and stare at Mr. Morris. With his striking white hair, his green eyes are like emeralds sparkling in the snow.
“What’s my sister doing here?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Refusing my job offer, apparently.”
“But Riley’s already got a job,” I say.
“I hear she did very good work last night with young Bryce. He’s back on track as of this morning, though I suppose I should also thank you.” He nods for me to follow him down the hall, in the opposite direction of Maggie Clark’s office.
“I don’t get it. Riley’s a pharmaceutical rep.”
He leads me into his elegant office, filling it with the sound of his deep laugh.
“She’s got a talent, that one. I imagine she’ll use my offer as leverage to get herself a raise. Good for her.”
He sits in a tall-backed burgundy leather chair. I take a seat across from his huge wooden desk. Now that the shock of seeing her is wearing off, I’m annoyed at Riley.
Did she call up Morris Music about a job? That would be just like her to jump on whatever good thing I’ve got going and wreck it.
Mr. Morris raises his snowy white eyebrows, prompting me to say something.
“Sorry I was late. It was only five minutes, but I’ll try harder next time.”
He waves a hand. “Five minutes. Pssh. I’m just giving you a hard time.” His face wrinkles as he leans forward. “You were the last person hired by David Ambler.”
“I was. But… he doesn’t work here anymore.”
“No. He doesn’t.”
I wait for more. The office is so quiet, I can hear the faint sounds of traffic outside, ten stories below.
The longer Mr. Morris stares at me, the more nervous I feel.
Finally, when I can’t take another minute, I say, “The elevator is broken. I wanted to get out and… go to the bathroom, but the buttons didn’t work.”
He doesn’t seem surprised. “Would you like to use my washroom?”
“No. I’m fine.”
He reaches over to his computer monitor and turns the screen to face me. The view is of the interior of the elevator. The grin on his face tells me he has the power to control the elevator.
“Neat trick,” I say.
“David Ambler knew a lot about elevators.”
“I never met him. We exchanged emails a few times, and that was it.”
He swivels his chair as he takes an audible, deep breath. Gazing out the window at the city, he says, “When your hair goes white, people start to treat you different. You catch them in a lie, and they insist that you’re the one who’s wrong. That you’re the one who’s forgetful.”
My eyes go to the screen, to the view of Morris employees riding the elevator. This is so creepy, but I can’t look away.
“Never get white hair,” Mr. Morris says.
“My grandmother has white hair, but she’s sharp as a tack. She doesn’t forget a thing. Well… except for the time zone difference between us now. She can’t wrap her head around that.”
Mr. Morris stays in profile to me. Even when he’s not looking directly at me, I can feel his presence in the room.
Weirdly, I want him to look at me. I want him to tell me I’m doing a good job. If he makes everyone feel this way, it’s no wonder he’s so powerful in the industry.
“You’re not from around here,” he says.
“Nope. But I like it. Los Angeles is fun.”
“Fun.” He chuckles. “Jessica, can you explain to me why, out of all the intern applicants we receive, David Ambler hired you?”
Suddenly, my school training kicks in. Before graduation, we did a hundred mock interviews. I know the answer to this one.
“Sir, I believe my resume and school transcripts opened the door initially. I did graduate at the top of my class, from a respected program. My school puts an emphasis on developing a strong work ethic and leadership skills. When I was fortunate enough to interview with Mr. Ambler, I let him know that my life-long passion for indie music would give me an advantage over other business school graduates.”
Mr. Morris turns to face me, laughing and
“What’s my sister doing here?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Refusing my job offer, apparently.”
“But Riley’s already got a job,” I say.
“I hear she did very good work last night with young Bryce. He’s back on track as of this morning, though I suppose I should also thank you.” He nods for me to follow him down the hall, in the opposite direction of Maggie Clark’s office.
“I don’t get it. Riley’s a pharmaceutical rep.”
He leads me into his elegant office, filling it with the sound of his deep laugh.
“She’s got a talent, that one. I imagine she’ll use my offer as leverage to get herself a raise. Good for her.”
He sits in a tall-backed burgundy leather chair. I take a seat across from his huge wooden desk. Now that the shock of seeing her is wearing off, I’m annoyed at Riley.
Did she call up Morris Music about a job? That would be just like her to jump on whatever good thing I’ve got going and wreck it.
Mr. Morris raises his snowy white eyebrows, prompting me to say something.
“Sorry I was late. It was only five minutes, but I’ll try harder next time.”
He waves a hand. “Five minutes. Pssh. I’m just giving you a hard time.” His face wrinkles as he leans forward. “You were the last person hired by David Ambler.”
“I was. But… he doesn’t work here anymore.”
“No. He doesn’t.”
I wait for more. The office is so quiet, I can hear the faint sounds of traffic outside, ten stories below.
The longer Mr. Morris stares at me, the more nervous I feel.
Finally, when I can’t take another minute, I say, “The elevator is broken. I wanted to get out and… go to the bathroom, but the buttons didn’t work.”
He doesn’t seem surprised. “Would you like to use my washroom?”
“No. I’m fine.”
He reaches over to his computer monitor and turns the screen to face me. The view is of the interior of the elevator. The grin on his face tells me he has the power to control the elevator.
“Neat trick,” I say.
“David Ambler knew a lot about elevators.”
“I never met him. We exchanged emails a few times, and that was it.”
He swivels his chair as he takes an audible, deep breath. Gazing out the window at the city, he says, “When your hair goes white, people start to treat you different. You catch them in a lie, and they insist that you’re the one who’s wrong. That you’re the one who’s forgetful.”
My eyes go to the screen, to the view of Morris employees riding the elevator. This is so creepy, but I can’t look away.
“Never get white hair,” Mr. Morris says.
“My grandmother has white hair, but she’s sharp as a tack. She doesn’t forget a thing. Well… except for the time zone difference between us now. She can’t wrap her head around that.”
Mr. Morris stays in profile to me. Even when he’s not looking directly at me, I can feel his presence in the room.
Weirdly, I want him to look at me. I want him to tell me I’m doing a good job. If he makes everyone feel this way, it’s no wonder he’s so powerful in the industry.
“You’re not from around here,” he says.
“Nope. But I like it. Los Angeles is fun.”
“Fun.” He chuckles. “Jessica, can you explain to me why, out of all the intern applicants we receive, David Ambler hired you?”
Suddenly, my school training kicks in. Before graduation, we did a hundred mock interviews. I know the answer to this one.
“Sir, I believe my resume and school transcripts opened the door initially. I did graduate at the top of my class, from a respected program. My school puts an emphasis on developing a strong work ethic and leadership skills. When I was fortunate enough to interview with Mr. Ambler, I let him know that my life-long passion for indie music would give me an advantage over other business school graduates.”
Mr. Morris turns to face me, laughing and
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