Ignite Me (The Annihilate Me Series) (4 page)

Whatever
success I achieved in my life, I wanted to say that I’d done it on my own, and
not because Rhoda had the ability to guide me in ways that would likely lead me
in better directions.
 

From the
get-go, she’d honored that request, and because she had one of the best poker
faces I knew, she’d never once given herself away when I went for the jobs at
DuPont and Microchip.
 
Nor had she
said anything about my interview with Wenn Enterprises today.
 
Instead, all she’d done was give me a
kiss on the cheek before she wished me well when I left earlier that
morning.
 

And that was
perfect.

Still, as I
dropped my purse onto the table in our small foyer, I could tell by the
sing-song tone in her voice that she’d already seen what today would
bring—a new job, with a host of new possibilities.
 

And so, with a
smile on my face, I stepped into our small living area, made a hard right, and
there stood my crazy girl, dressed in a colorful, flowery skirt and a bright
white top that barely contained her massive breasts.
 
Probably because of the heat, she’d
swept her hair up into a bun.
 

“These are for
you!” she said as she held out a bunch of large palm leaves to me, which I just
stared at.
 
“Congratulations on the
new job!
 
Aaaagggh!
 
I’ve been dying for weeks to celebrate
this moment with you.
 
And now I
can
celebrate it with you!”
 
She stopped
at that and seemed to check herself.
 
“You did get the job, didn’t you?
 
Sometimes I can be wrong—we both know that.”

“I got it,” I
said.
 
“And thank you.
 
But why the palm leaves?”

“Because of
their significance!
 
If you sink
yourself into floral lore, as I have for a good part of my young hippie life,
you’ll learn that palm leaves stand for victory and success, which you achieved
today.
 
So, I found a nearby florist
who actually had them in stock—he said that when gay guys really want to
get swanky at their cocktail parties, they’ll use one of these to serve their
hors d’oeuvres on.
 
Think of it as
something of a really cool cheese plate—but with a large, bright green
leaf serving as the plate.
 
And
there is yet another reason why I love gay men—what a fantastic idea.
 
And here we are!
 
To you, my darling!
 
To your victory and to your success!”

I took the palm
leaves she handed to me, and my heart swelled.
 
“I love you, Rhoda,” I said.

“I know you do,
toots.”

“Of course, you
do.
 
But I mean it.
 
My life wouldn’t be as rich as it is
today without you in it.”

“The same goes
for me.
 
But here’s my hangup when
it comes to your day today.
 
You
know I can’t tap into everything—that’s just not in the cards for me.
 
Never has been.
 
Never will be.
 
Anyway, when I was at the office today
telling people whatever the hell they wanted to know about their futures, there
was one thing nagging at me that I couldn’t shake for the life of me—and
it had to do with you.”

“And what was
that?”

“When you left
this morning, I already knew you were going to land this job of yours with
Smackwell.”

I laughed out
loud at that.
 
“Clearly, I told you
where I was interviewing this morning, but I didn’t tell you who I was
interviewing with.
 
Her name is
‘Blackwell.’”

“Close
enough—I suck at names.
 
Whatever.
 
My point is that hovering around your
interview was this vision of a really hot guy that I couldn’t make sense
of.
 
And I’m talking smoking hot.”
 
She furrowed her brow at me.
 
“Did anything like that happen to you
today?
 
Or was that just a matter of
some sort of transference on my part that came from another client of
mine?
 
I saw twenty people today. I
couldn’t get a read on it for the life of me, and it’s been bugging the hell
out of me because I think that it does have to do with you.”

“You’d be
right,” I said.
 
“Unless someone
else had a similar experience.”

“Not
today—today was so far on the dreary end of the spectrum, I wanted to cut
my throat.
 
So it
was
you!
 
Spill it!”

“Rhoda, you
should have seen him.”

“I already
have.
 
Tall, dark, handsome—and
sexy as hell.
 
And that boy is
built!
 
And he’s got a closely
trimmed beard that just screams, ‘Take me in your arms—make love to me
now!’”

“How do you
even do that?” I asked.

“Why do you
always ask me that?
 
Seriously?
 
After two years?
 
You know that I don’t know how.
 
But I’ve been seeing visions of that man
ever since you left this morning, and not because I’m horny.
 
For the past two weeks, I’ve gone back
to the loving, thrumming hums of my precious rabbit.”

“I believe that
falls under the category of TMI.”

“Whatever.
 
As if someone like him is ever going to
be interested in a plus-sized gal like me.
 
A woman can dream, though—and believe me, I dream with the sort of
white-hot passion that would make a skinny girl like you faint.”

“I’m not skinny.”

“Fine, you’re
thin, but at least you’ve got that rack of yours, so there’s that.”

“You know, I
really wish you wouldn’t put yourself down so often.”

“Let’s get
real.
 
We live in Manhattan, where
the competition for landing a hot stud like the one you met today is at an
all-time high, especially with so many women working out daily in an effort to
attract those men.
 
You
know—unlike me.”
 
She threw up
her hands.
 
“But don’t worry about
me!
 
Barry is on the way—just
three more years to go!
 
In the meantime,
I’m perfectly happy to ride my rabbit and wait for him, because I already know
that Barry is the one.”

“Who the hell
is Barry?”

“My soon-to-be
husband,” she said.
 
“I haven’t told
you about him because Barry is still a ways off, so we’ll discuss him in, say,
two-and-a-half years.
 
I’m more
curious about, um, yeah.”
 
She
squinted her eyes at me.
 
“What’s
his name?
 
Rock?
 
Jock?
 
Something like that.”

“It’s Brock.”

“Actually, I’d
be happy with any of those names.
 
So butch.
 
Tell me about
him.”

“We only met
briefly, but I can tell you this—there was an undeniable spark between
us.”

“How do you
feel about that?”

“It actually
felt kind of nice,” I said, placing the palm leaves onto the kitchen
counter.
 
“You’re the one who said
that this would be my ‘Summer of Resolve.’
 
Resolve to find a new job, which I just got today, so let’s check that
one off the list.
 
And resolve to
put myself back on the market in hopes of finding a rock-solid guy worth
getting to know.
 
It’s time for me
to trust someone again, and I’m resolved to do that.
 
But it’s going to take one hell of a man
in order for me to do so.”

“Why settle?”
she said.
 
“You’ll find the right
guy—I know you will.”

I pointed a
finger at her.
 
“Don’t you dare tell
me whether it’s going to be with this guy or not.”

“Look—we
have our deal.
 
My lips are
sealed.
 
You’ll find out on your
own.
 
And to be honest with you, I
have no idea if he’s the one.
 
I can
visualize him, but I can’t get a read on him.
 
I just know that at some point it will
happen.”

“Good, because
I can’t let what that son of a bitch Bill did to me three years ago ruin my
life.
 
I’m no longer going to play
the victim.
 
Hell, I’ve even taken
Adele off my playlist, so you know that I’m serious.
 
Sure, I want my career to finally come off
life support, but I also want to fall in love, get married, and have children.”

My eyes widened
when I said that and I looked at Rhoda.
 
“About my career,” I said.
 
“Blackwell caught the heat between me and Brock, and she was having none
of it.
 
When she first noticed it,
she ordered Brock to have a seat, and told me to get into the elevator.
 
And then she said this:
 
‘And perhaps then to Central Park, where
you can find a nice quiet spot in the shade, think long and hard about what
truly matters to you at this point in your life—you know, all the things
that you just said to me—and hopefully that alone will clear your head of
everything that’s swirling through it right now.
 
That is, of course, if you’re even
capable of hearing me at this point, because I’m not sure that you are.
 
I’ll see you tomorrow.’”

“Busted,” Rhoda
said.

“Totally.
 
And here’s the thing that’s about to
make me come undone—I’ll be working closely with him for the next week or
so.
 
The reasons why are complicated
and not worth talking about, but answer me this:
 
How am I even going to focus on my work
when fireworks are bound to be exploding between us?”

“Oh, that one’s
easy,” Rhoda said with a little shrug.
 
“You’re not.
 
And I don’t
think I’m spoiling anything here when I say that.
 
So, you know, good luck with that one,
toots.
 
Because you’re going to need
it.”

CHAPTER
FOUR

When I arrived
at Wenn the next morning after quitting my job at Microchip the evening
before—via an email, no less, because they deserved it—it was
sunny, bright, and beautiful.
 
The
sky was clear blue and, given how hot it had been lately, there was a
surprisingly cool breeze running from the Park straight down Fifth Avenue.
 
Since there was no way I was going to be
late for my first day on the job, I’d decided to take a cab.
 

Given the bleak
amount of money I had in my checking account, taking that cab was nothing short
of an extravagance.
 
But in an
effort to convince Blackwell that I was serious about the job, I knew that I
couldn’t take a chance on being late.
 
So, I just sucked it up and paid the nearly twenty-dollar tab.
 
Tomorrow, I’d get up even earlier than I
had today and take the subway to work.
 
Eventually, I’d get a handle on how long my commute would take.
 

But I couldn’t
screw up day one.

When I left the
cab, it was 6:40 in the morning.
 
After paying the driver, entering the building, crossing the nearly
deserted lobby, and riding the elevator to the fifty-first floor, it was 6:45.
 
I was a mean fifteen minutes early.
 
The type-A overachiever in me rarely let
me down even if my career choices had done exactly that since I’d arrived in
this bloody city.

Since I didn’t
know where my desk or office was—and because it was clear by the empty
offices I passed that no one had yet arrived for work—I decided to go to
Blackwell’s office to see if she was here.

Naturally, she
was—and when I saw her, she was leaning back in her chair, her eyes were
lifted to the ceiling, she was on the phone, and she was wearing what clearly
was another Chanel suit—this one pure white, with black buttons running
down the front and black trim around the collar, pockets, and cuffs.
 
When I stuck my head in the doorway of her
office, I saw her check her watch before she glanced up at me with a quick
smile and continued on with her conversation.

“No, Chloe,
that won’t do,” she said.
 
“Jennifer
can’t wear Miu Miu—you know that she can’t, so why would you even suggest
one of their dresses to me?
 
There
isn’t enough tailoring in the world that could shovel that ass of hers into one
of their gowns.
 
So, listen to
me—here’s what I expect from you today.
 
Dior, darling.
 
Dior, Dior, Dior.
 
Or Oscar.
 
There’s always Oscar—he
works.
 
So think Dior or Oscar
because they just fit Jennifer—you know that.
 
And by the way, speaking of Dior, in the
latest edition of
Vogue
, which hit my desk just yesterday, I witnessed
the most divoon, deep-purple Dior evening gown featured on the cover.”

Divoon?
 
Seriously?
 
Who speaks like that?

“Have you seen
it?
 
Perfect.
 
That’s the one I want for this particular
party.”
 
There was a beat of silence
before she spoke again.
 
“What do
you mean it isn’t available yet?
 
Why are you speaking to me in tongues?
 
We’ve both seen it on the cover of
Vogue
,
for God’s sake, so naturally it’s available for the right price.
 
It’s for the fall collection, you
say?
 
Do you think that I don’t
already know that?
 
And who gives a
damn about their fall collection?
 
Get someone on the phone at Dior who can deliver that dress to me, or
I’ll just do it myself if Bergdorf can’t.
 
If that happens, you’ll lose your commission.
 
Are we clear here, Chloe?
 
Jennifer must be seen in that dress
before anyone else in Manhattan is seen in it—and I’m counting on you to
make that happen.
 
Call me the
moment it has.
 
I’m giving you an
unlimited budget, and because of that alone, this should be a breeze for
you.
 
Good day.”

With a flick of
her thumb, she severed the cell phone connection, and placed the device on the
table in front of her.

“Bergdorf,” she
said.
 
“
Ils sont impossibles. . .
.
”

“I’m sorry?”

“They’re
impossible,” she said.
 
“Have you
not studied French?”

“Actually, I
studied Latin and Spanish.”

“What a
shame.
 
And by the way—
you’re
here early.”

“I’m never
late,” I said.

“Never,
Madison?
 
Really, Madison?”

“Never.”

“Well, we’ll
give
that
little soundbite a ride around the park over the next few
months, won’t we?”

“Indeed, we
will.”

“Your
confidence is beguiling.”

“Thank you.”

“But your
outfit is a horror show.”

“I’m sorry?” I
said.

“Let me just
get this straight,” Blackwell said once she’d eyed me over.
 
“On your first day of work at Wenn, you
decided to come here looking like a train wreck?”

“A train
wreck?” I said.
 
“This is a
perfectly good suit.”

“For whom?
 
The homeless?”

“I hope for
Wenn.”

“Have you even
looked at yourself in a mirror today?”

“Countless
times.
 
You wouldn’t believe how
many times I checked myself before I left my apartment this morning.”

“Then you must
be blind.”

“If I am, what
am I missing?”

“The sense of
style you presented to me yesterday.”

“What I gave
you yesterday takes the kind of money I don’t have right now.”

“And yet you
still offered it to me. . . .”

“On a credit
card—as I already confessed to you.
 
Today, I chose something that’s perfectly professional—a tailored
black jacket, a white camisole, and a black skirt.
 
For yesterday’s interview, I had no
choice but to go way over my budget and splurge in an effort to make a good
impression.”

“So yesterday
was nothing more than smoke and mirrors?” Blackwell said.
 
She lifted her chin at me.
 
“You tricked me.”

“I did nothing
of the sort.”

She held up a
hand.
 
“Look,” she said.
 
“As disappointed as I am right now, I’ll
give you a pass and try to understand.
 
You say that you’ve been underpaid at your previous positions.
 
Now, I officially believe it.
 
So, I’ll just expect your wardrobe to
improve once you collect your first paycheck from Wenn.
 
How’s that?
 
You see—I can be reasonable.”

Reasonably
terrifying
, I thought.
 
Reasonably
insulting.
 
Reasonably bitchy.
 
But far from reasonable.

She stood up
from her desk and smoothed the front of her skirt.
 
Then her gaze flicked up to meet
mine.
 
“Even if I don’t approve of
the suit, I do have to say that your hair and makeup are on point.
 
So, at least you’ve got
those
going for you.”
 
She moved around to
the front of her desk.
 
“You have
paperwork to fill out,” she said.
 
“Lot’s of it.
 
Let me show
you to your desk.
 
You can complete
it, and then you can give it to Margaret before we begin the day.”

“I’m ready to
go,” I said.

“But are you
ready for what’s to come?” she wondered out loud.
 
“That’s the real question, Madison.
 
So, let’s find out.
 
And by the way, just so you know?
 
I’m already dim with hope.”

*
 
*
 
*

The epicenter
of Wenn’s human resources area was shaped like a horseshoe, at the middle of
which was my station, which was so large, it intimidated even me when I
realized that this space would be mine.
 

I counted three
phones, two computers, one carbon-colored Aeron chair, and rows of color-coded
folders stacked neatly against each other on the tall bookcases directly behind
the chair.

“Do you have a
notepad?” Blackwell asked me.

“I’m sorry, but
I don’t.”

“So, what
you’re telling me is that you came to work this morning unprepared?”

What is it with
this woman?
 

“I just thought
that I’d be shown to my desk, and that there would be supplies here that I
could use.”

“Lucky for you
that there are.
 
There’s a yellow
legal pad on the desk.
 
Do you see
it?
 
It’s right there.
 
Grab it along with a pen—and get
ready to take notes, because what I’m about to say to you I’ll only say once.”

I reached for
the legal pad and a pen, and then I looked expectantly at her.

“When you’re
not running around Wenn or, for that matter, much of Manhattan to do my
bidding, part of your job will be to maintain a complex filing system.”
 
She pointed at the colorful wall of
folders in front of us.
 
“The red
folders are for requests that rise to my level of oversight.
 
At some point today, you can peruse
through them to get the gist of what reaches my desk.
 
The blue folders are for Wenn Air.
 
The green folders are for Wenn
Entertainment.
 
The yellow folders
are for Wenn Publishing.
 
The white
folders are for Wenn Pharmaceutical.
 
The black folders are for. . . .”

She spoke so quickly,
I could barely keep up with her—but somehow I did.
 
When she was finished outlining how
things were filed, she motioned at all of the offices surrounding us with a
sweeping arc of her hand.
 

“These offices
are reserved for the human resource directors at each division.
 
Each director has his or her own staff,
including their own secretaries, so you won’t be answering phones for them,
unless some rogue call comes in that you might need to forward.
 
That said, what you need to be aware of
is that you’ll be answering an unlimited amount of hopeless calls from people
trying to make their way to me.
 
We’ll get to that later.
 
For
now, let me outline where each director sits.
 
The director of human resources for Wenn
Publishing has her office there,” she said as she pointed to the office
directly at my left.
 
“And that
office belongs to the director of human resources for Wenn Entertainment,” she
said, pointing to the office next to it.
 
“The one beside it is for the director of human resources for Wenn Pharmaceutical.”
 

She continued
to tick off whose office was whose until we finally came upon her own office,
which was to my right.
 

“I’m there,”
she said.
 
“But you already know
that.
 
And I will be keeping an eye
on you, Madison, just to make sure that things are going smoothly.
 
If they aren’t, I will intercept.
 
Do I expect perfection from you within a
week?
 
No.
 
But within a month?
 
Absolutely, because none of this is
rocket science, particularly for a hard-luck Harvard grad like you.
 
Mistakes will be made as you become
familiar with the job and with my frequent flights of fancy, but I expect a
diminishing set of returns over time.
 
Understood?”

“I will do my
best,” I promised.

“I don’t see
that you have any other choice.
 
But
to ease your mind, know that I’ve instructed Margaret to set aside three full
days to train you, and also to take you on a full tour of Wenn so that you will
have a feel for where all of the different departments are located.
 
Margaret and I both believe that that
should be enough time for you to be properly trained and for you to get
settled.
 
A moment ago, I mentioned
that you also will be answering phones.
 
I take calls from a very select group of people whose names I will send
to you in an email.
 
Print it
out.
 
Memorize it.
 
If that person’s name isn’t on the list,
then that call should be referred directly to Margaret, or to one of the
specific divisions I’ve already outlined for you.”