9

Helen raised her fist to knock when Mark himself came around the corner.

“Oh hello,” he said cheerfully. “Are you Helen Paul?”

Helen smiled and put out her hand to shake his. Hers was suddenly sweaty. She hoped desperately that he wouldn’t notice. The inside of his palm was like warm silk.

He shook her hand warmly and reached into his pocket to get the keys to his office. “I’m Mark. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for your interview, but I was extremely impressed with what Elizabeth told me about you. It’s so rare to find someone who doesn’t mind working overtime—evenings and weekends. Working in PR is very exciting, but it’s hard to find someone who wants to dedicate themselves to the proper representation of a company. I hope you’re up to the challenge.”

She had agreed to work evenings and weekends? What else had she promised?

“I am!” Helen claimed energetically. Once again, she was blindly agreeing to things, but more importantly, she wasn't certain he recognized her. Her hair was completely different, she was sans inserts, without flashy jewelry, and to ice the cake – she was wearing thick-rimmed glasses! If he didn’t know she was the same person, she promised herself he would never find out. She clenched her fists in determination like she was about to beat the crap out of him.

He unlocked the door and invited her into his office. It was an absolute disaster. There were sliding piles of paper everywhere.

“Is this what they call ‘organized chaos?’” she asked, taking a stack of paper off one of the chairs. Every surface was covered in paper.

“No,” he said, sitting down at the desk and unlocking the drawers. “This is what they call ‘a mess.’ I don’t mean to depress you, but before you do anything else, I need you to sort through this trash and file it.”

Helen gulped. It was certainly going to be a great task.

“But right now we have to do something much more important,” Mark said.

Surprisingly, he looked even more handsome than she remembered. Maybe it was the sun coming through the blinds hitting his cheek, or maybe it was simply because he was gorgeous. He was wearing a black button-up-the-front shirt—far from formal, which she had always seen him in before. Helen thought he looked better casual. If she kept her job she was going to be in major trouble if she couldn’t stop drooling over him.

“I didn’t get the chance to interview you,” he said. “So if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions. Would you humor me?”

“Of course,” Helen said, smiling and trying to act relaxed.

“You just graduated from community college this spring?”

“Yes,” Helen answered.

“And you were working at The Backhanded Pub and Grill until February?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you leave that job? Your reason wasn’t listed on your resume,” Mark asked, leaning forward from behind his desk.

The real reason was that she could make much more money working at the escort service, but she hadn’t listed her work as 'Vera' on her resume. She was worried it might damage her chances for an honest job, but then again, maybe the people working in public relations would have thought it was an asset. Helen smiled on the outside, but she cringed on the inside. Since she wasn't certain, she was going to have to lie. “I was afraid my job was interfering with my studies and I wanted my grades to be high,” she answered.

“Really?” he exclaimed. “How studious! That’s interesting because when I called your reference there, he said you left because you were offered a higher paying job.”

Helen frowned. She couldn’t believe she was caught in her lie already. “That’s what I told him,” she stammered. “The truth is that I was going to go work with my cousin at her place of work, but that fell through.”

“So, why didn’t you go back to the pub? It sounds like they would have rehired you,” Mark said generously.

“Like I said, I found it was interfering—with my studies. I liked having the extra time in the evening,” she answered, trying desperately to make herself sound legitimate.

“Well then, are you from the city? Did you grow up here?” he asked, allowing her slip-up to pass.

Helen answered that she grew up in a small town. She moved to the city to room with her cousin and to attend college.

“And you’re only eighteen?” he asked mildly, looking at her like she was a child. That rankled her. He hadn’t looked at her like that when she was Vera. He appreciated Vera as a woman, but as he examined Helen across the desk he looked like he thought she was barely out of diapers.

“No, I’m nineteen,” Helen answered, her cheeks burning with fire.

“You’ll learn a lot here,” he said positively. “If you work hard with me, you’ll probably have a fantastic job waiting for you when you’re done here. Let me show you your office.”

Helen noticed he didn’t use the word ‘cubical,' even though that was clearly where she was going to be. It was sort of sweet of him.

“You’ll be stuck with me all day, so if you want a cup of coffee or anything, now’s the time to say,” Mark said, getting up and beckoning her to follow him to the kitchen.

“I don’t drink coffee,” she told him.

“That’s fine. If you drink orange juice, I’ll treat you today,” he offered.

“Thank you,” Helen said. She was following him down the hall, trying to keep up with his long strides.

***

By the end of the day, Helen had learned all kinds of things about Mark. First, he gave her a tour of the office. He showed her where the photocopier was and how to fix it when it jammed. It seemed that everyone called him before they called the repairman. Then he introduced her to the receptionist and the rest of the staff. All the women seemed to sparkle when he stuck his head into their offices. Finally, Helen reached her conclusion about him.