Wanted by My Three Bosses novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: Ninety Minutes in the Lobby
Daphne stands to leave a dream interview after a ninety-minute wait, and the three founders step out of the elevator.
At half past ten, ninety minutes after my interview was supposed to start, I picked up my folder and stood.
The lobby of Pryde Group International was white marble from the floor to the ceiling.
I had been sitting in it since half past eight.
The receptionist had smiled at me apologetically six times, and I had counted every one.
"Ms. Birchall, I'm so sorry," she said, half rising from behind her desk. "I've messaged upstairs twice."
"I know. Thank you."
"Both times the answer came back from Meredith Cowell's office. She said the partners were in a meeting and you should wait."
"Did anyone say how long?"
"No, ma'am."
I looked down at my mother's black wool jacket and smoothed the sleeve.
It was the only good thing I owned, and I had pressed it twice that morning.
I had been out of work for ten months.
For the last four, I had poured coffee for people who sent it back when the foam was too wet.
I had wanted to work for this company since I was twelve years old, when my mother stuck a magazine cover of its three founders on our fridge with a banana magnet.
My rent was due on the first.
I had eighty-one dollars.
None of that was a reason to sit in a lobby for a fourth hour.
"Tell Ms. Cowell thank you," I said. "I'll find somewhere else to be."
The receptionist's face crumpled. "Please. Let me try one more time."
"You've tried twice. I'd like to stop making you."
Behind her desk, the private elevator chimed.
The doors slid open.
Three men stepped out, side by side, already in the middle of an argument about a truck.
The one in the center was tall, with black hair and a dark suit, and he was not arguing.
He was listening to the other two with his head turned slightly.
The man on his left was broad, sandy-haired and laughing.
The one on his right wore thin glasses and was holding a tablet against his chest, saying, "It's not a truck, it's a delivery van, you have to stop calling it a truck."
All three of them looked up at me at the same time.
Nobody said anything.
The tall one's eyes were grey, and they went to my folder, then my face, then the jacket, and stayed on my face.
I knew who they were.
I had looked at their faces on my fridge every day for years.
Anson Pryde. Gray Mallender. Josiah Wray.
"Ms. Birchall," the receptionist whispered, to nobody.
The man with the glasses, Josiah, stopped talking about the van.
"Are you Daphne Birchall, here for the nine o'clock?" he asked me.
"I was," I said. "It's ten."
The sandy-haired one, Gray, stopped laughing. "Nine o'clock for what?"
"The assistant position," I said. "For the three of you."
Anson spoke for the first time.
"That interview was moved," he said.
"Nobody told me."
"Then someone should have."
"I'm told someone did," I said. "Ms. Cowell's office. They told the receptionist to keep me waiting."
Gray looked at Josiah.
Josiah looked at Anson.
Anson looked at the receptionist, whose face had gone white.
"Meredith's office told you that?" he asked her.
"Yes, sir. Both times." She swallowed. "I thought you knew."
"I didn't," Anson said.
It was the first time I had heard his voice, and it was very level.
It was a plain voice, with nothing extra in it.
"Ms. Birchall," he said, "I owe you an apology. We kept you waiting for ninety minutes."
"Ninety minutes after nine," I said. "I arrived early, so it was two hours."
Gray made a small sound that might have been a cough.
"I'll reschedule you for Monday," Anson said. "Whatever time suits you."
That was what a man says when the matter is closed.
I thought about my eighty-one dollars.
I thought about my mother's magazine cover and the banana magnet.
Then I thought that if I walked out on a polite Monday, I would not come back.
So I stayed.
"No," I said. "I'd like to do it now."
All three of them looked at me.
"Here," I said. "Standing up. I've already waited two hours for it. I'm not leaving it to someone else's calendar."
Anson's eyes did not leave my face.
Josiah slowly took off his glasses.
"Why now?" Anson asked.
"Because I'm here and you're here," I said. "That seems like the only part that was ever going to work."
Gray grinned.
"Well," he said. "That's the best answer anyone's given us all year."
"It's the only answer anyone's given us," Josiah said. "Nobody has made it past the lobby in three weeks."
I had no idea what he meant.
Anson stepped closer, close enough that I had to tilt my head back.
"Then tell me, Ms. Birchall," he said, "what makes you worth two hours of my time?"
"You don't know that yet," I said. "You've only given me the two hours."
Josiah put his glasses back on.
Gray whistled low.
Anson did not smile, but something in his face shifted.
"Walk with us," he said.
The three of them turned toward the elevator and left a space for me between them.
"One thing first," Gray said as the doors closed. "The last assistant lasted nine days. Can you do nine and one?"
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