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Taryn
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I wipe the back of my hand across my forehead. At least one good thing has come out of getting laid off—I’ve had a week to go through my mother’s things and start getting this house in order. My thought is to sell it, but Eric will need a place to live when he gets out of prison since I’d been tasked with selling his townhouse and putting the profits in his account. Maybe once he’s on his feet, he can buy out my half of this house or we can sell. Even though the house is small and not in the best neighborhood, it’s still got a good chunk of equity in it, and I’ll need that to buy my own place. That condo I’ve lived in since college is getting old and I’m tired of paying someone else’s mortgage when I could own.
I look around at all the boxes. I’m going to have to call one of those junk places to come get this crap. I’ve already thrown away so much stuff. Mom wasn’t a hoarder, per se, but she really did keep things she didn’t need. Magazines and other stuff that were completely obsolete. And the food containers. My God, Mother. It’s okay to not keep the lunchmeat containers after you are done with the lunchmeat.
I move to the bedroom and avert my eyes from the framed photo sitting on her nightstand. Me, her, and Eric at my graduation, all of us smiling so big, me proudly holding up my diploma I’d worked my ass off for. I head to the closet and pull down a plastic bin. After setting it on her bed, I open it up and find it full of photo albums. I lug out the first one and set it next to the bin. I immediately smile when I see the first page. Old, yellowed photos stuck behind crackled plastic. They are of her childhood, and as I flip the pages, she gets older and older until photos of her high school graduation appear on the last page. Her parents did a damn good job of documenting her life and keeping the precious photos for her.
I don’t realize I’m crying until a tear splashes on the plastic page. I use the hem of my old tee to quickly wipe it away. She was so beautiful... so full of life. But she didn’t take care of herself. Fifty-seven is way too young to go.
Next, I reach into the bin and pull out another album. This one is Eric’s. From his birth to high school. I set it aside and pull out the next, this one’s mine. I’ve looked through it before, but still, I flip the pages with a heavy chest and try to smile through my pain. When I get about halfway through, a photo stops me from flipping. Me, Eric, and none other than Carter Lockwood. I’m laughing in the photo as I hose off a soapy car from my junior high car wash fundraiser. I’d begged, pled, and bribed my brother and his best friend to wash cars topless, their toned bodies a big enticement to the cougars in their BMWs and Jags to come help out a poor school cheerleading team so we could buy new pom-poms and uniforms.
I gently run my thumb over the photo. Eric’s smiling, looking at Carter, but Carter’s looking straight into the camera, as my mother obviously snapped the photo as she sat as the chaperone to the car wash. He’s grinning, his arm up in a muscle man pose, his tongue out like he didn’t have a care in the world.
God, he was so hot. I remember seeing him that day, shirtless, and telling myself to stop drooling over him. He was in his twenties—so old to me—and I had no business finding him that attractive.
I smile sadly at the memory and flip the pages to find more photos of me in high school, a few of Eric and Carter here and there.
I close the album, put it back in the bin, and sigh with nostalgia.
An hour later, after I’d put all her clothes—except a few I was going to keep and wear—into boxes, along with all her shoes, I set the boxes outside the bedroom. I begin the task of going through her dresser drawers, shoving her undergarments into a trash bag to be thrown away, and all kinds of greeting cards from us and others she’d kept over the years. I skimmed through them, keeping ones that seemed personal and sentimental, and pitched the rest.
Why I keep any is beyond me. Guess I’m more like my mom than I thought.
Once the room is thoroughly cleaned out, I strip the bedding and toss it into the hallway for a wash before it goes into the donation pile. But, before I leave the room, I take that framed photo of us and put it into the plastic bin with the photo albums. That is definitely coming with me.
As I wander into the guestroom—my old bedroom—to start the task of cleaning that out, I feel and hear my phone buzzing and chiming from my back pocket. An unknown Denver area code number appears on the screen. Hopeful it’s a job lead, I eagerly answer it.
“Hello?”
Silence.
I check the connection. Yep, still connected.
“Hello?” I repeat, my hopes dwindling that it’s a job and thinking it’s a telemarketer making sure I was a human who answered the phone.
God, those robocalls are so fucking annoying.
With my thumb perched over the end call icon, I’m just about to press it when I hear, “Taryn?”
I quickly slam the phone back to my ear. “Speaking.”
“Hi. It’s Carter.” It sounds like he’s clearing his throat. “Carter Lockwood.”
My mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. “Oh. Um. Hi.”
“Hi, Taryn. How are you?”
I chew the side of my lip as I carry the plastic bin into the living room and out to my little Audi I’d just bought. “I’m good. How are you?”
I cringe. How lame is that?
Why in the hell is Carter Lockwood calling me? He didn’t have the decency to show up at my mom’s service. To ask me how I’ve been since her death. Does he even visit my brother—his best friend—in prison? I’m going to ask next time Eric calls me for his daily ten-minute phone call.
“I’m good. Listen, I saw your résumé on Indeed. I’d like to talk to you about a job.”
I freeze, my hands completely unmoving as I set the plastic bin in the backseat of my car. “Excuse me?”
More silence.
“Hello?” I said, confused.
“You are aware I own one of the most successful IT companies in the Denver Metro, right?”
I roll my eyes, glad he can’t see it, but also disappointed he didn’t. “Okay...”
“Why, Taryn, if you needed a job, didn’t you come to me?”
Is this guy for real right now?
“I’m sorry, Carter, we haven’t seen or spoken to one another in years. I know about you and Lockwood Tech. I’m happy for your success, but why would I think you’d want to hire me? Honestly, your company’s online profile is kinda weak.”
Oh, my God, I did not just say that!
“Excuse me? We’re a very reputable app development company.”
“Is that what you do?” I continue, realizing I committed to this conversation and I’m going to finish it. “I couldn’t tell. Your social media and LinkedIn are kinda vague.”
Oh, my God! Who are you right now, Taryn?
Still, I wait in silence.
“Well, I haven’t had time to update that shit. Listen, I need an IT person, and my assistant found you on Indeed. Can you come in Monday for an interview? Or is my company not good enough?”
Seriously? Fucking dick. Okay. I can play this game.
I lift my chin, even though he can’t see. I slam the car door closed and go back into my mom’s house. “What are you offering? Salary-wise?”
Another pause.
“That’ll depend on your experience, love.”
Love, really?
A flashback hits me hard. When we were teens, he always called me that. He’d accompanied it with a British accent, but it was often. I found it endearing and always secretly liked it, but it was such a blast from the past. I resist smiling so he won’t hear it through my voice.
“Fine. What time on Monday?” I ask.
“Anytime you’re free. Seeing as you’re unemployed at the moment, I’m sure you could squeeze in an interview with us, right?”
Okay, that pisses me off. “Yeah, I’ll find time. Two o’clock work?”
“Yep. See you on Monday.” He ends the call.
Glad to see he hasn’t changed.
***
I fidget nervously with my car keys as I ride the elevator up to the tenth floor of the Silver Holdings high-rise. The building is hands-down the nicest one I’ve ever been in and I can’t imagine coming to work every day here. It would be like a dream.
Sure, my job at Mills & Graves was in a nice area too, but it was just a small office. This building is so fancy it has marble floors, a chandelier, and a reception desk. The elevators are gold and it seem like a luxury hotel instead of an office building. I wonder who owns it and if they wipe their ass with Benjamins.
I watch nervously as the screen counts up in numbers until I reach number ten with a ding. The doors open and I’m greeted by another receptionist desk. A woman is standing next to it looking at an electronic tablet. Nobody is seated behind the desk.
She smiles as I exit the elevator and I realize I’m stupidly still hanging onto my keys. I quickly shove them into my purse and run my fingers down my blouse to make sure the buttons are still buttoned. Thanks to my large breasts, sometimes a button would succumb to the pressure and pop off. I’d just taken the tags off this one so it shouldn’t be tired yet of holding in my straining chest.
“Hi, are you Taryn?” the woman asks me. She’s about my age and wears glasses, her dark hair up neatly in a bun.
I nod. “Yes. I’m here to see Mr. Lockwood.”
“Perfect. I’m Briana, his assistant. He’s expecting you.”
I sure hope so, since I told him I’d be here at 2 today, I think dryly.
I look around as I follow her. The entire floor is full of offices housing various departments. There are a few random doors but they look like closets or maybe storage rooms. A few people smile or stare at me as we walk through the office. It looks as though the boss has his own area. A small desk with a computer and other accessories is set outside an office door. I see Briana’s name on a plate at the front of the desk.
She taps on the door twice and then opens it. “Ms. Andrews is here for her interview,” she says.
“Thank you,” I say.
She dips her head at me and then closes the door behind me.
There are three people in the office. A man, a woman, and Carter. They all stand when I walk in. My gaze locks with Carter’s and he stares at me intently with those blue eyes that haven’t changed. My breath catches in my throat and I swallow hard.
“Welcome, please, have a seat,” he says, gesturing to an empty chair. It seems a bit informal, which relaxes me. I’ve been so nervous all day about this that I’d barely eaten. But it isn’t just the interview I’ve been nervous about—it’s mostly about seeing Carter again. So many mixed emotions swirling around that I definitely need to tamp down in order to get through this interview.
Keep it professional...
“This is our IT manager, Jeff Chin,” he begins, pointing to the guy.
He offers me a friendly smile. He’s a very young-looking Asian man, dressed in khakis and a red button-down shirt. I shake his proffered hand.
“And this is Lisa Morris, the HR manager,” he says, pointing to the lady. I also shake her hand. She looks to be pushing sixty, with a very kind smile and graying-blonde hair.
“I’m the owner and CEO of Lockwood Technologies, Carter. Please, have a seat.”
I do as he instructed and bite back a smile. We’re playing this game, huh? Pretending we don’t know each other. Like you didn’t have your dick all up in me a few years ago, like you didn’t hang out at my house every day when we were kids. Okay, Carter. I’ll play.
He begins the interview by asking me to talk about myself, which is highly annoying but I already had something prepared. Then Jeff asks me a bunch of technical questions, almost as if he’s trying to stump me, but I easily answer all of them. Except, when he starts asking about application development. I’ve never had an interest in developing apps, but I suppose I’m about to learn. I admit my knowledge base is not strong and I spit out what I think are right answers, literally from just reading articles about them in the past. He seems satisfied with that.
Lisa doesn’t ask any questions and I realize she’s probably just in here to make sure they don’t say or ask anything inappropriate of me, which I can appreciate but I’m not worried. While Carter can be a dick, I’m not afraid of him in the least. I trust him. He isn’t a sleazeball and he would never physically harm me in any way, that much I know.
Once the interview is done, I’m feeling much more relaxed. Jeff leaves the office and Lisa instructs me to follow her. I glance one more time at Carter, who’s walked us to the door, and he smiles at me.
“It was great meeting you. We’ll be in touch.”
“I appreciate the opportunity, Mr. Lockwood,” I say, reaching out to shake his hand.
It’s warm against mine and just touching him sends my nerves and something else rocketing through me, warming my belly. Are those butterflies?
I leave with Lisa, and once we reach HR, she asks me to fill out a form so they can check my background. That’s it, though. Briana walks me from HR to the elevator and tells me I’ll hear from them within a week.
Guess I’ll be waiting on pins and needles.