Death Layer (The Depraved Club) (3 page)

Finally he clears his throat and stares down at the papers
in front of him.

“Ladies,” he says evenly, “Thank you for your time today.
Gerard will escort you out. You will be hearing from us within two business
days. Goodbye.”

Wow, that was fast.

Carrot-top, or Gerard I guess, waves for us to follow him
out the door. Walker and Peterson both murmur thank-you and scuttle out. As I
follow, I turn for one parting glance at our beautiful, weird interviewer. I
find those piercing baby blues following me and a sort of a pleasant chill
washes down my spine. He winks. I redden and run.

Gerard leads us through the white labyrinth back to the
elevator.

“Good luck,” he says crisply before disappearing again.

The same secretary is at the desk and doesn’t glance up when
the elevator door opens for us. I rush into the elevator, determined not to
look out the window. Peterson, Walker and I squeeze together uncomfortably
close. The door slides closed and the elevator shoots downward.

“Well,” I quip as my stomach lurches several floors above
me, “That wasn’t the weirdest interview I’ve ever had or anything.”

Peterson pulls out her phone without responding. Walker
tries to smile while avoiding eye contact with me, and accidentally makes eye
contact with the elevator attendant, who almost hits his face on the wall in
his rush to look away.

Awkward.

My phone rings. I had forgotten to silence it! Thank
goodness it didn’t ring until now. It must be Rachel. I dig in my purse for
about four rings, drawing an annoyed glance from Peterson. Finally, I find the
dang thing and see that it’s a number I don’t recognize.

“Hello?”

“Miss Clark.”

My spine tingles at that low, cool voice.

“Mr. King!” My voice almost cracks. Now Peterson and Walker
are staring at me, open-mouthed. “Hi. What can I do for you?”

“It’s more what I can do for you, Miss Clark.” There’s an
almost-smile in his voice. It’s tantalizing. “I was impressed with your
originality and think we’d have good working chemistry together. In fact, you
had me at painting the walls. The whiskey just sealed the deal. I’m rather a
fan of Scotch myself.”

“Right, me too, big, big Scotch fan,” I stammer. “Who
isn’t?”

“I could use a person with a spine and personality, Miss
Clark. You think outside the box.”

“And color outside the lines.”

He chuckles, a low and rich sound that makes me feel good.
“I often find that you creative types are a welcome and refreshing addition, a
revitalizing square-peg in the round-hole corporate world. I’d like to extend
you an official offer for the position of my Personal and Executive Assistant.”

“Oh, wow, thank you sir. That was fast.”

“I don’t like to waste time once I know what I want.”

I check my watch. It’s only 9:15am. “I can see that.”

“Miss Johnson has emailed you the paperwork detailing our
financial contract and, most importantly, our confidentiality clause. Look them
over in detail, please. If you can agree to the terms and would like to accept
the position, please let us know within 24 hours. I’d like to start you
Monday.”

You can start me anytime
, I think.

I clear my throat and summon every ounce of professionalism
I have. “Yes sir, I will absolutely take a good hard look and get back to you
as soon as possible. Thank you very much for the offer, I very much appreciate
it.”

“Well done, Clark. Speak soon.”

Click. He’s gone.

I accidentally let out a “Whoop!” into the close confines of
the elevator. But then I groan and bite my lip, thinking. Do I want this job?
It all feels…fast—
Odd
.

I nervously swipe through some buttons on my phone screen
and see he wasn’t kidding; there’s already an email from Amanda Johnson.
Shocked, I reach trembling fingers to massage my temples and open the
attachments, briefly scanning over the massive confidentiality clause and
chuckling to myself. It’s intimidating.

This Mr. King guy sure is a sexy, thoroughly paranoid son of
a gun.

Part of my brain feels like taking a full-time job is giving
up on music, and yet, the boss is hot and the money is so great. Besides, I am
desperate. Those student loans won’t pay off themselves, and Rachel is right; I
might like having a salary.

Like a real person.

I shove my phone back in my purse, brain whirring, and
remember that I am in an elevator. Looking around, I see Peterson, Walker and
the elevator attendant are staring at me. Peterson looks like she might cry.

Yeah. Not awkward. Not awkward at all.

Chapter Four

On Monday I enter the lobby of 2211 Wall Street with my head
held high. I’ve borrowed Rachel’s light gray Daine Von Fastenberg pantsuit and
Cole Haan pumps. My hair is piled in a neat bun, and I even straightened my
bangs. To celebrate the new job and placate my quirky artsy side, I’m wearing
the bright teal J-Crew necklace I bought with my credit card, just for a pop of
color in an otherwise monochrome world.

I almost look like I belong here.

Gerard is waiting to greet me next to the security station.
I even catch a ghost of a grin on his thin freckled face.

“Good morning, Miss Clark. Since we have received and filed
your signed contract and confidentiality agreement, I can officially welcome
you to Skollz Corp.”

“Thank you and good morning, mister…?”

“Jones. Gerard Jones, Administrative Coordinator.” We shake
hands. “I will be overseeing your training today. We’ll try to make it as quick
and painless as possible.”

“That seems to be a theme.”

He definitely smiles this time. “Yes. We always strive for
efficiency in pursuit of change, creating the future. You’ll find we are a
lean, mean corporate machine.”

“My favorite kind.”

“Mine too.”

I follow him into the elevator bank, but this time we go
down. The basement level is white and expansive, like an underground warehouse.
I could see a high-fashion photo-shoot going on down here, or a black market.
Gerard leads me to the far side of the wide, open space and swipes a security
pass over an automated lock, opening a door to a short hallway. Inside, people
wearing bluetooths and tasers are bustling between rooms packed with video
monitors and radio noise.

It’s like the goddamn Matrix.

In one of the rooms we pass I glimpse a pair of German
Shepherds sniffing a large stack of boxes and can’t help smiling. I love dogs.
One of them sees me and comes over, sniffing, and lets me pet its ears.

Gerard notices. “They’re working dogs,” he explains. “Since
9/11 we’ve added twelve canine teams and the same x-ray technology you see at
airports. Everyone who enters the building automatically receives a full-body
scan at the door. Mr. King himself ordered the technology installed and
sometimes personally reviews the image streams. He’s a bit of a security
stickler.”

“Sounds like it,” I say, self-consciously folding my arms
over my chest. I try not to think about the fact that Mr. King has maybe seen
through my clothes. “Quite impressive.”

Gerard is all business as we settle into a small cubby-like
room with a camera, desk, and a security guard who hands me a clipboard with a
form and pen. “Please fill this out, and we’ll go ahead and take your picture
and print your company identification and security pass.”

The ID process is straightforward and pretty soon I am
photographed, labeled, and ready to go. Gerard nods crisply at the security
guards and escorts me back to the elevators.

“The main thing for you to keep in mind is that you are here
to be Mr. King’s right hand in and out of the office,” says Gerard. “You’ll
want to familiarize yourself as quickly as possible with Skollz Corp policies
and procedures, I’ll give you the manual. Remember, you always have the procedures
and policies to fall back on when in doubt. The system can be your best friend
if you know it well. With Mr. King you’ll never know what to expect. Change
comes fast and furious here. You’ll need to be prepared for anything.”

There’s an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, like
Gerard is trying to warn me about something. I’m probably being silly, though.
Chalk it up to first-day jitters.

“Well, I’ve lived in New York for two years,” I say
blithely. “If that hasn’t prepared me for anything, nothing will.”

Gerard smiles again, an expression that crinkles the corners
of his wide mouth but doesn’t reach his eyes. “I hope so.”

Yikes. Something is definitely up. Or maybe this is normal
in the corporate world, a shadowy place of intrigue and competition—right?
That’s normal?

“I know so.” My voice is confident, even if my gut is
confused.

Gerard falls silent.

He mechanically shows me the café, gym floor, nap pods. They
even have a lap pool and sauna—for crying out loud—to offset the long hours, I
suppose. We go up and down every elevator bank, my vertigo building. In rapid
succession I meet the Executive Director, Managing Director, Accounting
Director, Finance Director, Chief Logistics Officer, Global Business Unit
Manager, Marketing Coordinator, Executive Secretary, Public Relations Officer.

Surprisingly, not all of them are redheads.

Just as my brain is about to explode, Gerard takes me up to
the sixty-sixth floor and sits me down in a quiet conference room with a giant
book.

“The Skollz Corp policy and procedures manual,” he
announces. “I’ll leave you two alone for a while. Feel free to visit the café.
After lunch we’ll join Mr. King.”

The door clicks closed behind him and I am alone, staring at
the giant book.

It’s at least four inches thick.

“That’s what she said,” I mutter in response to my own
thoughts, laughing at myself.

“Something amusing, Miss Clark?”

“Jesus!”

I nearly jump out of my skin and spin around in my seat. I
immediately recognize the voice but god damn it I hate surprises. Though room
is still empty, I can hear the cackle of feedback in a speaker system. And then
I notice the etched glass mirror behind me, shaped suspiciously like a door. It
has to be a two-way.

The CEO of Skollz Corp was spying on me?! Heart hammering, I
squint directly past the reflection of my own face.

“You definitely have a flair for the dramatic, Mr. King.” I
inspect the edges of the mirror curiously, and think I see the ridge in the
wall that it can slide into. “Was this another pet security project of yours?
Isolate and inspect? I’d rather be sniffed by the dogs.”

“You’re a fast thinker, Clark.”

The glass slides into the wall, revealing a sprawling office
on the other side. All of the walls of the office are windows offering a
panoramic, panic-inducing view of the New York skyline. I forcefully pull my
gaze away from the reminder of our precarious height and see a large white
desk. Seated behind it in a throne-chair is Mr. Mysterious Multi-Millionaire
himself.

“Half my victims never find the door,” he says. His voice is
heavy and sultry. “Come on in. Don’t be shy.”

Collecting my things I approach, feeling like Dorothy in Oz.
The glass panel slides back in place behind me. Not scary or sexy. Not scary or
sexy at all.

I know there’s no way back to Kansas.

“Have a seat Miss Clark.”

I do, and can’t help but notice that Mr. King looks
devastating in his tailored gray suit and open collar.

“Aw, we’re twins today, sir,” I say before I can stop
myself.

He blinks at me in mild confusion, then looks down at his
suit and laughs. “Indeed. I knew there was some sort of connection between us.”

“Ginger telepathy, maybe.”

“I’ll take it as a good omen.” He leans back in his chair
watching me with an almost playful expression, exposing his relaxed but
chiseled chest. There’s a little bit of hair peeking between the buttons of his
collar. I try not to stare. “How are you faring so far? Not overwhelmed by the
tour? I wanted you to have a good understanding of the scale of your position.”

Swallowing, I paint on my best confident smile and force
myself to look up.
Eyes up here
. “So far so good, thank you sir.
Hopefully I’ll remember everyone’s names by Friday.”

“That’s the spirit,” he says. Those blue eyes twinkle, full
of trouble.

He looks me up and down. Silence draws out and I feel my
cheeks grow hot under his frank perusal.

“I’m not going to break you in gentle, Miss Clark, but I
think you can take it. I want you to keep your evening clear on Friday for a
private event. Next Tuesday, you’ll accompany me to Australia. Some negotiations
over a merger require my presence, and I’ll benefit from an extra pair of
freckled hands.”

“I don’t have freckles,” I point out, holding up my hands. I
am trying but failing to downplay my excitement over the mention of Australia,
and I can feel my smile widening. “You’re on your own there. But I have seen
Crocodile Dundee, so I’m ready to go.”

“That ‘a girl.” He stands, and I automatically mimic him.
“Come on, Clark. Let’s get some lunch. Then I’m sending you on a very important
clandestine mission, operation: dry cleaning run. After that, I’ll chain you to
a pile of correspondence that needs response. Mostly fan-mail and invitations
which we will decline, with the occasional angry hippy protest letter, which we
will ignore.”

That isn’t all I want him to chain me to.

Yikes. Down, girl.

“Boy,” I say with a dash of sarcasm, “You high-power types
sure know how to show a girl a good time.”

He laughs, and some butterflies swirl in my belly. “Welcome
to the glamorous world of Mr. King. Non-stop fun for everyone.”

“If you say so, sir. You’re the boss.”

“Yes, I am, aren’t I?”

Our eyes lock a little longer than necessary before he moves
a hand to the small of my back to guide me to the elevators. His touch makes me
hot all over.

That smile. Those eyes. The paycheck. Australia?!

Uh oh. It’s only day one and I definitely have a crush on
the boss, on the new lifestyle, on everything.

Be cool, Ava. Be cool.