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Authors: Mariah Cole
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Turning the radio up, I groan as the sound of country music blasts through my speakers. I have yet to get used to that twangy-yodeling and I doubt I ever will.
As I cruise down the open lanes, I notice that there’s not much to see on my left or my right—just barren fields and a small wooden house here or there. Up ahead I see what appears to be a herd of cows grazing in the grass; one of them lifts his head and moos when I get closer.
I honk at him and throw up my middle finger.
Satisfied that I’ve shown him who’s boss, I turn off the radio and decide to listen to the sound of my tires against the street for the rest of the drive. Even that sounds better than country music.
An hour and twenty minutes later, I find myself outside of a colossal black building. It’s hidden behind a clove of trees and a random brick wall with climbing ivy.
There’s no sign on the outside that says anything about it being The Phoenix, but this has to be it.
Just as I’m about to park my car—right out front and not in a parking lot because I don’t see one, a buff man in a gray suit walks out of the building.
He looks at my car in confusion, then he walks over to my window. “May I help you, Miss ?”
“I’m here for an interview.”
“An interview ?” He raises his eyebrow. “We’re not hiring.”
“Excuse me?”
“If you’re looking for a job, there’s a diner down the street and to your left. Try them.”
I suck in a breath and try to stay calm. “I’m here for a goddamn interview and I’m not leaving without one. I spoke to someone on the phone a little over an hour ago, so I suggest you either A) Get on the same page as him, or B) Bring out someone who knows what the fuck he’s talking about because I’ll sit out here all day if I have to.”
He blinks.
“Are you the valet or do I just leave my car right here?” I cut my engine off. “You’re not getting a tip.”
A slow smile spreads across his face and he pulls a phone out of his pocket. “Mr. Watts? Yes...Do you have an interview scheduled for today? You do? Well, she’s out front.” He pauses and steps back a bit. “Green. Her eyes are dark green...Yes...No...She does ...Will do.” He ends the call and opens my door. “Leave your keys in the car. I’ll escort you inside.”
Following him, I notice that the inside looks more like an expensive hotel lobby than a strip club. As a matter of fact, it reminds me of one of the hotels where Leah met her suitors.
The walls are a smooth taupe, the floors are a sparkling hardwood, and the artwork that hangs high is framed in crystal.
There are a few plush chaises and sofas scattered about the room, but it looks as if they’ve never been used.
“Miss?” The man clears his throat, and gestures for me to keep following him.
He leads me down a long corridor—where I can hear the faint thumping of music coming from what seems to be a lower level, and then he knocks on a door.
“Send her in.” The voice on the other side of the door answers.
The man opens the door and motions for me to step in, then he slams it behind me.
I step forward and look around the opulent office—ignoring the man that’s sitting behind the desk.
“You’re the girl on the phone?” The man is suddenly standing in front of me, looking into my eyes. He’s about thirty years old—beautiful brown eyes, perfectly trimmed blond hair, and slight smile lines, but I’m not attracted to him.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
He looks me up and down. Then he circles me, smiling. “I’m Mr. Watts, but you can call me Michael . Have a seat at the desk.”
I walk towards the chair and sit down, watching as he adjusts a wall painting before sitting across from me.
He stares at me a while—tapping his chin, not saying anything.
Reaching into a small wooden box and pulling out two thick cigars, he sighs. “Do you smoke?”
“I’m trying to quit.”
“Fair enough.” He nods and drops one back into the box.
Turning the radio up, I groan as the sound of country music blasts through my speakers. I have yet to get used to that twangy-yodeling and I doubt I ever will.
As I cruise down the open lanes, I notice that there’s not much to see on my left or my right—just barren fields and a small wooden house here or there. Up ahead I see what appears to be a herd of cows grazing in the grass; one of them lifts his head and moos when I get closer.
I honk at him and throw up my middle finger.
Satisfied that I’ve shown him who’s boss, I turn off the radio and decide to listen to the sound of my tires against the street for the rest of the drive. Even that sounds better than country music.
An hour and twenty minutes later, I find myself outside of a colossal black building. It’s hidden behind a clove of trees and a random brick wall with climbing ivy.
There’s no sign on the outside that says anything about it being The Phoenix, but this has to be it.
Just as I’m about to park my car—right out front and not in a parking lot because I don’t see one, a buff man in a gray suit walks out of the building.
He looks at my car in confusion, then he walks over to my window. “May I help you, Miss ?”
“I’m here for an interview.”
“An interview ?” He raises his eyebrow. “We’re not hiring.”
“Excuse me?”
“If you’re looking for a job, there’s a diner down the street and to your left. Try them.”
I suck in a breath and try to stay calm. “I’m here for a goddamn interview and I’m not leaving without one. I spoke to someone on the phone a little over an hour ago, so I suggest you either A) Get on the same page as him, or B) Bring out someone who knows what the fuck he’s talking about because I’ll sit out here all day if I have to.”
He blinks.
“Are you the valet or do I just leave my car right here?” I cut my engine off. “You’re not getting a tip.”
A slow smile spreads across his face and he pulls a phone out of his pocket. “Mr. Watts? Yes...Do you have an interview scheduled for today? You do? Well, she’s out front.” He pauses and steps back a bit. “Green. Her eyes are dark green...Yes...No...She does ...Will do.” He ends the call and opens my door. “Leave your keys in the car. I’ll escort you inside.”
Following him, I notice that the inside looks more like an expensive hotel lobby than a strip club. As a matter of fact, it reminds me of one of the hotels where Leah met her suitors.
The walls are a smooth taupe, the floors are a sparkling hardwood, and the artwork that hangs high is framed in crystal.
There are a few plush chaises and sofas scattered about the room, but it looks as if they’ve never been used.
“Miss?” The man clears his throat, and gestures for me to keep following him.
He leads me down a long corridor—where I can hear the faint thumping of music coming from what seems to be a lower level, and then he knocks on a door.
“Send her in.” The voice on the other side of the door answers.
The man opens the door and motions for me to step in, then he slams it behind me.
I step forward and look around the opulent office—ignoring the man that’s sitting behind the desk.
“You’re the girl on the phone?” The man is suddenly standing in front of me, looking into my eyes. He’s about thirty years old—beautiful brown eyes, perfectly trimmed blond hair, and slight smile lines, but I’m not attracted to him.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
He looks me up and down. Then he circles me, smiling. “I’m Mr. Watts, but you can call me Michael . Have a seat at the desk.”
I walk towards the chair and sit down, watching as he adjusts a wall painting before sitting across from me.
He stares at me a while—tapping his chin, not saying anything.
Reaching into a small wooden box and pulling out two thick cigars, he sighs. “Do you smoke?”
“I’m trying to quit.”
“Fair enough.” He nods and drops one back into the box.
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