Chapter 3
To Whom It May Concern,
I am available for a phone interview. I would like to know what the job comprises, though. I do not look like a dog, and I don’t appreciate the sentiment. Also, I’m not sure that I would say today was my lucky day just because you gave me an interview. To be honest, wouldn’t you say that it was your lucky day, seeing as I was the only one that was interested in the job?
Yours sincerely,
Savannah Carter
I read my response over. I knew that I sounded bitchy, but I really didn’t care. There was also no way I was addressing my email to The Wade Hart. I’d keep it as formal as possible, and if this was a serious job, they would understand that. I pressed send before I could change my mind. I sat back in my seat as the train made its way from the station and scrolled through the calendar on my favorite coffee shop’s website. There was a poetry slam coming up on Friday, and I figured that it would be a fun activity for Lucy and me to attend where we could let off some steam. I’d have to write something new, though. I opened the notebook app on my phone and waited for inspiration to hit.
Ping.
A new email alert appeared, and I opened it quickly. It was a response from The Wade Hart.
Dear Ms. Carter,
Are you available for a call now? I expected a response last night, but I can fit you in for an interview right now. What’s your phone number? I didn’t say you look like a dog. You did. Today was not my lucky day. Well, not yet at least. Let’s see what happens tonight.
My name isn’t To Whom It May Concern. It’s Wade Hart. Have you ever sent cover and/or informative letters for a job before?
The Wade Hart
I stared at his response and rolled my eyes. This guy sounded like a jerk. When the hell had I said I look like a dog? And what was he insinuating by saying that tonight might be his lucky night? Was he talking about sex? My face flushed. This kind of inappropriateness was out of control, but I needed this job. I needed a genuine job that paid me, and paid me quickly. Rent was due soon, and I had no other options right now. I regretfully responded to his email with my number and closed my eyes. Panic and anxiety flooded me and I tried to take a few deep breaths. My fingers felt sweaty, and as my phone started ringing, I dropped it onto the floor. My eyes popped open quickly, and I grabbed the phone and answered it, ignoring the rude stare of the elderly lady sitting across from me.
“Hello, this is Savannah Carter.”
“Savannah, this is Wade Hart.” A smooth silky voice sounded in my ear and it surprised me at how much the sound delighted me. He sounded hot, arrogant but super-hot, if a voice could sound hot.
“You mean, The Wade Hart?” I couldn’t stop myself from responding and I froze as my comment was met with silence. Oh, shit—had I blown the interview already? And then he chuckled, a warm, delicious sound that made my stomach flip.
“Yes, the Wade Hart.” He cleared his throat. “I’m guessing this is who let the dogs out, Savannah Carter?”
“You can just call me Ms. Carter.”
“Maybe I want to call you Savannah.”
“That works, sir.”
“How did you know my favored title?” He chuckled, and I rolled my eyes. I looked around the train and I could tell that the older lady across from me was listening to my conversation.
“I made a good guess,” I said and then realized that I was not going about this the right way if I wanted the job. “But I will call you whatever you want, Mr. Hart. I was hoping you would tell me more about the job.”
“You’d be my personal assistant. Have you ever been a personal assistant before?”
“Uhm ...” I hadn’t, but I wasn’t sure if I would stand a chance if I said no. “Not in a professional capacity, but while I was in college, I helped to TA a class and was the assistant to one of my professors.” That was a bit of a stretch. I’d helped to collect tests at the end of one of our exams, but I would not tell Wade Hart that.
“And your resume says you went to Columbia.”
“Yes, yes, I did. Graduated with a 3.8 GPA.”
“So, not a perfect 4.0?”
“No.” I bit down on my lower lip. “Where did you go to college?”
“Harvard undergrad, Wharton for business school,” he said smoothly. “I studied economics.”
“So, you work in finance?”
“Did I say that?”
“Not exactly, but I suppose I made a guess based upon what you told me.”
“So you assumed?”
“Yes, I assumed you were in finance.”
“You know what they say when you assume something ...” There was a light tone to his voice, and I realized he was teasing me. I wondered if he would actually complete that sentence. Was he really going to say you make an ass out of you and me? If he did, I would hang up right now. I would hang up the phone, go home, sleep, and hopefully wake up in a new and less cliched reality.
“No, I don’t know.”
“Hmm, well, they say you shouldn’t do it.” I said a silent prayer as he didn’t complete the juvenile saying. “I dabble in the stock market, but I’m actually more focused on trade in emerging markets.”
“Uhm, okay.” What the hell was he talking about?
“I’m involved in a lot of import and export and supporting third-world economies with sustainable businesses.”
“That sounds wonderful.” I still did not understand what that meant, but I would not tell him that.
“I need an assistant who can be on-site with me for the next six months.”
“May I ask why? Where do you live? Can’t I just commute to work?”
“I live outside the city. And no, you can’t just commute to work. Given the nature of the job, we will work at different hours of the day. Some days, we might start at three a.m., some at noon. I need you on hand at all times.”
“Oh, hmmm.” I couldn’t really argue with the time-zone logic. “And I’d be paid a salary? And be given my own place?”
“You’ll be living in my house, and you would have your own room.” He said. “Given how often and quickly I will need your services, it makes no sense for you to not be on the property. And of course, you will have a salary. I don’t expect you to work for free.”
“And what is the salary, and does the job only last six months?”
“The first assignment is for six months. If we work well together, I will extend it. You will receive three lump sums of a hundred thousand dollars. One payment on acceptance of the job, the second payment at month three, and the last payment at the end of the six months.”
“That’s a lot of money for six months.” My mom’s words hit me again, if something sounds too good to be true, it usually was.
“It is, but you will work a lot. Some weeks you might work a hundred hours, and I will need for you to do everything I ask when I ask.” He sounded serious. “You will work hard. I need someone that can commit to doing everything I require of them when I require it.”
“What will you be requiring of me?” Please God, do not say I will have to go door-to-door selling plastic brushes and combs.