The Jinx by Jennifer Sturman Read Free Book Online

breakfast with the head of the company we’re trying to—I mean, that we’re pitching.”
    â€œDon’t worry. I’m sure they’d much rather hire you than anyone named Smitty.”
    â€œI hope so.” Peter pulled a dark green V-necked sweater over his head.
    I reached up to smooth his damp hair, and he gave me a quick peck on the lips. “I’ve got to get going.” He picked up his overcoat and briefcase. “I’ll see you later?” he asked.
    â€œDefinitely,” I said, wrapping my arms around him for a hug.
    He returned the hug but let go way too soon. “I need more affection,” I said. “That was completely insufficient to sustain me for a whole day.” He sighed and hugged me again, tightly, but I kept holding on after he let go.
    â€œRachel,” he said, trying to extricate himself. “Really. I’m not that great.”
    I laughed and relinquished my grasp. “Go get ’em, Sparky.”
    So much for a romantic hotel-room morning and leisurely breakfast.
    Â 
    I dried my hair and put on the black suit I’d packed for Tom Barnett’s memorial service. I wasn’t due at my recruiting meeting until half past eight, so I took a Diet Coke from the minibar and called into voice mail to clear out any messages that had accumulated.
    It had been only nine hours since I had last dialed in—hours when normal people were asleep—but I already had five new messages. Four were from colleagues in our Asian offices. The last message made my heart sink. It was time-stamped 2:00 a.m., never a good sign. It was from Gabrielle LeFavre.
    â€œMs. Benjamin,” she began, her voice betraying her Southern roots. “This is Gabrielle LeFavre, a student at Harvard Business School. Sara Grenthaler may have mentioned my name to you. I had my first round of interviews with Winslow, Brown, and I’m concerned that I was not able to convey the full extent of my capabilities, or my commitment to a career in investment banking. I know that it’s very unusual to reconsider the results of an interview, but I strongly believe that if you would allow me to try again, I could convince you that I would be a valuable asset to your firm.” She left her contact information.
    I hung up the phone, annoyed. Between the time Gabrielle had left her message and the precision with which she’d spoken, it sounded as if she’d spent hours carefully scripting what she’d say. Turning people down was one of the things I disliked most about recruiting. There were always a couple of candidates who wouldn’t take no for an answer and would besiege the recruiting team with phone calls, letters and, in a few instances, gifts. Dealing with these cases was always uncomfortable, and the fact that Gabrielle lived with Sara made the situation even more so. I would have to talk to this woman sooner or later, and I was not looking forward to it.
    I took another Diet Coke from the minibar. Something told me that I would need even more than the recommended daily allowance of caffeine to get me through the day, what with a memorial service and the inevitable unpleasantness of my recruiting duties to look forward to. I popped open the can and crossed to the window to check out the weather, wishing it was evening already and time to meet Peter for dinner.
    The morning light showed the view off in a way that I hadn’t been able to appreciate the previous night. The sky was gray, in keeping with the forecasts, which called for lots of snow. Still, the air was clear, and across the river I could see the familiar red bricks of the business school campus to the south and Soldiers Field Stadium to the west, nestled in the slush-spotted green of the athletic fields. In the foreground, a traffic jam was taking place on Memorial Drive. Its source appeared to be a flock of police cars parked at the junction of the drive and JFK Street, at the foot of the