Page 21 of Death is My BFF
Unfortunately, my father took a jet to Australia this morning for the company. I’m the one currently interviewing for the art counselor positions. We can discuss your car situation as well.”
He motioned me inside, and I had no other argument to make.
As I walked past David into his office, Tiara shot envious daggers down at me from atop her perch.
Receptionist, my butt. More like gargoyle.
“My father said I would like you,” David said, once we were alone. “I guess you didn’t tell him how we’ve already met.”
“No, I didn’t,” I said. “Listen, I was having a bad night—”
“Then let’s go back to the beginning,” David said with that deep, appealing voice. He held out his hand. “David Star.”
“Faith Williams,” I said and returned his firm handshake.
David’s eyes drilled mine as his index finger rested against my wrist for a prolonged moment. It was as if this man was purposely trying to make me squirm.
“Welcome to D&S Enterprises, Faith.”
Heat crawled up my neck under his intense stare. He was still holding my hand. Was he checking my pulse?
He let me go. “Have a seat.”
My wrist buzzed where his index finger had been. I sat in the black leather chair across from his desk. Seeing David now, dressed as an astute businessman rather than the normal nineteen-year-old I’d met Friday night, was surprising, to say the least. He embodied the mature role like a chameleon adapting to his surroundings, and I couldn’t help but feel like I’d underestimated his intelligence. Looked like Playboy Junior was the genius protégé the world claimed, after all.
The office was spacious with lush gray carpeting and black leather furniture scattered sparingly. A few fake leafy potted plants sat by his desk. His computer setup had dual monitors and a fancy ergonomic keyboard with the latest state-of-the-art technology. On the opposite side of the room, a galaxy-wide flat-screen hung above a collection of black-and-white shots of the city.
Massive floor-to-ceiling panels overlooked the skyline of New York City. Heavily tinted, each panel limited the amount of light in the room, creating the illusion of night.
Despite all the impressive decor and peculiar window choice, what really caught my attention was the shattered glass coffee table I’d passed on my way to my seat, and his unbelievably cluttered desk.
“This isyouroffice?” I asked.
David sat down in the leather chair behind his desk, his hand hovering over the messy surface as he searched for an item. “Has my name on it.”
“But you’re . . . ”
“Too young?” David offered. He slid a pack of gum from beneath a pile of debris and popped a piece into his mouth. “I’m nowhere near my father’s level of responsibilities, but he did start showing me the ropes from the moment I could saycall to action.”
I thumbed over my shoulder. “What’s with the coffee table?”
“It broke.”
“I hate when that happens . . . ”You sarcastic jerk. “All these beautiful windows, and yet it’s so dark in here.”
“I had them heavily tinted. Got jabbed in the eye when I was little, and now I’m sensitive to light. Have to wear sunglasses even when it’s cloudy.”
“You have photophobia?”
His head tilted to one side. “You have a firm grasp of the obvious.”
“I took an anatomy class, so I knew the term.”I really hate thisguy. I flattened out a small wrinkle in my slacks with my palm. My inner neat freak was screaming at the debacle of papers and garbage scattered along David’s beautiful mahogany desk. Or at least, I imagined it was a beautiful mahogany desk. It was hard to tell what was under all the debris.
How could a man so flawless be so messy? Tragic.
Discreetly, as David fiddled with my resume, I plucked an old french fry off his desk and threw it into the garbage can. Three-pointer.
“Miss Williams.”