Annihilate Me (Vol. 1) (The Annihilate Me Series) (6 page)

“And
I’ve apologized.
 
I’m hoping we can
get beyond that.
 
I’m calling to ask
you if you’d like to interview for the job.”

“Before
I come in, Ms. Blackwell, I need to know what the position entails.”

“You’ll
serve Mr. Wenn.
 
This isn’t just
about keeping his calendar.
 
Though
you’ll do that, in a way.
 
Probably
the best way to describe this position is that you’ll be his confidante.
 
You’ll be that one indispensable person
he can’t live without.
 
In this
particular case, that’s what Mr. Wenn needs.
 
You’ll literally be his right arm.
 
As you’d imagine, he’s a busy man.
 
He needs someone bright to step in and
help him keep sense of things.
 
He
needs someone he can bounce ideas off of.
 
After seeing your resume, he was intrigued because he needs someone who
is as well educated as you are.
 
You’ll work long hours together.
 
Late hours.
 
You need to be
prepared for that.”

“How
many hours?”

“At
least twelve.
 
Likely up to fifteen
per day.
 
And you’ll work most
weekends.
 
Mr. Wenn works very
hard.”

He’s a billionaire.
 
Why wouldn’t he?
 
“That seems excessive.”

“In
New York, it isn’t, Ms. Kent.
 
Though I imagine that it is in Maine.”

I
ignored the slight.
 
Mainers often
worked three jobs to pay the bills, and some still were at the poverty
level.
 
This woman didn’t know what
she was talking about.
 
“What is the
pay?”

“Two
hundred fifty thousand per year.”

My
mouth dropped open.
 
Was she
joking?
 
Of course, she was.
 
This was a joke.
 
A cruel one.
 
When I didn’t say anything, she said, “I
assume you’re surprised by the pay?”

I
collected myself.
 
“Actually,
no.
 
It’s Wenn Enterprises, after
all.
 
I’d expect the pay to be at
that level for an executive position.”

“Right.
 
Well, Ms. Kent, I need to ask if you’re
willing to come in for an interview.
 
You’ll be meeting directly with Mr. Wenn.
 
The interview will last an hour.
 
Are you interested?”

I
decided to go for it.
 
“Is the pay
negotiable?”

“Everything
is negotiable, especially if he feels that you’re the right person for the job.
 
But I wouldn’t push it.
 
You have no real-world experience.”

“Apparently,
I have enough experience to command two hundred fifty thousand dollars a year.”

Lisa’s
mouth fell open and I looked away before she could throw me off my game.

“Perhaps.
 
May I schedule an appointment?”

With
my feet in such terrible condition, I could barely walk.
 
I needed to put this off for a few days
so they could have time to heal.
 
Otherwise, I’d come off like an idiot.
 
“How does Thursday sound?”

“We
were hoping that you’d come in this afternoon.”

“I
have a funeral to attend this afternoon.
 
The burial is tomorrow.
 
It
will need to be Thursday.”

“I’ll
let Mr. Wenn know about the funeral and the burial, and I’ll call you back.”

Before
I could say another word, the line went dead.

I
turned to Lisa and was about to scream when the line rang again.
 
“You’ve got to be kidding me?” I said.

“Answer
it!”

“That
quick?”

“Just
answer it!”

I
took a breath.
 
“This is Jennifer.”

“Thursday
at noon, Ms. Kent.
 
Mr. Wenn would
like to send flowers to the deceased.
 
Can you please give me the name of the funeral home?”

Was
he standing right next to her?
 
Only
moments had lapsed between calls.
 
“That’s unnecessary.”

“But
he insists.”

Shit.
 
“Please tell him that I appreciate the gesture, but this isn’t a
relative of mine.
 
I’m going to the
funeral to support a friend.
 
I’ll
see Mr. Wenn at noon on Thursday.
 
I
assume I come to you first?”

“You
do.”

“Thank
you, Ms. Blackwell.”

The
woman paused, and I could sense the temperature in the room dropping twenty
degrees.

“Good
luck, Ms. Kent.”

CH
APTER EIGHT

“Jennifer,
just hear me out, OK?
 
Just listen
to me.
 
No talking.
 
I need you to be focused.
 
Are you focused?
 
Oh, shit, you’re not focused.
 
Why would you be?
 
Put down the phone.
 
Step away from it.
 
And listen to me.
 
Can you do that?
 
Apparently, not.
 
Why are you looking so pale?
 
Jesus, don’t faint.”

I
was in a haze.
 
From potential
waitress to potential cash cow in a matter of minutes.
 
I blinked into a room in which the edges
were oddly blurred.
 
I felt light
headed, as if I’d had a drink.
 
The
world seemed to be turning on its axis.
 
I could hear the sound of something rushing in my ears.
 
“Two hundred and fifty thousand
dollars.
 
A year.
 
Oh my God.”

Lisa
gripped my arm in an effort to steady me.
 
“You don’t have the job yet.”

“I
need to get this job.”

She
pressed me back against the counter and held me there for support.
 
“Then listen to me.
 
You have a credit card.
 
You haven’t used it since we got
here.
 
You saved it for an
emergency.
 
Well, this is an
emergency.
 
Do you hear me?
 
This is a full-on, five-alarm-fire
emergency.
 
You need to have your
hair cut and colored.
 
You need to
buy a new suit and shoes—and nothing cheap.
 
If it doesn’t work out, you can pay off
the clothes and the haircut with the waitressing gig you’ll land.
 
Are you listening to me?
 
What’s wrong with your eyes?
 
Why are you smiling at me like
that?
 
Jennifer?
 
Jennifer!”

“I
can’t believe it.”

“Snap
out of it.”

“I
don’t even know what that kind of money looks like.
 
My parents are poor.
 
I’ve always been poor.
 
What the hell does it feel like to make
that much money?”

“You
won’t know if you don’t listen to me.”

“Why
would they pay me so much right off the bat?”

“Who
cares?
 
Maybe that’s what they pay
in New York.
 
What’s the job,
anyway?”

“Executive
Assistant to Mr. Wenn.”

“There’s
your reason.”

“She
said I’d be working twelve to fifteen hours a day.
 
Including most weekends.
 
Apparently, I’m about to become his
right-armed confidante.”

“What
does that mean?
  
Never
mind.
 
Come over here and sit
down.
 
Drink your coffee.
 
If it’s cold, I’ll pour you another cup.
 
But I need you to sit down.
 
You can’t walk in there with a smashed
nose if you suddenly decide to collapse on me.”

I
felt Lisa guide me across the room and I was gently lowered into a chair.

“Take
a breath.”

I
breathed in deeply.
 
“Taken.”

“Now,
come on.
 
Drink your coffee and get
it together.
 
Enough is enough.”

I
did as I was told, and slowly fell back into myself.
 
“Sorry,” I said.
 
“That was unfortunate.”

“You
may have just won the lottery.
 
I
get it.
 
It’s a lot to absorb, but
you’re not even there yet.
 
What you
have is an opportunity.
 
That’s
it.
 
Today, you rest.
 
Tomorrow, we get your hair done.
 
Then we buy a new suit and shoes.
 
I’m talking Prada and Louboutins.
 
OK?”

I
nodded at her.
 
“I can’t believe
this.”

“Well,
believe it.
 
You’ve waited months
for this opportunity.”

“I
sure as hell wasn’t expecting
this
opportunity.”

“All
the sweeter.
 
I’m going to get a
clean towel and wash your feet.
 
Then, I’ll apply more ointment and wrap them again with gauze.
 
We’ll do it again before you go to
bed.
 
Ibuprofen will take care of
the rest of the swelling.
 
You’ll
take two pills every four hours.
 
We
need to get you back on your feet as quickly as possible.”

I
looked her in the eyes.
 
“Can you
believe this?” I asked.

“Yes,”
she said.
 
“But I’ve always believed
in you.
 
You’re the one who
doesn’t.
 
You and your parents.
 
But I’m proud of you.
 
Beyond proud of you.
 
This could be it.
 
Now, we need to make sure this is
it.
 
Got me?”

“Got
you,” I said.

“Prada
fixes everything,” she said.
 
“Or at
least, that’s what I hear.
 
Usually,
a martini does it for me.
 
But in
this case, I’ll listen to the Bible, which naturally is this month’s edition of
Vogue
.
 
I devoured it last week.
 
Prada’s new line is on trend.
 
Queen Wintour never gets it wrong.”

CHAP
TER NINE

It
was a rare girls’ day out, and despite the sorry condition of my feet, which
were still sore even in the most comfortable and forgiving flats that I owned,
Lisa and I made a day of it.
 

My
hair was styled and colored by Salon V on East Seventh Street.
 
Nothing dramatic, just enough to
complement the oval shape of my face, with a chestnut color that enhanced the
look.
 
I treated each of us to a
facial and a mani-pedi.

“We’re
in the wrong business,” Lisa said when the bill was tallied and I paid the
cashier with my credit card.
 
“Good
grief.”

“It’ll
be worth it,” I said.

“You
look amazing.”

“She’s
right,” the cashier said.
 
“You
do.
 
I wish I looked like you.”

I
smiled at her.
 
“That’s very kind of
you.”

“Trust
me.
 
It’s the truth.”

I
flushed at the compliment.
 
“I need
to look my best.”
 
I looked at Lisa,
who was wearing skinny jeans, red double-strap patent-leather sandals, and a
white tank with nothing beneath it save for her full breasts and a clear view
of her nipples.
 

As
racy as she looked, it was a look she could pull off.
 
Her blonde hair was pulled away from her
face in a simple ponytail that fell to the small of her back.
 
With the exception of mascara, she wore
almost no makeup because she didn’t need much.
 
To me, she was the pretty one.
 
She studied style and loved fashion, and
it came easily to her, which made me smile because otherwise her life revolved
around successfully writing about zombies.