He regards me thoughtfully, then sighs. “Are you doing this to get laid or impress her? There are easier ways.” He speaks as though he’s trying to help a clueless younger brother.
“I’m already getting laid, and no, I don’t even want you to tell her that I was here. I don’t want it to look like she got this through some special favor or treatment.”
Gavin sneers. “Nobody gets a pity job here. I’m not letting some idiot risk billions, or—worse—my firm’s reputation.”
“Perfect.” I know once he speaks to Skittles, he’ll change his mind about her crappy résumé. “So, an interview...?”
He sighs. “I’ll give her five minutes.”
“Ten. I’m opening an account here, man. A hundred million.”
“Still five. Less if I think she’s wasting my time. And you deposit the hundred mil.”
It isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing. The rest is up to Skittles, and I have faith in her. “All right, all right. But seriously, mark off a little extra time in your calendar. Once you talk to this girl, you’ll see that you want her for OWM and thank me for sending her your way.”
He gives me a dry look. “We’ll see.”
Chapter Thirty
Pascal
My apartment smells like cinnamon, sugar and baking apples. I’m making an apple pie for Court, because he’s been hinting he wants one. And it’s not like I have anything better to do.
I sent out even more résumés, but a vague sense of discouragement clings to me like nicotine on a smoker. I have some savings, but if I don’t get a job in the next four weeks, things are going to start getting tight. The last thing I need is an eviction.
You can just borrow money from Curie.
It’s an option, but not one I want to use. She’s trying to buy a house, and she shouldn’t have to support me. I’m a grownup. Maybe I should get a temp job until something more permanent comes my way. I make a mental note to call a few temp agencies.
I check the timer. Half an hour to go. Just about the time Court should be walking in. If everything goes right, the pie will be done about five minutes before he arri—
My cell phone rings. I pick it up but don’t recognize the number. Tom again? He sure is persistent. I want to blast him for being a dick and take out my frustration with life in general, but I force myself to keep my voice brisk. Just in case.
“Hello?”
“This is Hilary Pryce from Omega Wealth Management calling. Is Pascal Snyder available?” comes a pleasant, professional voice.
Omega Wealth Management? “Yes,” I squeak. I stop and clear my throat discreetly. “This is she,” I say more normally.
“Ms. Snyder, if you haven’t accepted an offer from another firm, we’d like to ask you to come in for an interview.”
Holy shit, holy shit! My knees start shaking. I reach out and grab the counter for balance. “Of course. When?”
She lists three dates and times. I take the earliest one. Just in case. There could be hundreds of candidates vying for the same position.
“Thursday at eleven it is, then. Do you need directions to the office?”
“No. I know exactly where it is!” I wince. Was that overeager? Maybe even slightly stalkerish?
“Perfect. When you arrive, please give your name to reception and come to the top floor. Gavin Lloyd will interview you personally.”
Oh my God. My heart is pounding, and I can barely speak for a moment. This is a big deal. If I can impress him, I won’t even need to go for a second-round interview or anything like that. The job will be mine.
“Ms. Snyder? Do you have any questions?” she asks.
“No.” I inhale deeply. “Thank you so much. I’ll be there Thursday.”
“Great. If you need anything, feel free to call me anytime.” She gives me her number, and I write it down. My hand is so shaky that the writing is barely legible.