“Did you have any trouble finding the place?” I ask.
“Not at all.” Vanessa leans back against the counter to watch me work. “The directions you sent were spot on. This is definitely in the middle of nowhere.”
“That’s by design, I suppose.”
“No joke,” she says. “The BONK founders wanted their privacy.”
One of the few things to admire about the former members of the Benevolent Order of the New Kingdom, the former cult that built this place.
I stare into the vessel where the coffee grounds go. How much do I put in here? I could check the filter I just tossed, but it seems in poor taste to paw through the trash with a prospective job candidate watching. And she is watching; I can feel her eyes on me.
“Need help?” she asks cheerfully. “I’ve got some pour-over coffee packs in my purse. Sugar and creamer, too.”
“Nope, I’ve got it.” Noteworthy about the coffee, though. Well-prepared accountants are a plus.
Dragging a flowered tin from the back of the cupboard, I pry off the lid. Coffee grounds. I settle for eyeballing it, dumping in a hefty pile into the fresh filter before slamming the trap door shut. Now where does the water go?
Glancing at Vanessa, I decide to get the interview started. “I assume you’ve been briefed on the concept of Fresh Start at Juniper Ridge.”
I cross my fingers she hasn’t caught on that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Not with the coffee, anyway. I’ve got a handle on the rest.
“Of course,” she says. “Reality television show centered around a thoughtfully planned, self-contained community.” She’s reciting straight from our website, and I admire that. I admire it a lot. “You’re bringing in a diverse group of individuals representing a variety of professions, backgrounds, and lifestyles, and setting the stage for them to create a completely sustainable microcosm of society.”
“Correct.” Seriously, where does the water go? I yank at a lever and end up unplugging the machine. “It’s part social experiment, part entertainment, part a chance to resurrect a piece of property with some questionable history.”
“BONK was certainly one of the more—colorful cults.”
I appreciate that she’s being tactful, but it’s not necessary. “You mean the part where they believed their leader was the progeny of an extraterrestrial prophet and Charlie Sheen, or the part where they touted mass orgies as a means of growing the roster?”
She laughs. “All of it. I take it you won’t be shying away from that history?”
“Might as well let viewers learn from others’ missteps so they’re not doomed to repeat them.”
From the corner of my eye, I see her stiffen. When I look up, she’s dropped her shoulders again. Or maybe I imagined the whole thing.
Turning back to the coffeemaker, I pry off a piece that turns out to be the water chamber. Now we’re getting somewhere.
“The BONK founders created one hell of an impressive town, so we’re just giving it new legs.” Belatedly, I realize I’ve just cursed at a job candidate. But if cursing offends her, she’s unlikely to fit the Juniper Ridge family. Maybe it’s a job test.
Or maybe she’s the one testing me, waiting to see how badly I’ll screw up the coffee thing before I ask for help. I can’t tell from her face if she’s judging. Her expression’s impassive, patient, even serene.
Damn, she’s beautiful.
If I weren’t dead inside, I might notice things like that.
“It’s a clever concept,” Vanessa says, jarring me back to the fact that we’re in job interview mode, even though we haven’t made it to my office. “And financially speaking, there’s high potential for revenue. The files you sent on advertisers who’ve committed—I took the liberty of setting up some spreadsheets, which I’d be happy to show you.”
“That—that would be great.” I glance at her, braced for the coquettish smile I’ve gotten from dozens of social climbing show biz types. The ‘show me your private office,’ or ‘Let me prove how much I want this job.’
But Vanessa’s slipping a pair of glasses out of her purse and setting up her laptop on the breakroom table. As the coffee starts to perk, she opens up Excel and dives right into the numbers.
“In this table here, I’ve factored in the living costs for each member of the cast.” She glances up and lifts a brow. “Are you calling them cast members or residents or what?”
“Community members.” A little dumbfounded, I drop into the seat beside her. “You already started running numbers?”
“I emailed the hiring manger to request some data—Marilyn?”
“Mari.” Who, of course, failed to mention this. “Go on.”
“Anyway, this takes into account the economic contributions of each community member—for instance, farmers, chefs, grocers—everyone who represents the food supply is shown in this column, while those who contribute to safety—police and fire, for example—are represented here on the grid.”
I listen to her rattle off numbers, staggered by how much she’s put into this. We had two other candidates make it to this round, and neither took it this far. I listen with rapt attention, impressed she’s thought of aspects of this that my five siblings and I hadn’t considered in months of planning.
“I’d be happy to email this to you if you’d like a closer look.” She smiles and glances at the coffeemaker. “Smells like that’s ready. Want me to get it?”
“Definitely not.” I jump up like my chair’s on fire and hurry to grab mugs. “If we were to offer you the CFO position, I’d want to be clear you’re not my assistant. You and I would be partners on the business side of this operation.”
She nods and tucks a shock of hair behind one ear. “And your siblings—they’re mostly on the production side?” She accepts the mug I hand her, wrapping her fingers around the warm ceramic instead of grabbing the handle. “I find the whole dynamic fascinating.”
“Yeah, Gabe’s directing, working with our sister, Lauren. She’s the producer.” I blow on my coffee, conscious of an odd sting in my nostrils. “There’s also Mari—Marilyn—she’s a psychologist. The social component was her brainchild.”
“And Lana.” Vanessa twists the mug in her hands but doesn’t take a sip. “Public relations, right?”
“Yep, and then Cooper. An actor, though he’ll be taking a different role with this endeavor.”
I wait for her to ask about Coop. Most people pry for gossip about the Judson family hellraiser, but Vanessa doesn’t go there.
“You have a lot of talent in one family.” She lifts her mug in a mock toast, then raises it to her lips.
The instant she sips, her brown eyes bulge. “Holy shit!” She sputters into the mug, spraying coffee as she jumps from her chair. “Did you brew napalm?”
I take a sip from my own mug and choke. “My God. It’s like battery acid.”
She’s wiping her tongue with a paper towel, gagging as she does it. “I thought you went heavy on the grounds, but this is like drinking tar.”