Meant to Crash | ✓

Chapter Eight

Getting to the interview late wasn't going to float well with Layla. She woke me up an hour earlier than I wanted to. No matter how many times I told her I was far ahead of the schedule, she went on to say that there was no such thing as being too early. This was coming from the same girl who showed up late to work and classes more than anyone else I knew.

"You should be more like this at work," I teased.

"Not funny," she huffed, keeping a deadpan expression. "Get going already. You're late."

"I'm fifty five minutes early, what the hell are you talking about?" I grumbled, smoothing a hand over the front of my skirt. "You know, Layla, I left my mom's place because she was pushy...just like how you're being now."

"Ouch. You did not just compare me to your mother."

"I did. And if you buy yourself a trumpet and start smoking cigarettes, I'll compare you to my dad." The coffee machine beeped. I walked to it and took out a cup. Grabbing the pot, I started pouring myself a drink. We stayed in the kitchen, talking and drinking coffee for the next couple of minutes. After I finished my second cup, I said my goodbye and headed for my car keys. Layla gave me her best wishes as I went out the apartment.

The drive was only twenty minutes away from where our apartment was. This time around, I didn't trust my instinct to know where the headquarters was located and used the directions I had printed out, leading me down the rollercoaster roads of San Francisco, with its unexcited twists and turns.

My car screeched to a stop at the end of Fletcher Drive. The Lockhart headquarters was a pale white structure, similar to the Art Center. It stretched twenty stories high in the air. I gulped loudly, staring at its immaculate architecture and detailing all around the building. Finding a parking space wasn't hard, and once I squeezed my car between very luxurious vehicles, I checked my smile in the rearview mirror. No lipstick on my teeth. Sighing slowly as I opened the car door, I collected my purse off the passenger's seat and made my way to the interview I was dreading from the moment I woke up.

You're doing it for mom, I reminded myself. It's only an interview.

My heels clicked on the smooth black top, echoing all through the parking lot. Reaching the door, I pushed it forward and entered the lobby area. Crisp cold air hit my face, brushing back my curly hair off my shoulders. I spotted the receptionist behind a round desk and two security guards near the elevators.

Putting on the best smile I could, I approached the desk. Her eyes shot up to mine once I got closer. "Hello, how can I help you?"

"I'm Maddison Clark. I have an interview today."

She gazed down at her desk, reading something to herself. "Ah, yes, scheduled for noon today in room seven-one-three on the fifteenth floor. The name on the door should read Mr. Erickson."

She picked up her phone and quickly started dialing. I thanked her briefly and went on my way toward the elevators. Fifteen floors up felt like a heartbeat. I blinked through it, nearly shocked that I was already at my destination in no time at all. Walking out of the elevator, I looked down both hallways and followed the sign that read: Offices 700 to 730 with an arrow going to the left side of the hallway.

I lightly knocked on the door marked seven-one-three.

"Come in," a voice from inside shouted.

Twisted the door knob, easing the door open, and stepped inside. My nervousness plummeted when I saw a man who wasn't Sebastian sitting behind a hickory wood desk, stapling papers together.

He was man well in his forties. His head of hair was migrating from his head down to his face. He had a healthier beard than a healthy set of locks. A shiny metal name tag sat on his desk, reading Pete Erickson in thick letters.