Monica said two quick prayers Monday morning: one that she would get the job and the second that she would get there without delay. She climbed into her car and gunned the engine before leaving her condo complex. Unafraid, she exited on I-170 and cruised with the flow of traffic. When she passed the shoulder where her meltdown had taken place, she lifted an eyebrow and smirked. “Not today.”
She pulled into the parking lot of Tyson & Dyson Communications fifteen minutes early and entered the lobby. A petite woman with short black hair and gray eyebrows greeted her with a big smile. “Good morning.”
“Hi, I’m—”
“Monica!” Solae Kavanaugh said, rounding a corner. The woman who was about the same age as her had been a godsend. Actually, their chance meeting had been a result of a visit to a random church as part of a New Year’s resolution between her and Veronica, but her friend bailed out. During a potty break in the ladies’ room, she noticed the slender woman could be a stand-in for Nia Long.
After Monica complimented the mother and daughter on their matching outfits, Solae had introduced herself, eyeing Monica’s visitor badge. Things got interesting when Solae learned her last name.
“I have Wyatts in my family. I knew I felt a kindred spirit.” And just like that, Solae coerced out of Monica her parents’ names, age, and where she lived and worked.
“I’m between jobs. I got laid off recently. I guess there isn’t a high demand for a marketing researcher with ten years experience.” She did her best not to sound discouraged.
Solae’s face brightened and she grinned. “God is good. The company I work for is expanding. You might want to give them a call.”
They both dug into their purses and pulled out business cards.
“Wait a minute, Hershey,” Solae said quietly to her daughter, who was vying for her attention, before turning back to Monica. “I’ll definitely put in a good word. After all, we could be cousins, and please come back to our services.” They left the ladies’ room together, but headed in opposite directions. Excited about the lead, Monica hadn’t heard a word of the sermon.
Seeing Solae again made her feel guilty about skipping church the day before, especially after she told the woman she would return.
“You’ve got this.” Solae’s eyes twinkled as she gave a thumbs up. She stepped back and the waiting receptionist ushered Monica into a conference room. It was medium-sized with a rich dark executive table for at least eight. Her shoes sunk into plush tan carpet. A cabinet countertop laden with treats was on one end of the table. A flat screen hanging on the opposite wall seemed to act as the focal point for the head of the table.
“Please feel free to grab a water, if you like,” the receptionist said before closing the door behind her.
After removing her coat, she did, and took a seat. The door opened and a tall muscular man filled the room with a commanding presence. He was clean-shaven and had a boyish look about his face. His hair was faded on the sides with short twists on top—trendy. Although he was definitely a head-turner, he reminded Monica of her ex. There was no crush coming from her.
He extended his hand. “Monica, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Reginald Dyson.” She stood and accepted his shake. “Please call me Reggie. You’ll meet with my partner, Tyson Graham, after we chat.”
They took their seats and Reggie opened his file and nodded. “I’m glad your emergency was resolved and we’re able to talk. Your skills are impressive, and out of the forty applicants, your background stood out.” He pushed back from the table and crossed his ankle on his knee. “Tell me about the government projects you’ve worked on.”
She went through her spiel. “One program was identifying which neighborhoods had the highest number of high school dropout rates. We analyzed demographics and we were able to advise social agencies which services would benefit residents in certain zip codes.”
Reggie was engaging as he scribbled notes. “When Tyson and I founded this company, we followed the money trail. Static billboards and now digital ones are money-makers. Referrals from ad agency was the major source of our revenue. We recently decided to shake things up and compete directly for clients instead of waiting for agencies to send business our way. Plus, we’re part of the St. Louis minority council, so we’re getting more business than we can handle, including some national conventions.”
Monica’s heart pounded with excitement. She wanted to be part of a growing company; working with a minority entrepreneur was a bonus. Yes, she wanted this job. “Since I heard about the opening, I’ve been paying attention to the ads on buses and other public transportation,” she said.
“Great.” Reggie bobbed his head. “But we are selective in accepting ads. We won’t put liquor store or pawn shop ads on our billboards near the black communities.”
Integrity. She respected a man willing to lose money because of his conviction.
Patting the tabletop, Reggie stood. “Miss Wyatt, I think you’re a winner. I’ll get Ty so you can chat with him a few minutes.”
Once the man closed the door, she did a happy dance in her seat. Yes! One down and one to go. She would have to treat Solae to lunch when she received her first paycheck. The doorknob rattled and Monica snapped back into business mode and readied her smile.
The tall, dark, and more handsome man who entered could definitely be her crush. His black silky eyebrows and mustache—the best asset—seemed familiar, and those expressive dark eyes confirmed where they had met. This was the same man who came to her aid on the highway. When he gave her a look like a deer caught in headlights, she knew he recognized her too. She swallowed and watched him. Now what? If he didn’t bring up the incident, she would play along and not say a word.
“Miss Wyatt,” he greeted in a no-nonsense voice that was husky, an attention grabber, and a hypnotizer. “I’m Tyson Graham.”
Take a deep breath, and don’t groan! she chided herself.
His left hand—bare of a wedding band— flattened his stylish tie against his buff chest. Instead of taking the adjacent chair Reggie had vacated, he took a seat across from her, drawing an imaginary line between them. Where his partner came off as friendly and engaging, her first—second—impression of Tyson was less than favorable. He spoke with confidence, but his body language said otherwise. This was definitely awkward.
She’d seen concern in his brown eyes outside her car window. From the few glances he spared her, concern was there again. Opening his file to reveal her résumé, she watched as Tyson circled her name once, twice, three times.
He reminded her of a distracted student doodling on their paper when the teacher wasn’t paying attention. Her résumé was a page and a half. Surely he had read it before today? He was stalling.
She resisted the urge to drum her fingers on the table, so she glanced at the flat screen. The sound was on mute, but the words crawling across the bottom might have been sending her a message: signs to recognize when your life is in trouble.
“Monica Wyatt.” He cleared his voice and tapped his pen on the table.
Blinking from the screen, she faced him again and smiled. “Yes.”
“Your background is in the non-profit sector. What do you know about advertising?” His tone held skepticism and he gave her a pointed stare as if he were seeing right through her.
Straightening in her chair, she chose her words carefully. Unlike Reggie, it seemed Tyson was going to make her fight for the position. “Numbers don’t lie. Whether it’s social services or products, if the data is analyzed correctly, a person will make the right choices based on demographics.”
He nodded. Once he focused on her résumé again, she studied him. Tyson was well-groomed from his fingernails to the precision lining of his haircut. His lashes were jet black and so thick, they reminded her of the fake lash kit she had Veronica apply to hers unsuccessfully.
He closed the file and gave her a blank expression. “Why should we hire you, Miss Wyatt?”
“I’m very detail-oriented, I meet deadlines, and I—” She paused when he shook his head.
“On paper, you may be a perfect fit, but I’m referring to personality-wise. Deadlines can be stressful. How would you handle them?”
Was this a trick question? She dared not ask. Monica needed a job, no, she wanted this one. The competitive salary and benefits package was like getting a big raise from her last position and signing bonus. Still, she could do without his innuendos. If he had something to say, he should say it. Scratch that. Having no clue how to explain her actions, she played the game. “I’m a calm person by nature. Plus, I have a history of getting along with my peers. My references will agree.”
“Very well.” He gathered the file, stood, and twisted his lips as if he was debating something.
Monica wanted to scream, “Share.”
He didn’t. “You’ll hear from us by the end of the week regarding our decision. Thanks for coming in today.” By walking out of the room, had Tyson just shut her door of opportunity?
The sinking feeling in her chest caused her to blink back the moisture filling her eyes. God, was this just a tease?
How did she go from “you basically have the job” to “not sure you’re a good fit” status? She could hear her mother chiding her with the old adage, “Don’t count your eggs until they’re hatched.”
Ollie Wyatt might have been on point this time. The job had been a long shot anyway with her no-show earlier, but she had given the interview her best shot. Her legs wobbled as she got to her feet and it had nothing to do with her high heels. It was a good thing she hadn’t told her mother about this interview. Her mother was a crier—happy or sad tears. No doubt, she would be boo-hooing alongside Monica about now.
But she got her fierceness from her dad and brother. She would hold her tears and strut out of the room as if the job didn’t matter as much as it did. Her dignity would remain intact until she drove out of the parking lot. After taking a series of deep breaths, Monica opened the door. She could sense being watched, but she refused to scope out the interloper. Locking her eyes on the route to the double-glass doors in the lobby, she began her catwalk.
She was within feet of her escape when Solae almost bumped into her while looking at her smartphone. “Oh, I’m sorr—” She looked up. “How did the interview go?”
Overcome with emotion, she didn’t want to voice her disappointment. Swallowing back tears, she struggled to say something. “I believe I won over Reggie, but didn’t impress Mr. Graham.”
Solae frowned. “Odd. Those two are usually on the same wavelength.”
“Not today.” Judging from Tyson’s vibes, Monica had better come up with a Plan B before her next car payment was due. “Thanks for referring me.” Her voice cracked and she hurried out the door.