Page 8 of Hate You Up Close

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Skylar says in a hushed tone, even though we’re the only two in her office.

“Whoever fills this position is going to need thick skin,” she adds. “Elliot Thompson…He’s good at his job, but sometimes to a fault. He is the definition of a perfectionist. He doesn't understand human error or why people make mistakes, especially in the workplace. He puts his job above everything else in life; this place is everything to him. He’s not a bad person… it’s just… This is all he has. You need to keep that in mind when he tries to push your boundaries. It’s nothing personal, it’s just…Elliot.”

I furrow my brows, confused about everything she just said.

First, who is Elliot? And second, why is she acting like I already got the job?

“Okay…” I mutter.

She pays no attention to my puzzled expression as she staples my resume to the note sheet she’s been scribbling on.

“Last question,” she exhales, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “How soon can you start?”

How soon can I start?

I just met her twenty minutes ago, and she’s asking when I can start?

This is just the HR interview. I prepared myself for at least two to three additional interviews before talks of an offer even began. Maybe I should take some time to think about this. Something is off. Maybe this Elliot guy is the devil in disguise.

“I um…” I shake my head, trying to wrap my brain around this entire situation. “I’m sorry, are you making me an offer?”

Her eyes widen at my question, realizing how weird it is that she’s asking me to confirm a start date.

“Oh, uh no,” she recovers, shaking her head. “It’s just a hypothetical question. I need to speak with management first, but if youwereextended an offer, how soon would you be available to start?”

It didn't seem like a hypothetical question when she asked.Maybe she’s playing it off because she realized how desperate she sounded.

Everyone knows that in the corporate world, you don’t just get offered a position on the spot unless something is sketchy. I’m used to sitting through five to six grueling interviews before I get the news.

But beggars can’t be choosers, and this is the only interview I have at the moment. I need a job or else my time in Dallas will be cut short. I didn’t move all this way for nothing.

“Well, I’m settled into my apartment, and I’m not working at the moment,” I smile, meeting her eager stare. “So, I can start as soon as possible.”

THREE

Elliot

“I can’t believe I actually got your lame ass out of the house tonight,” Zion shouts over the music booming in the club.

Dim lights fill the industrial space, casting the room in a warm glow.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I scoff. “I’m only here because it's your birthday…and for the alcohol,” I smirk, sipping on a cold glass of whiskey.

Zion Wilson is one of my colleagues but also my oldest friend. Hell, he’s myonlyclose friend. It's no secret that I like to keep my circle small. Besides, I don’t have the time it takes to make friends. Zion is low maintenance and doesn't act like a clingy chick when we don’t hang out for weeks at a time. He puts up with my bullshit, which is why I keep him around.

We met in a finance class during our sophomore year of college and quickly realized that we were both from Dallas. After graduation, we applied to Ace Financial on a whim and each got hired within a week. Even though we work in the samebuilding, we don’t see each other often because we’re both so busy.

As a commercial lender, my job is more sales and smooth talking customers into signing a loan package. He’s a credit analyst, so he’s the math and brains behind each deal that we sign. Zion is one of the smartest people I know, which pisses me the fuck off because he’s always trying to put me in my place. I can’t argue with him because he’s right ninety-nine percent of the time.

“Let’s be honest,” he rolls his eyes, bringing me back to reality. “You’re not here for my birthday. You’re only here for the booze.”

See what I mean?The dude sees right through me. He’s always calling me out on my shit.

“What can I say?” I huff out a breath, leaning back against the leather booth. “Whiskey has always been my weakness.”

Zion shakes his head, letting out a low chuckle as he takes a swig of beer. He clears his throat, concern etched across his face as he meets my stare from across the booth.

“So, how have you been?” he asks in a serious tone.