It was 8:12 on a weekday morning, which meant that Serena Colby was negotiating with the finicky lock to her scummy-butt apartment’s front door.
It also meant that she jumped a little at the unwelcome sound of Joey coming up behind her. And jumping a little meant Serena risked dropping either her keys or her mug of steaming Earl Grey. Drop the keys, and the drawing case dragging down her shoulder would follow, and she’d just finished the Mooney account mock-ups. Drop the mug, and she’d be reminded that no matter how much she loved its paprika-and-nutmeg swirl of color, that particular to-go cup had a loose lid, and Serena was wearing sandals.
She dropped the keys, trusting her case’s integrity more than her mug’s. Catching the strap before her work hit the floor, Serena turned, tight-lipped, to face Joey.
Other ex-boyfriends would have been polite enough to pick up her keys. Of course, other ex-boyfriends would also have been polite enough to remember that Serena left her apartment at 8:12 every morning, and would avoid their common hallway for the three minutes it took for her to get out to her car. Or at the very least, other ex-boyfriends would have been polite enough to wait until she was done locking her apartment door before approaching.
One thing that was sure about Joey: he wasn’t like Serena’s other ex-boyfriends. Not that she’d been stuck living two doors down from other ex-boyfriends before, so maybe she was giving the others too much credit. She counted to six before speaking, since that was the number of weeks she had left before her lease was up. When she’d regained some patience, she greeted him. “Joey.”
He was barefoot. Khakis and his work polo, but barefoot on the sticky hallway linoleum, just in case Serena thought it was coincidence that he was leaving for his store at the same time that Serena was headed out to Lanigan Printing and Advertising.
“Hey, I was wondering if I could borrow some coffee.”
“I don’t drink coffee.” Which should have been apparent after eight and a half months of dating.
“But you have that instant stuff in your freezer.”
“I threw that out.” On the first morning of January, actually, cursing herself for keeping it throughout December, just in case he came knocking. A long, fun, revelatory New Year’s Eve with her former college housemates had been the push she’d needed to get up the next morning and throw out Joey’s coffee, Joey’s toothbrush, and Joey’s Christmas present (she’d bought it the week before he broke up with her, which she did confess to the gals; she hadn’t admitted to wrapping it, prettily, post-breakup). In the weeks since, Serena’s early rising and Joey’s later working hours had kept the hallway encounters to a minimum. But every time they did meet, Serena ended up with a longer list of prohibitions about the next guy. Not younger than her. Not a coffee addict. Not afraid of cockroaches. Not laid back about being on time. Not a food mooch. Not obsessed with his stupid gaming. Not living in a scummy-butt apartment within steps of her own scummy-butt apartment.
“Why’d you do that?”
“Throw it out? Because I don’t drink coffee.”
“You could have given it to me. The Brackenbridge kids were having some sort of tennis match all morning.”
“It was a sword fight.” The Brackenbridge family lived in the apartment between theirs. The walls were thin. Cammie Brackenbridge had pointed out, early in Joey and Serena’s relationship, that the boys and Joey shared a bedroom wall. Serena had averted her eyes around the kids for a good long while. On the up side, Serena was petty and the boys hated waking up at seven for school. Each whining protest about missing shoes and bad-mood-induced loud game that floated on the air waves while she got ready for work delighted her, knowing that Joey was piling pillows on his head and grumbling into his mattress about it.
“It was loud. And I ran out of coffee last week.”
“Well, you’re up now. You should have time to go buy some before work.” Serena retrieved her keys and finessed the lock before shouldering her drawing case again. “Gotta go.”
“Where’d you get it, though?” Joey was walking alongside her.
“Get what?” She knew. But she liked irritating him. More proof of her pettiness.
“The coffee.”
“I threw it out.”
“I mean where’d you get it to start with?”
She’d told him, at least twice. Probably more. It was bad enough that she’d once spent a couple of hours online researching instant coffee brands, searching for something flavorful, fair trade, organic, and also available from a locally owned store somewhere in Houston. Never mind that it was at the same place where she got her olive oil and shampoo, and she might have just grabbed the coffee off their shelves without the research time. But she’d told him the whole story when he’d complimented the flavor. Joey had even gone to the co-op with her, back when they sometimes ran errands together.
“Oh, just the grocery store. I think it was HEB.” The chain carried organic coffee; it wasn’t impossible that Joey would find the same stuff there.
“Okay. Fine. I guess I have to go shopping.”
“Bye, Joe.” He hated being called Joe. Serena took the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. Sure, her case banged repeatedly against her thigh and a few drops of tea spilled out onto her hand, but the thud of the fire door slamming shut between her and her ex-boyfriend was more than worth it.
Despite the Joey delay, Serena was at work early enough to grab a minute to herself. She spent it rearranging her poster frames. The first thing she’d done when she was hired by Lanigan was to install two rows of a deep crown molding along a couple of her office walls, which she used in place of an easel to display client mockups, past campaigns, and some of her own personal, more artistic work.
Right at nine, Serena’s friend Janice came in and caught her repositioning the Mooney account frames.
“You know, Toots, I’ll have those Mangoes and Moonshine posters for you tomorrow at two. You’re just going to want to move everything around again.” Janice was Lanigan’s Operations Manager. She knew the schedules for a million things at once, and how to deal when any of those million processes threatened her deadlines. If Janice promised a poster at two, Serena would have a poster at two.
Serena laughed. “Yeah, I know. But Anica took my HouGreen mockups to give to Mr. Kenzi, and I can’t leave these poor walls with a big gaping hole showing, can I?”
“Your walls aren’t sentient, Toots.”
“Shh! They’ll hear you.”
“They don’t really have ears, you know. I’m beginning to think you’re clinically disordered here. Or maybe it’s clinically ordered? Ducks don’t come in rows that straight. Some people let paper stack up in their in-boxes, or keep the ‘to be filed’ pile hidden behind the door.” Janice made a show of looking, but of course only found a white board outlining the quarter’s work flow. “Seriously. I dare you to just leave your walls the way they are until Monday.”
As if she’d leave them a mess for four days. Janice was toying with her, but Serena could play right back. She knew Janice’s obsessions as well as Janice knew hers. “I dare you to only go to the gym once this weekend.”
Janice cocked her head, considering. “Does Friday count?”
“If it’s after five, it counts.”
“No deal. I’d miss my kickboxing class.”
“You have a sickness.”
“Which I think was my point to you.” Janice sighed. “We need boyfriends.”
“Speak for yourself,” Serena said, and turned to nudge one of her collages to the left an inch. “You’re addicted to exercise endorphins, so a nice physical outlet is just the ticket for you. As for me, there’s nothing wrong with making my environment nice. And besides, even if I could find anyone worth dating, I’d still keep my filing done.”
Janice snorted. “I want to know which one of your thirteen evil stepparents beat you black, blue, and purple unless you folded your laundry on time. You have a deeply scarred psyche, my friend.”
“There were only seven stepparents, and I never even lived with Number Seven. I mean, Zane. I promised Mom I’d stop calling him Number Seven. What’s your point?”
“Want to go for Cuban food and talk about it?”
“Is that a subtle way of making me go out dancing with you tonight?”
“Maybe.”
“Will you glare at me for the poor dietary choices I will definitely make?”
“Not if you promise to shake your hips afterwards.”
Serena grinned and tapped the last frame a tiny bit to fix the spacing. “You’re on.”
Before Janice had even cleared the room, Anica called Serena in for an unexpected meeting, and told her to bring everything she was working on. Not always a good thing, being summoned by the boss, but Serena’s conscious was clear. And as it turned out, Anica had only slightly nerve-wracking news.
“I need you to sit in on these interviews today for Margaret’s replacement.”
Serena blinked. Margaret, one of the copy writers, was moving to Alabama rather suddenly, but Anica had always done the hiring on her own. “You want my help?”
Anica stopped flipping through the paperwork Serena had handed over and glanced up. “It looks like these spots can go to Eddie as-is, and I’ll have Philip and Johnnie do some initial mock-ups of the gala brochure based on your notes. That should give you a few hours free to talk with the copy writers.”
“Right,” Serena tried not to sound as nonplussed as she felt. It didn’t seem bad, exactly, but it was unexpected, and Anica was many things, but few of them were spontaneous.
Anica smiled at her. “Relax. I’ve decided to groom you for more responsibility, and I thought you’d benefit by sitting in. It’s hardly a death sentence. Besides, you worked most closely with Margaret, so you’ll know the essentials we’re looking for in a replacement.”
Well, then. Serena smiled back, hoping she looked at ease. She’d been eyeing the management tier; after almost four years at Lanigan she was eager to do more than strictly graphic design, but hadn’t yet formulated her plan for approaching Anica about it. Seems that first step had been taken without her realizing it. Trying to expel her nervous energy, Serena picked up the applicant’s folders. “Okay, then, thanks. Just these three? Can’t HR rustle up anyone else?”
“Oh, Emily had several applicants. Of the ones she put through to me, these are my top choices. If this process goes well, next time we have to hire I’ll show you how I go through the applicants to decide who to talk to. Listen,” Anica took off her glasses and tossed them to the side, “I know everyone is used to Margaret, and the way she works, and maybe your team will resent the new guy a little....”
“Or gal,” Serena added, reading the applicant names. “But if I’m one of the interviewers, I’ll stand up for him or her and smooth things over, yes, I get that. It’s not subtle.”
“I never said it was.”
Serena tried to get ahold of her mouth before it shot her in the foot. “No, no, of course not. It’s a solid plan. I’ll do what I can, but there is going to be some fallout. I’m not the only one who’s going to miss Margaret, or her efficiency. For the group’s sake, I can’t be seen as rising up solely on the back of her departure. So, how else will you be giving me more oversight?”
Anica swept her hair back from her forehead and put her glasses back on. “You’re not so subtle yourself, Serena. But this isn’t a fast track, so don’t get too rebellious on me. For now, you will sit in on sales meetings between Eddie and me, and take over some of the direct communication with clients. Select clients. Lanigan wants to build a stronger base in the hospitality industry, and we think you can help with that. For now, these interviews. The first one’s in about thirty minutes—have a seat over there and look over the resumes and portfolios.”
Moving to the small conference table Anica had indicated, Serena checked the time on her cell phone. There were two interviews before lunch. And while their talk with the first applicant took most of the hour between ten and eleven, the next guy was so monosyllabic and almost hostile that Serena and Anica both were happy to shut the door behind him a half-hour after he first walked in.
“What was that? Misogyny?”
Anica shook her head. “I do not know. What year is it again? Do they still make blatant chauvinists in this millennium? Let’s hope that Dillon has a little easier time with the idea of female bosses.”
“Cheri was fine with us, at least.”
“My only question with her is her experience. She has talent, but her resume just isn’t very deep.”
“Okay. Dillon at one?”
Anica nodded. “See you then.”
1:10 rolled around; Dillon Hamilton was late.
Anica shot Serena a wry look and made noises about the file of other applicants, but before they could open it, Hamilton was announced. He propelled himself into the office, jacket flying behind him, and seemed anchored to the earth only via the messenger bag he wore over one shoulder. He was all apologies, kinetic charm and a tumble of dark hair.
“What a disaster, I’m so sorry. Do you still have time for me? All my fault, inexcusable. But not typical.” He turned to Serena. “Sorry, I didn’t know I’d meet you, too, just Ms. Sands. Dillon Hamilton, hi.”
“Serena Colby.” They shook, his long fingers wrapping around the back of her hand, enveloping it. His height when they were right up close was a little overwhelming, but he was lanky, only his broad shoulders filling up his otherwise flapping blazer. At her name, he grinned one of those lights-up-the-face grins. Charm. The guy had dangerous levels of charm.
“Right, hi, Serena, nice. I saw your picture on the Lanigan site. You did their new logo, right?”
Serena confirmed she had, and Dillon complimented her before turning his eyes (Serena hadn’t decided if they were cobalt or Egyptian blue) and his attention back to Anica. “I feel bad I kept you waiting. My references will tell you, I’m really prompt. Oh, you have my samples there, good. Let me show you a couple of other things. This is recent, similar to what Lanigan did for McMahan Foods, I think. Similar tone. I’ve just done some food writing, and I’m not sure my application materials show you enough of that.”
They discussed his work, Lanigan’s history, Houston, and the industry.
“Why are you looking to move from freelance to a permanent position?” Serena asked. Over the course of the day she’d gotten more comfortable with questioning the applicants, but something was tying her tongue a little with this one. She didn’t want to think that it was the fact that he was gorgeous, so she refused to think about it and kept her eyes on his resume and on Anica.
“It’s what I always wanted. I moved to Houston to be near my sister, she’s having a baby soon, and they’re my only family. Anyway, I came here because she’s here, and I’m staying because she’s here. And I like it. I’m a huge Rockets fan. I’ve been searching for a permanent position since I got here, looking at different companies, and Lanigan is just perfect for me. The size and the team and the work you’ve all done. The location. It’s exactly what I hoped for.”
His enthusiasm was sweet. And she’d never fault a fan of her hometown basketball team, since she was rather rabid about them herself. Serena remembered her own interview at Lanigan; she’d probably been about Dillon’s age, and was just as eager to be hired on. But she didn’t think she’d come across as open about it. Not that it was a bad thing. He was just so...so there. So tall and happy and that dark hair and those cobalt eyes and Serena was not inclined to gladness that she was so aware of his thereness. But he interviewed well, and they’d liked his work best of the three candidates. As Dillon packed up, Serena and Anica shared a relieved smile behind his back.
“We should be making a decision in the next couple of days,” Anica said, returning to her desk. “Serena will show you out. Nice to meet you, Dillon.”
“And you. I’ll look for your call.”
They strolled to the lobby, chatting. Lanigan’s halls were lined with completed campaigns—not updated as frequently as Serena’s office walls, but still a strong recommendation for the work they did there. And it gave her a secret little smile that several of the pieces Dillon commented on had her graphics. At the front desk, he turned fully towards her. “Thanks, Serena. I can call you Serena? I know I said it, but I can start right away.”
“That’s great.” Despite being fairly sure Dillon would be their hire, Serena didn’t want to give anything away. Plus she’d caught sight of Philip, their other writer, headed into Margaret’s office with a grim look on his face. Clearly the word of Margaret’s potential replacements and, with it, Serena’s semi-promotion, was spreading through the building. She was mentally running damage control, but Dillon still stood facing her, blue eyes unwavering.
“I can ask you a question?”
Serena nodded.
“I don’t want to come on too hard. And I know it’s maybe stupid of me to mention this. But,” he ducked his head some, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can I call you?”
“Well, sure. Like Anica said, we’re going to contact all the candidates by early next week, but if you want to just check in, that’s fine.”
“No. I appreciate that, but...I mean, you, specifically. No matter what happens with the job decision, can I call you? For coffee or something?”
“I don’t drink coffee.” What a stupid response. Serena sent a mental slap to her forehead, but this adorable puppy of a man was asking a maybe future boss on a date? What if Anica had been the one to walk him out, would he have asked her instead? Was this strategy, or just strange? And why did the idea of his offering Anica a coffee set Serena’s mind at disgruntled alert? “I like tea.”
“Well, for tea then.”
“Sorry. I mean, sorry, it’s not the coffee. I appreciate it, Dillon, but I don’t...it’s not....”
“You’re with someone?” He shook his head. “Never mind. You said ‘no’ and I’ll let it go. I just didn’t want to wait until I started working with you and have to wonder how to fit my asking you out in with the job stuff. Or if I don’t get it, for you to think I’m trying to get a second chance. I mean, when I say it like that, it’s obvious the right answer is to not ask you out at all. Which is what you’re trying to say. I was right to start with and it was stupid to ask. Forget it all, please. What an impression I make. Show up late and won’t go away and incapable of biting back my words when I should.”
“No. It’s fine. Nice of you to ask.” Unsettling, but nice. Serena was not looking to date. The post-Joey list of things to avoid was too long, and she had a promotion to chase, and Dillon was too young and too handsome and too likely to be her subordinate and too much a whirlwind and anyway, Serena was not looking.
He took her hand in hers, squeezed. Serena resisted pulling away from the warmth of it. “I’ll leave now. Thanks for your time today. And when you choose someone else for this job, I’d still like to hear from you. If you want. I won’t pester you. Thanks, Serena. You’re really nice. And pretty. But mainly nice. I’m going, I promise. Bye.”
And like that, he slung his messenger bag around his neck and strode away, shoulders set, not looking back.
It also meant that she jumped a little at the unwelcome sound of Joey coming up behind her. And jumping a little meant Serena risked dropping either her keys or her mug of steaming Earl Grey. Drop the keys, and the drawing case dragging down her shoulder would follow, and she’d just finished the Mooney account mock-ups. Drop the mug, and she’d be reminded that no matter how much she loved its paprika-and-nutmeg swirl of color, that particular to-go cup had a loose lid, and Serena was wearing sandals.
She dropped the keys, trusting her case’s integrity more than her mug’s. Catching the strap before her work hit the floor, Serena turned, tight-lipped, to face Joey.
Other ex-boyfriends would have been polite enough to pick up her keys. Of course, other ex-boyfriends would also have been polite enough to remember that Serena left her apartment at 8:12 every morning, and would avoid their common hallway for the three minutes it took for her to get out to her car. Or at the very least, other ex-boyfriends would have been polite enough to wait until she was done locking her apartment door before approaching.
One thing that was sure about Joey: he wasn’t like Serena’s other ex-boyfriends. Not that she’d been stuck living two doors down from other ex-boyfriends before, so maybe she was giving the others too much credit. She counted to six before speaking, since that was the number of weeks she had left before her lease was up. When she’d regained some patience, she greeted him. “Joey.”
He was barefoot. Khakis and his work polo, but barefoot on the sticky hallway linoleum, just in case Serena thought it was coincidence that he was leaving for his store at the same time that Serena was headed out to Lanigan Printing and Advertising.
“Hey, I was wondering if I could borrow some coffee.”
“I don’t drink coffee.” Which should have been apparent after eight and a half months of dating.
“But you have that instant stuff in your freezer.”
“I threw that out.” On the first morning of January, actually, cursing herself for keeping it throughout December, just in case he came knocking. A long, fun, revelatory New Year’s Eve with her former college housemates had been the push she’d needed to get up the next morning and throw out Joey’s coffee, Joey’s toothbrush, and Joey’s Christmas present (she’d bought it the week before he broke up with her, which she did confess to the gals; she hadn’t admitted to wrapping it, prettily, post-breakup). In the weeks since, Serena’s early rising and Joey’s later working hours had kept the hallway encounters to a minimum. But every time they did meet, Serena ended up with a longer list of prohibitions about the next guy. Not younger than her. Not a coffee addict. Not afraid of cockroaches. Not laid back about being on time. Not a food mooch. Not obsessed with his stupid gaming. Not living in a scummy-butt apartment within steps of her own scummy-butt apartment.
“Why’d you do that?”
“Throw it out? Because I don’t drink coffee.”
“You could have given it to me. The Brackenbridge kids were having some sort of tennis match all morning.”
“It was a sword fight.” The Brackenbridge family lived in the apartment between theirs. The walls were thin. Cammie Brackenbridge had pointed out, early in Joey and Serena’s relationship, that the boys and Joey shared a bedroom wall. Serena had averted her eyes around the kids for a good long while. On the up side, Serena was petty and the boys hated waking up at seven for school. Each whining protest about missing shoes and bad-mood-induced loud game that floated on the air waves while she got ready for work delighted her, knowing that Joey was piling pillows on his head and grumbling into his mattress about it.
“It was loud. And I ran out of coffee last week.”
“Well, you’re up now. You should have time to go buy some before work.” Serena retrieved her keys and finessed the lock before shouldering her drawing case again. “Gotta go.”
“Where’d you get it, though?” Joey was walking alongside her.
“Get what?” She knew. But she liked irritating him. More proof of her pettiness.
“The coffee.”
“I threw it out.”
“I mean where’d you get it to start with?”
She’d told him, at least twice. Probably more. It was bad enough that she’d once spent a couple of hours online researching instant coffee brands, searching for something flavorful, fair trade, organic, and also available from a locally owned store somewhere in Houston. Never mind that it was at the same place where she got her olive oil and shampoo, and she might have just grabbed the coffee off their shelves without the research time. But she’d told him the whole story when he’d complimented the flavor. Joey had even gone to the co-op with her, back when they sometimes ran errands together.
“Oh, just the grocery store. I think it was HEB.” The chain carried organic coffee; it wasn’t impossible that Joey would find the same stuff there.
“Okay. Fine. I guess I have to go shopping.”
“Bye, Joe.” He hated being called Joe. Serena took the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. Sure, her case banged repeatedly against her thigh and a few drops of tea spilled out onto her hand, but the thud of the fire door slamming shut between her and her ex-boyfriend was more than worth it.
Despite the Joey delay, Serena was at work early enough to grab a minute to herself. She spent it rearranging her poster frames. The first thing she’d done when she was hired by Lanigan was to install two rows of a deep crown molding along a couple of her office walls, which she used in place of an easel to display client mockups, past campaigns, and some of her own personal, more artistic work.
Right at nine, Serena’s friend Janice came in and caught her repositioning the Mooney account frames.
“You know, Toots, I’ll have those Mangoes and Moonshine posters for you tomorrow at two. You’re just going to want to move everything around again.” Janice was Lanigan’s Operations Manager. She knew the schedules for a million things at once, and how to deal when any of those million processes threatened her deadlines. If Janice promised a poster at two, Serena would have a poster at two.
Serena laughed. “Yeah, I know. But Anica took my HouGreen mockups to give to Mr. Kenzi, and I can’t leave these poor walls with a big gaping hole showing, can I?”
“Your walls aren’t sentient, Toots.”
“Shh! They’ll hear you.”
“They don’t really have ears, you know. I’m beginning to think you’re clinically disordered here. Or maybe it’s clinically ordered? Ducks don’t come in rows that straight. Some people let paper stack up in their in-boxes, or keep the ‘to be filed’ pile hidden behind the door.” Janice made a show of looking, but of course only found a white board outlining the quarter’s work flow. “Seriously. I dare you to just leave your walls the way they are until Monday.”
As if she’d leave them a mess for four days. Janice was toying with her, but Serena could play right back. She knew Janice’s obsessions as well as Janice knew hers. “I dare you to only go to the gym once this weekend.”
Janice cocked her head, considering. “Does Friday count?”
“If it’s after five, it counts.”
“No deal. I’d miss my kickboxing class.”
“You have a sickness.”
“Which I think was my point to you.” Janice sighed. “We need boyfriends.”
“Speak for yourself,” Serena said, and turned to nudge one of her collages to the left an inch. “You’re addicted to exercise endorphins, so a nice physical outlet is just the ticket for you. As for me, there’s nothing wrong with making my environment nice. And besides, even if I could find anyone worth dating, I’d still keep my filing done.”
Janice snorted. “I want to know which one of your thirteen evil stepparents beat you black, blue, and purple unless you folded your laundry on time. You have a deeply scarred psyche, my friend.”
“There were only seven stepparents, and I never even lived with Number Seven. I mean, Zane. I promised Mom I’d stop calling him Number Seven. What’s your point?”
“Want to go for Cuban food and talk about it?”
“Is that a subtle way of making me go out dancing with you tonight?”
“Maybe.”
“Will you glare at me for the poor dietary choices I will definitely make?”
“Not if you promise to shake your hips afterwards.”
Serena grinned and tapped the last frame a tiny bit to fix the spacing. “You’re on.”
Before Janice had even cleared the room, Anica called Serena in for an unexpected meeting, and told her to bring everything she was working on. Not always a good thing, being summoned by the boss, but Serena’s conscious was clear. And as it turned out, Anica had only slightly nerve-wracking news.
“I need you to sit in on these interviews today for Margaret’s replacement.”
Serena blinked. Margaret, one of the copy writers, was moving to Alabama rather suddenly, but Anica had always done the hiring on her own. “You want my help?”
Anica stopped flipping through the paperwork Serena had handed over and glanced up. “It looks like these spots can go to Eddie as-is, and I’ll have Philip and Johnnie do some initial mock-ups of the gala brochure based on your notes. That should give you a few hours free to talk with the copy writers.”
“Right,” Serena tried not to sound as nonplussed as she felt. It didn’t seem bad, exactly, but it was unexpected, and Anica was many things, but few of them were spontaneous.
Anica smiled at her. “Relax. I’ve decided to groom you for more responsibility, and I thought you’d benefit by sitting in. It’s hardly a death sentence. Besides, you worked most closely with Margaret, so you’ll know the essentials we’re looking for in a replacement.”
Well, then. Serena smiled back, hoping she looked at ease. She’d been eyeing the management tier; after almost four years at Lanigan she was eager to do more than strictly graphic design, but hadn’t yet formulated her plan for approaching Anica about it. Seems that first step had been taken without her realizing it. Trying to expel her nervous energy, Serena picked up the applicant’s folders. “Okay, then, thanks. Just these three? Can’t HR rustle up anyone else?”
“Oh, Emily had several applicants. Of the ones she put through to me, these are my top choices. If this process goes well, next time we have to hire I’ll show you how I go through the applicants to decide who to talk to. Listen,” Anica took off her glasses and tossed them to the side, “I know everyone is used to Margaret, and the way she works, and maybe your team will resent the new guy a little....”
“Or gal,” Serena added, reading the applicant names. “But if I’m one of the interviewers, I’ll stand up for him or her and smooth things over, yes, I get that. It’s not subtle.”
“I never said it was.”
Serena tried to get ahold of her mouth before it shot her in the foot. “No, no, of course not. It’s a solid plan. I’ll do what I can, but there is going to be some fallout. I’m not the only one who’s going to miss Margaret, or her efficiency. For the group’s sake, I can’t be seen as rising up solely on the back of her departure. So, how else will you be giving me more oversight?”
Anica swept her hair back from her forehead and put her glasses back on. “You’re not so subtle yourself, Serena. But this isn’t a fast track, so don’t get too rebellious on me. For now, you will sit in on sales meetings between Eddie and me, and take over some of the direct communication with clients. Select clients. Lanigan wants to build a stronger base in the hospitality industry, and we think you can help with that. For now, these interviews. The first one’s in about thirty minutes—have a seat over there and look over the resumes and portfolios.”
Moving to the small conference table Anica had indicated, Serena checked the time on her cell phone. There were two interviews before lunch. And while their talk with the first applicant took most of the hour between ten and eleven, the next guy was so monosyllabic and almost hostile that Serena and Anica both were happy to shut the door behind him a half-hour after he first walked in.
“What was that? Misogyny?”
Anica shook her head. “I do not know. What year is it again? Do they still make blatant chauvinists in this millennium? Let’s hope that Dillon has a little easier time with the idea of female bosses.”
“Cheri was fine with us, at least.”
“My only question with her is her experience. She has talent, but her resume just isn’t very deep.”
“Okay. Dillon at one?”
Anica nodded. “See you then.”
1:10 rolled around; Dillon Hamilton was late.
Anica shot Serena a wry look and made noises about the file of other applicants, but before they could open it, Hamilton was announced. He propelled himself into the office, jacket flying behind him, and seemed anchored to the earth only via the messenger bag he wore over one shoulder. He was all apologies, kinetic charm and a tumble of dark hair.
“What a disaster, I’m so sorry. Do you still have time for me? All my fault, inexcusable. But not typical.” He turned to Serena. “Sorry, I didn’t know I’d meet you, too, just Ms. Sands. Dillon Hamilton, hi.”
“Serena Colby.” They shook, his long fingers wrapping around the back of her hand, enveloping it. His height when they were right up close was a little overwhelming, but he was lanky, only his broad shoulders filling up his otherwise flapping blazer. At her name, he grinned one of those lights-up-the-face grins. Charm. The guy had dangerous levels of charm.
“Right, hi, Serena, nice. I saw your picture on the Lanigan site. You did their new logo, right?”
Serena confirmed she had, and Dillon complimented her before turning his eyes (Serena hadn’t decided if they were cobalt or Egyptian blue) and his attention back to Anica. “I feel bad I kept you waiting. My references will tell you, I’m really prompt. Oh, you have my samples there, good. Let me show you a couple of other things. This is recent, similar to what Lanigan did for McMahan Foods, I think. Similar tone. I’ve just done some food writing, and I’m not sure my application materials show you enough of that.”
They discussed his work, Lanigan’s history, Houston, and the industry.
“Why are you looking to move from freelance to a permanent position?” Serena asked. Over the course of the day she’d gotten more comfortable with questioning the applicants, but something was tying her tongue a little with this one. She didn’t want to think that it was the fact that he was gorgeous, so she refused to think about it and kept her eyes on his resume and on Anica.
“It’s what I always wanted. I moved to Houston to be near my sister, she’s having a baby soon, and they’re my only family. Anyway, I came here because she’s here, and I’m staying because she’s here. And I like it. I’m a huge Rockets fan. I’ve been searching for a permanent position since I got here, looking at different companies, and Lanigan is just perfect for me. The size and the team and the work you’ve all done. The location. It’s exactly what I hoped for.”
His enthusiasm was sweet. And she’d never fault a fan of her hometown basketball team, since she was rather rabid about them herself. Serena remembered her own interview at Lanigan; she’d probably been about Dillon’s age, and was just as eager to be hired on. But she didn’t think she’d come across as open about it. Not that it was a bad thing. He was just so...so there. So tall and happy and that dark hair and those cobalt eyes and Serena was not inclined to gladness that she was so aware of his thereness. But he interviewed well, and they’d liked his work best of the three candidates. As Dillon packed up, Serena and Anica shared a relieved smile behind his back.
“We should be making a decision in the next couple of days,” Anica said, returning to her desk. “Serena will show you out. Nice to meet you, Dillon.”
“And you. I’ll look for your call.”
They strolled to the lobby, chatting. Lanigan’s halls were lined with completed campaigns—not updated as frequently as Serena’s office walls, but still a strong recommendation for the work they did there. And it gave her a secret little smile that several of the pieces Dillon commented on had her graphics. At the front desk, he turned fully towards her. “Thanks, Serena. I can call you Serena? I know I said it, but I can start right away.”
“That’s great.” Despite being fairly sure Dillon would be their hire, Serena didn’t want to give anything away. Plus she’d caught sight of Philip, their other writer, headed into Margaret’s office with a grim look on his face. Clearly the word of Margaret’s potential replacements and, with it, Serena’s semi-promotion, was spreading through the building. She was mentally running damage control, but Dillon still stood facing her, blue eyes unwavering.
“I can ask you a question?”
Serena nodded.
“I don’t want to come on too hard. And I know it’s maybe stupid of me to mention this. But,” he ducked his head some, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can I call you?”
“Well, sure. Like Anica said, we’re going to contact all the candidates by early next week, but if you want to just check in, that’s fine.”
“No. I appreciate that, but...I mean, you, specifically. No matter what happens with the job decision, can I call you? For coffee or something?”
“I don’t drink coffee.” What a stupid response. Serena sent a mental slap to her forehead, but this adorable puppy of a man was asking a maybe future boss on a date? What if Anica had been the one to walk him out, would he have asked her instead? Was this strategy, or just strange? And why did the idea of his offering Anica a coffee set Serena’s mind at disgruntled alert? “I like tea.”
“Well, for tea then.”
“Sorry. I mean, sorry, it’s not the coffee. I appreciate it, Dillon, but I don’t...it’s not....”
“You’re with someone?” He shook his head. “Never mind. You said ‘no’ and I’ll let it go. I just didn’t want to wait until I started working with you and have to wonder how to fit my asking you out in with the job stuff. Or if I don’t get it, for you to think I’m trying to get a second chance. I mean, when I say it like that, it’s obvious the right answer is to not ask you out at all. Which is what you’re trying to say. I was right to start with and it was stupid to ask. Forget it all, please. What an impression I make. Show up late and won’t go away and incapable of biting back my words when I should.”
“No. It’s fine. Nice of you to ask.” Unsettling, but nice. Serena was not looking to date. The post-Joey list of things to avoid was too long, and she had a promotion to chase, and Dillon was too young and too handsome and too likely to be her subordinate and too much a whirlwind and anyway, Serena was not looking.
He took her hand in hers, squeezed. Serena resisted pulling away from the warmth of it. “I’ll leave now. Thanks for your time today. And when you choose someone else for this job, I’d still like to hear from you. If you want. I won’t pester you. Thanks, Serena. You’re really nice. And pretty. But mainly nice. I’m going, I promise. Bye.”
And like that, he slung his messenger bag around his neck and strode away, shoulders set, not looking back.