Antitrust (Completed)

Part 12: The Discovery

Enjoy Part 12! 

                I sat on the floor in a corner of my room, staring at the raindrops falling down my window. It was two weeks after the breakup. The faint memory of Jay hung in the air and I could almost imagine the smell of his cologne permeate my surroundings. The way he leaned against the breakfast bar while watching me make coffee, or dried his hair after a shower, or became worked up over little things…I missed it. Incredibly.

                But he hurt me. Besides getting me fired, he lied to me at the instructions of Miller.

                Part of me wanted to forgive him. I mean, he was just doing his job right? And at that point, he didn’t even know who I was, or if he even was actually lying.

                Another part of me screamed IT WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE YOU. It could have easily been some other gullible, foolish, stuck-up girl who bought it.

                The doorbell rang and I struggled to get up.

                “Ms. Mahal, a package for you.”

                “Who’s it from?”

                “A Mr. Jay Verma.” Shit.

                “Um, is there any way you can destroy that file?”

                The courier boy paused. “I believe that would be against my supervisor’s orders.”

                I sighed. “Thanks anyway,” I said, taking the file in my hand, and closing the door. It was navy blue, my favorite color.

                I opened the file and there was a few printouts inside, mostly of emails between Jay and a Chuck Holland. On top was a post-it, that said your interview is at eleven, good luck ~J.

                I couldn’t believe it. Jay had gotten me an interview with…Ross and Wakefield?! They were a prime investment banking firm in Toronto, extremely prestigious of course. I smiled to myself and then quickly reminded myself of our breakup. Maybe we were doomed from the beginning.

                I checked my Movado watch and saw it was ten. If I got ready right now, I could make it easily.

                I quickly brushed my hair, put on some light makeup, popped on a Prada dress with Manolo pumps, grabbed my Louis, my Burberry coat, and headed out the door.

                The clouds had started to subside by now, and little rays of sunshine peeked out. The weather was noticeably nicer than during the morning rain.

                I arrived at the skyscraper and, after paying my taxi fare, walked in through the revolving doors. It was extremely busy; men in shiny suits walked to and fro with briefcases in the lobby, and the sprawling desk in front of me had at least ten receptionists.

                “Hi, I have an interview with Mr. Chuck Holland?”

                The blond receptionist looked at me and paused. “Alisha Mahal? Yes, follow me.” And then we were off towards white marble walls, black marble floors, winding staircases, and marble elevators.

                The receptionist led me to an interior waiting room and gestured me to sit. “He’ll be with you shortly.”

                Another blond woman was the receptionist in this waiting room, and she stared into a large Mac computer. I wondered if she was really working, or checking Neiman Marcus for early fall deals.