Courting the Clown by Cathy Quinn Read Free Book Online Page B

at rush hour this time of year would not be fun.
    After loitering a bit in the nearby shops, killing time because she was way early, she walked back to the office building and pushed through the revolving door with some trepidation. What if he just looked at her and frowned, wondering what the hell she was doing here? His daughter might have forgotten all about the wretched clown already, and when she did, so would he.
    Still, she was here. Holding Nick’s card, where he’d written down the time for her appointment. No turning back now.
    She found herself in an intimidating marble foyer with fancy leather couches, huge impressive paintings on the walls, and a grand piano prominently displayed in the center of the room.
    What? No fountain? What was a foyer without a fountain?
    “Good morning! Can I help you?”
    A smiling receptionist waited behind a huge counter, and Sylvie hurried towards here. “Good morning. I’m here for a job interview with Nicholas Falcon.”
    “ Job interview with Mr. Falcon personally ?” the receptionist asked with a brow raised.
    Obviously that was unusual. “Yes,” she said decisively, hoping she was right. “Mr. Falcon, 10 o’clock.” She re-checked the card he’d given her, but there was no clue there. Just the date and time. He hasn’t mentioned a personnel office, had he? He’d said “they” would talk. Or course it could have been some sort of corporate “we”.
    “Of course. Mr. Falcon’s office is on the top floor,” the receptionist said, pointing towards the elevators. “Just go straight up and you’ll get to his offices.”
    Sylvie thanked the woman and walked into the mirrored elevator. Top floor? Was this entire building a part of his business? This was not helping her peace of mind.
    She sighed, and all around, dozens of her sighed, too. They did this on purpose. They put mirrors in all the elevator walls with the sole purpose of lowering a person’s confidence. She peered anxiously at her face, almost expecting to see the remains of the clown make-up despite the one bath and two showers she’d taken since then. The elevator door slid open, and she took another deep breath before walking out. Back straight. Head held high. Confidence. That was the key.
    “Nicholas Falcon’s office?” she asked another receptionist was sitting at a desk just outside the elevator, guarding a big mahogany door.
    “Yes?”
    “I’m Sylvie Farrell. He’s expecting me.”
    The woman clicked a few keys and stared intently at her screen. “Farrell? I’m sorry, I don’t see you here. Are you sure this was today?”
    Damn. Should she be at the personnel department? Or had he forgotten all about her already?
    “Are you sure?” Sylvie handed Nick’s card to the receptionist. “Ten o’clock appointment.”
    The woman took her card. “Yes, it’s his handwriting.” She glanced at Sylvie’s face, then back at the screen. “Iffy?” she asked. “That’s his ten o’clock appointment. Mr. Falcon entered it into the computer himself. Would that be your.... nickname?”
    Sylvie groaned. Relief or irritation? She wasn’t sure which to pick. “Yes. That’s me.”
    “Of course. He’s in another meeting now. Have a seat, please, he should be right with you.”
    Right with you. That phrase was obviously relative as fifteen minutes passed before a small group of people left the office and Nick’s assistant finally ushered her in.
    It was a large corner office with huge windows overlooking the city. Under piles of paper, she could just see that the desk was gleaming mahogany – almost the same color as Nick’s hair, she noticed. The room wasn’t neat. It was filled with all sorts of junk, from books and magazines stacked on tables and shelves, to electronic parts scattered everywhere.
    Nick was standing by his desk, bending over some files, but he looked up as he heard the door close behind her. Suit and tie, neat and perfect. No glistening snow in his hair, no five o’clock