The Game by L.P. Lovell
1
On a groan, I place my groceries on the Welcome mat of my apartment stoop, then rip the yellow piece of paper from the door.
This Eviction Notice from Plymouth Rentals is given to you on this day (March 21, 2017). You are being asked to leave the premises...
I ball the notice up, sighing as I shove the key in the lock, then step inside my apartment. My gaze immediately lands on the empty wall where Sawyer’s prized painting once hung. That blank space is a constant reminder of our failed relationship. I move into the kitchen, unable to ignore the mounting pile of bills on the counter, most with FINAL NOTICE stamped in red. After I put the groceries away, I grab the mail and sort through it. I toss the bills to the unopened pile, toss the junk mail in the trash, and then I’m left with a light blue envelope with no return address. This one, I might as well open.
The paper inside is crisp and thick, and when I unfold it, I feel my brow wrinkle.
You're invited to interview with Tobias Benton on March 22 at 1:00.
Business attire, please.
Six Degrees Social Media
187 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
I have spent the last few months applying to an endless list of positions with every company from here to New Jersey, and while I can't recall placing one with Six Degrees, I’m relieved. I will mop the floors if it pays. I just need money before I end up on the street.
* * *
The next day,I sit anxiously in the Six Degrees conference room, waiting to be interviewed. I keep crossing and uncrossing my legs, then wiping the sweat from my palms down the front of my skirt. I need this job so badly, and even though I wore my best business attire, I feel like I can’t possibly look as put together as I need to.
The receptionist who led me in, steps back inside and hands me a glass of water then tells me that Mr. Benton will be in shortly.
Tobias Benton. As in the CEO? Shit. I Googled the company last night to try and brush up on information. And Tobias Benton isn’t simply an administrator. He is the CEO. Why is the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company interviewing someone for a marketing position? My nerves go into overdrive. I’m smart. I’m qualified. It will be fine…
The door swings open and bangs against the wall just before a man in a tailored navy suit halfway steps in. He orders the receptionist to place a call for him, then turns to face me as he sweeps a single wave of dark hair from his forehead. The light catches on his distinct jawline, settling in the shadows as he moves across the room. His body language exudes confidence and power while everything about the way this man looks screams of distinguished wealth.
“Ms. Taylor.” His forest green eyes settle on me as he takes a seat at the head of the table and places a file folder down.
“Mr. Benton.”
“Let’s see what we have here, shall we?” He opens the folder, skimming over the print. When his gaze flicks up, he catches me staring at him and his full lips tip up into a small smirk. “Harvard. Impressive...”
He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs. “And you were a marketing executive for SFX. They went bankrupt.”
My heartbeat ticks up under his scrutiny. “Yes, they did.”
There's that smirk again—as if he knows something I don't and I'm being painfully dense. “A company is made up of thousands of tiny links,” he says. “One weak link is all it takes to put strain on the others. One weak link can jeopardize the whole.” He pauses for a moment. “Are you weak?”
“No.” I straighten in my seat. I was great at my job. The best. “The marketing I oversaw was the only thing that kept that company afloat for the last five months of operation.”
One of his brows lifts. Silent seconds pass before he pushes to his feet and crosses the room, stopping at the window. Beyond him sprawls the magnificent New York skyline, most of the buildings looming far below this one. He clasps his hands behind his back, and it wasn’t until now that I knew one’s body language could be condescending. “So, you were the tiny life raft to their sinking ship.”
He’s arrogant. And maybe that’s why he’s conducting the interview, so he can be assured if I do well, it’s because I was chosen by him.
He turns, placing his back to the glass as his arms cross his broad chest. “Why should I hire you, Ms. Taylor?”
Regardless of how arrogant he seems. I need this job, and this is my pitch. “I'm hardworking,” I say. “I'm willing to do whatever it takes, whatever you need.”
On that statement, his eyes flash with something. The way he stares at me makes me unnerved, and even though I want to look away from him, I refuse. Men like this—a woman should never back down from.
“I'm a perfectionist. I will go to great lengths to make sure anything I touch turns to gold. This company succeeds, I succeed, you succeed.” I smile. “And isn't success what everything is about?”
Inhaling, he pushes away from the window and rounds the conference table, moving out of my line of vision. Within seconds, I feel his presence behind me. He’s not touching me, but he’s close enough that the heat of his body warms my back. I don’t know what Mr. Benton is trying to do—Intimidate me, test me? So I remain facing forward.
Anticipation crawls over my skin as the moments pass.
“Success is measurable,” he whispers in my ear. The caress of his breath sends goosebumps racing down my arms and his proximity has me gripping the leather chair arms. “After all, isn't this all just one big game? We're players, trying to win, hoping to claim the ultimate prize. Do you have what it takes to win, Ms. Taylor?”
Chills shot down my spine. “Definitely.”
He lets out a low chuckle. “Good.” Then he leans over my shoulder to collect the file. “Thank you for your time. You may show yourself out.”
As soon as he leaves, I exhale. That man is the definition of intense. Honestly, he’s borderline terrifying.
I replay the strange interview on my way out of the building. It wasn’t simply arrogance and confidence, there was something about him that left me both unsettled and intrigued, a dangerous combination.
I maneuver through the crowded Manhattan sidewalks toward the subway. Tobias Benton is still fresh on my mind as I hurry down the stairs and find a place on the platform to wait amongst the other commuters. Do you have what it takes to win, Ms. Taylor? There was something in his eyes when he said that, almost like a flash. What kind of question is that anyway?
The mechanical hum of the subway echoes along the tunnel. Brakes screech as the warm wind from the passing train blows hair across my face. The doors open and people pour out while others barge their way in, and I consider myself lucky when I find a vacant seat. At least I can make use of the time and read a few chapters of my book, I think, taking my phone from my purse as the subway takes off, bumping along the tunnel. Two paragraphs in, an eerie feeling falls over me. Slowly, I lift my gaze from my device. It drifts over a pair of pressed slacks to a crisp shirt, stopping on the deep blue eyes of the man gripping an overhead handrail and standing right in front of me. His messy bun of dirty blond hair is quite the contradiction to his impeccable dress attire. He's gorgeous in every aspect, the kind of man most women would want attention from, but something is unsettling about the way his gaze slides over me.
I smile before diverting my gaze back to my phone. But that uneasy feeling only grows stronger. A read to the end of the page before I glance up again. He's still watching me. His teeth rake his bottom lip on a smile just as the train comes to a stop. Alarms go off and I quickly gather my belongings, rushing past him when the doors open.
I’m out of breath by the time I reach the top of the subway steps. I glance over my shoulder to make sure he’s not behind me, and even though I don’t see him, I don’t slow down. I snake through the crowds for a good two blocks until I’m convinced, he was just a random guy on the train I let freak me out. After all, in a city this big, what are the chances I’ll ever see him again.