Page 18 of Heart of Stone

I turned off the stereo, sent a silent thanks to Serena Ryder for fixing my mental state, and dashed out the door.

When I had reached the main lobby of my building, Philip, the doorman, was there to greet me.

“Good morning, Miss Cole,” he said, his jolly face crinkling with a smile.

“Morning, Phil,” I answered distractedly. “I need a cab today. Could you call for one please? I’m short on time, or else I’d enjoy the good weather and go on foot.”

Normally I would have talked with the retired cop for a minute or two, but I wasn’t feeling very chatty at that moment. Anxiety over the interview was starting to set in and I was eager to just get it over with.

“I shouldn’t have to call for the cab. There have been quite a few on the street today and waving one down shouldn’t be a problem. Come with me.”

I followed Philip outside through the lobby doors, blinking at the sudden wash of sun, and waited for him to hail me a cab. My foot tapped impatiently on the curb. It had been over a month since my last interview and I was a bundle of nerves.

“Big day, Miss?” Philip asked, looking down at my foot that was attempting to beat a hole into the sidewalk.

“Yes, a job interview,” I answered with a worried smile. The cab pulled up and Philip opened the door for me. “Wish me luck!”

He nodded and gave me a small salute as he closed the yellow car door behind me. I gave the address to the driver and the taxi sped away.

****

Traffic was terrible upon entering the financial district, but we still made good time. For once I was thankful for the fearless and reckless driving of a New York City cabbie, despite the fact that my knuckles were white from hanging on to the seat so tightly.

When the cab screeched to a halt at our destination, I paid the driver and stepped out onto the pavement. I looked up apprehensively at the impressive structure towering before me. There was a large sign above the main entrance that read Cornerstone Tower in silver lettering. A sleek ornamental spire soared high above the building, piercing a stray passing cloud.

The sheer size of the place was intimidating, and I found my steps towards the revolving glass doors to be somewhat hesitant. I tilted my head from side to side, stretching my neck like boxer headed into the ring.

I need to relax. I’ve got this.

However, as much as I tried to talk myself down, I was still a nervous wreck when I walked through the main doors. I knew that my career opportunities in New York were starting to run out. If I wanted to stay in the city, it was vital that I ace this interview.

The vestibule was large and it took me a moment to locate the security desk. There was a man wearing an official looking uniform behind a polished mahogany wood counter. He was looking at the security monitors and didn’t notice my arrival.

I cleared my throat and said, “Excuse me, sir. My name is Krystina Cole. I have an appointment with Laura Kaufman today at nine o’clock.”

The security guard glanced up at me before looking down at a logbook on the desk. He ran his finger along the page until he located my name.

“Yes, Miss Cole. Just take the elevator to the fiftieth floor. Ms. Kaufman is expecting you,” he said with a kind smile. He pointed down a corridor to his left. “The elevators are just down that hall.”

“Thank you.”

I made my way across the blue veined marble floors towards the bank of elevators. When I reached them, I typed the floor number into the keypad.

Here goes nothing.

The doors slid opened and I stepped inside. My ears popped as the elevator climbed higher and higher. When the lift finally reached its destination, a lavish waiting area came into view.

The room was furnished with several slate gray leather sofas. They were contemporary in style and positioned in a U shape off to my right. A low glass table sat in the middle of the sofas, displaying some sort of small stone sculpture. Eclectic artwork in varying shades of grays and blues adorned the stark white walls.

When I looked to my left, an attractive woman in a killer designer suit stood up from behind a desk. Her suit was a vibrant emerald green and it hugged every one of her flawless curves. Her makeup was impeccable and not a single strand of her angled bob was out of place. She looked professional, yet exceedingly sexy at the same time. When she walked around the desk to where I was standing, matching six inch green stilettos came into view.

I would kill myself if I ever tried to walk in shoes like that.

I was suddenly very self-conscious of my modest navy blue jacket and skirt.

“You must be Krystina Cole. I’m Laura Kaufman.” She smiled and extended a perfectly manicured hand to me.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Kaufman,” I replied as I shook her hand. She appeared to be in her early thirties, younger than I had anticipated based on our brief phone conversation. Her voice was so gentle and sweet, that I had pictured her to be the grandmotherly type. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

---