you up for the challenge?”

I nodded my head yes. In truth, I wanted to walk out the front door. It may have taken three months to land my first 9-5 job, but that didn’t mean I had to suffer through working conditions like this. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if I quit and walked out right now. There would be other jobs. At least, I hoped there would be. I hoped they wouldn’t take another three months to find. My parents were so proud of me. I even heard my mom telling one of her friends on the phone that I was working at Hart Technologies – so prestigious! They would understand, right? They wouldn’t want their daughter being miserable. Although, was this better than dealing with bitchy customers and long retail hours? I decided to give it some more time. It couldn’t stay like this forever.

“Do you still have the login information H.R. gave you?”

“Yeah, I think so.” I took my purse out of the desk drawer and searched through it for the paperwork that they had given me. I hadn’t taken anything out since then, but it was a large purse and carried just about everything I would ever need and then some. I started to tremble again when I didn’t find the paperwork right away. I pushed everything, the keys, my make up, random receipts around for at least a minute before I finally found the paperwork. I pulled it out and proudly showed Samantha the pile of papers.

She looked back at me, bored. “On page three, you’ll find your login information. When you login, you’ll be asked to update your password with something you choose.”

I found page three and then the login information. I typed the login information, but instead of bringing me to the home screen, it brought me back to the login screen with a message about my login credentials not working, and that I should check to see if caps lock was on.

Caps lock was off and I quickly typed the login again. Same results. Can’t anything go right for me? “I think there’s something wrong with the login they gave me.”

Samantha sighed, and then looked at my screen. “Caps lock?”

“It’s off.”

“Then you’ll have to call…” She stopped mid-sentence; something in the lobby distracted her.

I looked up from our desk and saw her distraction. It was him. I recognized him from the newspaper, from seeing him on the news, from seeing his face plastered all over town. It was Paul Hart, now officially the wealthiest person I had ever seen in person. And the best looking, I might add.

He moved with a confident, cool determination that must come from having more money than you could ever spend in ten lifetimes. He looked even better than he did on television and, I had to say he looked pretty damn good on television. Everything about him was perfect, from his perfectly styled short brown hair to his stylish business casual look that probably cost more than my car was worth. He looked younger in person. I forgot his exact age, but he couldn’t be older than thirty-five. Mr. Hart had to easily be the city’s, if not the state’s, most eligible bachelor.