Chapter Four

Zoe

Holy shit is the man different to the boy. The Greyson Elliot I remember was scrawny and shy. He didn't speak, he muttered. We all thought he was dumb, he never spoke, never answered questions in class and despite his nickname, he was always clean. The clothes he wore were second hand and a bit tattered, but they were always clean. The man? Well, the man is an asshole. A fuckable asshole but an asshole none the less.

I stepped out on the sidewalk and ran my hands down my front as if checking I was really stood outside Total Software Solutions head office after the most bizarre interview of my life.

Be resourceful, Zoe, we need this job, I told myself. I scanned the street, desperately searching for an answer. A gaggle of teenage girls gathered outside a small, boujee beauty store. A smile crept over my face as I spotted my chance.

I rushed across the road and stooped as I enveloped myself between the girls. Predictably, the security guards were too busy stalking the well dressed, designer handbag wielding teenagers to notice the frumpy single mother loitering in the make-up department. My finger trailed along the fancy, pricy bottles and pallettes, searching for the right coverage foundation. My time would inevitably be cut short once the guards notice me so the full coverage my skin begged for was out of the question. I settled on CC cream that promised to revitalised tired skin and grabbed a tester pot which kinda matched my skin tone. The creamy, sheer lotion spread easily over my skin. I winced at hefty price tag displayed on the shelf. $63 for a tiny tube of coloured cream. It’s almost the price of half a weeks groceries. Mascara had to be next. Eyeshadow was too risky. If I got kicked out with only one eye finished I’d have wipe it all and risk ruining my base. I selected one which promised to make my lashes thick and glossy. I’d almost managed an entire face before a heavy landed on my shoulder.

“Ma’am, I need to ask you to leave,” the young guard sounded almost apologetic as he led me to the door. I caught a glance of my reflection in one of the make-up mirrors by the makeover station and smiled. I wasn’t the Zoe Smithson Greyson remembered from school, but I was a million times hotter than the snivelling mess sat in front of him 15 minutes ago.

                                                     ***

I walked home the long way taking time to gather my thoughts. My mind wandered back to school, back to Greyson and the terrible way my friends treated him and his sister. No one hated me more than I hated myself for standing back and watching in silence as my peers made Greyson’s life Hell. I smiled, he was kinda cute back then in a geeky way and super polite and smart. He deserved every ounce of what he’d earned and I every deserved every second of humiliation he wished to subject me to.

At home I stood in front of my wardrobe, scowling, flinging dress after flimsy dress to the floor in disgust. Kobe bought all my clothes. They were either too revealing, and not in a classy way, or several sizes too small hand me downs from his mate’s ex-girlfriend. But Kobe, Kobe had a closest full of high thread count designer shirts. I picked out the biggest, crispest white shirt I could find and teamed it with some black yoga pants I bought for work a few months ago when my pants split mid-shift.

Next, I grabbed Isaac’s laptop and Googled Total Software Solutions. Impressive, I mused learning the company started up in 2007 in the box room of his single mother’s house. We were still in high school in 2007. Within five years it was turning over a net profit of 10 million a year, making its founder Greyson Elliot one of the richest men in the country.

“So that’s why he’s so up himself,” I giggled to myself, “with money like who needs a personality?”

I jotted down questions in Harry’s old schoolbook.

Have you got any plans to expand your business?

This question, according to Messiah G****e, the fountain of all knowledge, would lead Greyson to believe I was interested in promotions and in it for the long haul.

Are scholarships available for gifted children?

Isaac wanted to be a graphic artist, not a software developer but a software company needs graphics people.

And if I ask him that he’s gonna not only think my kids want him to buy them shoes but also to provide them with a top-notch education. I scribbled the questions out and Googled “top questions to ask at an interview.

1) What are the prospects for growth and advancement?

2) Do you have any reservations about my experience or qualifications? - Will give me a chance to redeem herself if he does.

3) What are the biggest challenges of this job?

I tucked the notebook back into my bag and checked my watch. I had 40 minutes to make it back to the interview. I could do it on public transport but I'd be cutting it close and I was determined to be early. I raced downstairs slamming the front door as I left and hopped over the fence.

Mick appeared the door within minutes. I hated asking for favours and having to rely on other people but right now I needed help. I was behind on my rent. I owed Greyson Elliot a small fortune in car repairs and I was unemployed. 

"I'm sorry," I shrugged. 

"Another interview?" He grinned casting his gaze down my hastily thrown together interview outfit. I nodded, biting my lip.

"Where to, kid?" He sighed grabbing his car keys from a table beside him.

"Same place," I said. "The first interview went kinda bad," I said wringing my hands in front of me, "but he's giving me a second chance."

"Okay, get in," he nodded towards his car.

My stomach churned as Mick's car once again weaved through the city centre towards the shining tower block of Total Software Solutions. Mick did his best to ease my nerves chatting away about nothing and asking about my kids. I barely registered his questions as I mumbled one-word answers while practising the interview in my head. 

We pulled up outside Total Software Solutions with 25 minutes to spare. 

"Breathe, Zoe," Mick advised as I slid out of his. "And remember you can do this. I believe in you."

"Well, that makes one of us," I frowned closing the car door. 

I paused outside the building, gazing up at its dizzying heights and sun glittering in the mirrored glass. Well-heeled businessmen and women filtered in and out of the building all dressed in pristine designer clothes and took a deep breath.

I could do this. I had to do this. My kids needed me to.