#Blessed by Malakai, page 3
“Excuse me.” I wove around a few people who were standing outside of the office building. The lobby was buzzing with employees eager to kick off their lunch hour and take a break from work. Unfortunately, that also meant that security was on high alert as people swiped their badges to get in and out of the section leading to the elevators.
Shoot. Of course there’s security, Avery. I mentally slapped myself on the forehead for not fully thinking this plan through. I’d been in enough of these buildings to know that without having a meeting set up, I wasn’t getting past the security clearance.
Slowly, I glanced around the lobby trying to find a stairwell, freight elevator, or any other way to get up to the thirtieth floor where the interviews were being held. As if God had heard my silent prayer, I spotted a delivery girl coming through the front rotating doors and heading straight to the restroom.
“Bingo.”
I channeled my inner spy as I made my way to the restroom, glad that there were only two closed stall doors when I entered. My nose immediately turned upward when I noticed the bag of food sitting on one of the sinks.
Disgusting. This is why I rarely order take out. Of course it was easy to order food to be delivered instead of cooking all of the time, but I never trusted food deliveries. The fact that the food currently sitting on the sink wasn’t even mine still made me gag just thinking about all of the bacteria in the bathroom that was now contaminating the food.
One of the stalls opened and out stepped a businesswoman with a phone in one hand and laptop in the other. How the hell did she even use the washroom with no free hands? I considered myself a multi-tasker, but even I didn’t understand that equation.
The businesswoman made quick work of washing her hands and exiting the restroom, leaving me alone with the delivery girl in the closed stall. When I heard the toilet flush, I only had a few seconds to figure out what I was going to say to her.
“Hello,” she said, washing her hands.
Oh good, she’s friendly. I can work with friendly. She was wearing an orange and yellow uniform with the words Fly Wings written on her T-shirt and a matching hat.
“Hello,” I replied, pretending to touch up my lipstick. I’d worked at a wing place in high school, so I figured developing some commonality was the best place to start.
“I’m new to New York, so I haven’t heard of Fly Wings, but I used to frequent a few wing places in my Tennessee hometown. Even worked at one for a while. Should I try Fly Wings?”
“Honestly,” she said with a smile, “it’s not worth the calories. There are way better wing places in the city. I’m only working here to save money for an apartment while I go to fashion design school.”
“That’s awesome. Nothing wrong with working to further your dream.”
“Thanks.” She dried her hands and frowned. “I just wished the uniform we had to wear wasn’t so hideous. Every time I make a delivery to the tech company on the twentieth floor, the group that sits in the front of the office always make fun of me. I used to go to high school with a few of the guys and girls that intern there. I think they only place orders because they want to tease me.”
I shook my head as I thought about how annoying some kids were. “I was teased a lot in high school, and even though it stopped by the time I went to college, I understand how you feel.” I didn’t want to deceive the young girl, but I had my own agenda as well. “You know, I happen to be work on the twentieth floor, too. I don’t mind dropping off the food so that you don’t have to go up there today.”
Her eyes lit up. “Really? You’d do that for me?”
“Of course,” I said with a shrug. “It’s not a problem.”
“Thank you.” She gave me a hug before placing the bag of food in my hand. “Maybe you should wear this, too. Just so that they won’t call Fly Wings and tell them that a random person delivered their food. They would totally do that to me.”
I glanced down at the orange and yellow hat in her hand. “Sure. I can do that.” I placed the hat on my head and tried not to cringe at the large cartoon bird. “I never did have a head that looked good in hats.”
“You look fine,” she told me after I put on the hat. “My name is Sadie by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Sadie.” I extended my hand. “My name is Avery.”
“Well, Avery, today you are my hero.” When Sadie left the bathroom, there was an extra pep in her step.
Getting past security was a breeze once I told them I had food to deliver. Staying true to my word, I dropped off the food to the tech company on the twentieth floor. Although the receptionist took the food, the people at the nearby desks turned their heads to see who was delivering the food and looked disappointed to find me and not Sadie. Brats. If I hadn’t been on a mission, I would have given them a quick lesson on bullying.
When I got back into the elevator and pressed the button to the thirtieth floor, my heart was beating out of my chest as I watched each floor light up. I was alone, which was a good thing because I had to give myself a pep talk.
“Now isn’t the time to freeze up, Avery. You deserve this opportunity just as much as the next person.”
To say I was nervous would be a huge understatement. I was beyond nervous. I wasn’t even sure there was a word for what I felt. When the elevator doors swooshed open, I almost didn’t step out of the elevator until a woman sitting at the front desk called out to me.
“Young lady, are you here to visit the gallery?”
"Um, yes. Yes, I am." I stepped off the elevator and was momentarily caught off guard to find the same woman I’d seen in the subway earlier.
I glanced around the immaculate space as I made my way to the desk. I’d read enough about Malakai Madden to know that his gallery that displayed his artwork and sculptures took up the entire thirtieth floor.
The older woman frowned. “I’m sorry, but the gallery is closed today. However, it will reopen tomorrow at 8 a.m.”
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. “I’m sorry, I’m not actually here for the gallery. I’m here for—” I didn’t get to finish the rest of my sentence as a man burst through a side door.
“Fuck him,” the man said, pressing the button to the elevator.
The older woman stood from her seat. “Sir, you will watch your language.”
The man looked so heated, I thought he would say something disrespectful, but instead, he huffed and got on the elevator.
“I’m sorry about that,” she said to me as she fumbled around with some papers. “What did you say you were here for?”
“No apology necessary.” I cleared my throat. “I’m here for the image consultant interview.”
She stopped what she was doing. “I had six interviews scheduled today and two have already interviewed. The remaining four are currently waiting in the conference room. What is your name?”
“Avery Nightingale of The Nightingale Agency.” I stood up straighter. “And if I’m being completely honest, the only reason I knew about this interview is because I overheard you on the phone this morning while I was on the subway.”
She squinted her eyes. “I knew you looked familiar. I remember seeing you this morning as well.” She surveyed me up and down. “You seem a bit young to have your own agency.”
I smiled. “I get that a lot, ma’am. But I’m actually thirty-two years old.”
She walked around her desk and observed me closer. “You’re not from New York, are you?”
I nervously pushed my glasses farther up on my nose. “Um, no, ma’am. I’m not. But I assure you that I’m very good at what I do. All I ask is for a chance to interview for the position. My agency may be small, but I have some grand ideas that I think would really help Mr. Madden’s image. I’m new to New York, so when I heard you on the subway, I knew I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”
She wore a slight smirk on her face and in my gut, I knew that was a good sign. “I’ll tell you what, Ms. Nightingale. You remind me a lot of myself when I was your age. My name is Ethel Woodstock.” I accepted the outstretched hand. Her grip was firm, but welcoming. “I’ll give you a chance to interview for the position. However, I must warn you that Mr. Madden is not easy to please. He’s the best employer I’ve ever worked for, but over the past year, he’s been through six previous image consultants who were unable to get the job done.”
Job done? He’s worked with some of the biggest PR agents and image consultants in the country. I’d done my research, so I already knew of a few of the agents he’d fired. Every article I read just said they were let go due to undisclosed differences, whatever the hell that meant. As if reading my mind, she handed me a packet of information.
“The other candidates were able to spend a few days reviewing this packet of information, so I suggest you brush up on a much as you can in the next two hours. Each interview will be thirty minutes.” She took a quick glance at my attire. “The conference room is right through those double doors. If you’d like to freshen up, the restroom is down the hall to the right of the conference room.”
“Thank you,” I squealed. I was so excited that I couldn’t stop myself from giving her a quick hug regardless of how unprofessional it may have seemed. Thankfully, she returned my hug.
When I approached the conference room, the palms of my hand grew sweaty at the sight of three men and one woman waiting for their interview. Although Tennessee was no New York, I'd worked with the best PR agency in the state when I'd lived there. I'd gotten an internship during my freshman year of college, which meant I had fourteen years of experience in the industry.
I greeted the others that were in the room, but I might as well have just kept my hello to myself. I received a smile from one of the men and barely a glance of recognition from the others.
I didn’t let the dismissiveness bother me. I had a packet of info to learn in two hours and I couldn’t waste my time being self-conscious about what the others thought of me.
One of the men in the room was called into the interview, and based off the fact that he left the room ten minutes later, I assumed it hadn’t gone well. My assumption was proven correct when Ms. Woodstock entered the conference room.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if I can have your attention for a moment.” We all looked up from our notes and packet. “Mr. Madden has given me permission to prepare you all a little more for what to expect when you enter the room.”
Ms. Woodstock took a seat at the head of the table before continuing. “As I mentioned to each of you when you arrived, Mr. Madden has not had the best of luck with finding the perfect image consultant for the job. Everyone in this room has been given an opportunity to change that. When you enter his office, you will find his personal assistant, the gallery manager, his business agent, and two of his most trusted advisors who also happen to be members of the Madden family. If you are uncomfortable with interviewing in front of a panel of individuals, then I suggest you get over it fast.” She stood from her chair and smoothed down her skirt. “Good luck to each of you. We’ll resume interviews in fifteen minutes.”
After she left the room, I was still looking at the space she had recently vacated. The energy in the room was even more tense than it had been before. Putting myself out there wasn’t easy, but I needed my business to be a success. I needed to prove to myself and others I’d left back in Tennessee that there wasn’t anything I couldn’t accomplish and they were wrong for doubting me. But trying to land one of the most high profile PR cases in the city right now? This may not have been the best idea after all.
Four
Avery
* * *
I glanced at the clock as the next interviewee was being called.
Come on, Avery. Focus. I wasn’t the type to get nervous when I was confident in what I had to say, but I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that I was anxious to get this interview over with. Mainly because of the person in question.
I doubted there was anyone with a pulse who hadn’t seen the private photo of Malakai Madden that went viral a year ago. I’d barely been able to look at anything else all day. I’d met some friends out for a drink the day it all went down and it had been the talk of the bar.
I’d followed Malakai Madden for years. On the day everything happened, I hadn’t been on social media to see the news that he’d decided to stop playing the field and settle down, but it made sense why his exes and hopefuls alike had gone crazy on Twitter when he finally did make a statement.
A cough from one of the other candidates pulled me from my thoughts. I wasn’t here to daydream. I was here to land Malakai Madden as a client. For the next hour and a half, I engrossed myself in the details in the packet. I was glad I’d already familiarized myself with what I’d read in the media because it made a lot of what was presented about his business and the reason he needed an image consultant make sense. Before long, I was the last candidate left.
“Ms. Nightingale, you’re up.” I assumed the guy who had been getting the candidates was the personal assistant, but I couldn’t be sure.
His smile seemed friendly, but he appeared to be judging my outfit. “Are you going to remove that?” he asked as he opened the door to the office.
“Remove what?” I asked as I walked through the door. I didn’t even hear what his response was because all the air was sucked from my lungs the moment my eyes landed on the group of people in the room. The energy crackled with expectation and the notion that this was an opportunity that was not to be fucked up. The man and woman sitting on the couch got my attention first.
The woman motioned for me to take a seat in the chair across from the sofa. I curled my fingers into a fist to keep myself from getting fidgety and listened as they were introduced as Mr. Madden’s business agent, Paul Canton, and gallery manager, Serenity Taylor.
Next, the man who’d escorted me to the room introduced himself as Tyler Jeffrey, the personal assistant, and introduced two men who were seated in chairs adjacent from me as Malik and Crayson Madden. In my research, I’d noted that Malakai also had five brothers, but the pictures on the internet hadn’t done these two justice.
Malik gave me a friendly smile while Crayson gave me an amused one. I would have speculated what he found so funny if I hadn’t been introduced to the last person in the room next, Malakai Madden.
The moment those hazel eyes locked on me, my steps faltered. It made no damn sense for a man to look both sexy and sophisticated at the same time. He was wearing maroon pants, a beige blazer, and a navy button-up that would look mismatched on the average person, but on him, the colors just worked. One leg was crossed over another so that his foot rested on his knee giving me a good view of his stylish brown loafers.
A neatly trimmed beard decorated his mahogany dipped in cinnamon face, and although I liked beards, it was his hairstyle that had me squeezing my fists more. I loved running my hands through a man’s hair, and Malakai’s faded sides with soft curls on top had my palms itching. Pair that with some sexy suckable lips and I was damn near panting in that office.
“Nice to meet you all,” I finally said to the room. I didn’t trust myself to just address Malakai Madden and keep the longing out of my voice, so I kept my greeting simple.
“Thank you for coming,” Malakai said. “As you know, the position I currently have open is for an image consultant. I must warn you that I’ve been burned a few times by consultants who didn’t have my best interests at heart, so let me start by telling you about my expectations.”
Expectations. That one word slipped from his mouth and slapped me against my thighs with need. Malakai Madden wasn’t just anyone to me. He was one of my icons. A man whose work I’d admired since he first got recognized when he was in high school. Only true artists or lovers of art knew everything he’d had to overcome to get to where he was today, and although I didn’t know him personally, I felt like I did.
The timber of his voice was interesting to me because as he spoke, it was smooth, but also held a certain edge. I had the feeling that anything he said, he said with conviction regardless if he was confident in what he was saying or not.
His shoulders were broader than I thought they’d be, which meant all I wanted to do was climb on top of those broad shoulders and see how strong he really was. And I wouldn’t even climb him like a damn tree. I’d climb him like a mountain. A mountain took longer to climb. A mountain had twists and turns that you couldn’t prepare for. A mountain could hold the weight of a thousand trees and Malakai looked like he’d be up for the challenge.
I shook my head at the thought. Get a grip, Nightingale. This isn’t the time or place.
“Do you understand?”
I nodded. “Yes, I do.”
“Great.” He shuffled through some papers on the desk. “I don’t seem to have your resume.”
“Oh, right.” I glanced around the room for my messenger bag and realized I’d left it in the conference room. “I don’t have it with me, but I’d be happy to tell you about my experience.”
He frowned. “Okay.” He sat back in his desk chair. “I’m a bit unconventional, but let’s start with why you believe your experience makes you the perfect person.”
Perfect person? Perfect person romantically? “The perfect person,” I repeated aloud.
He squinted his eyes. “Exactly. The perfect person for me to hire as my image consultant.”
Duh, Nightingale. This is an interview. What the hell did you think he meant? “Oh, right.”
“That’s the second time you’ve said that.”
“Said what?” I asked. Then it dawned on me. “Oh, right.” Shit. I need to stop saying ‘Oh, right’. I opened my mouth prepared to wow him with my experience and ideas I had to improve his image, but no words came out. None. Zilch.
I adjusted myself in my seat and tried again. “Well, I’m the perfect person for the job, because I fit perfectly with what you need in a consultant.” I almost gagged at my own words. What the hell are you saying, Nightingale?
