Page 7 of Brooklynaire
That’s when one of them finally notices Rebecca, waving hello with his paddle. “Heads’ up, Nate! You have a visitor,” he calls to one of the typingmen.
Nate’s back is to Rebecca. She watches, but there is no reaction from Nate, except for moretyping.
The Ping-Pong player puts his racket down on the table, trapping the ball beneath it. He walks over to stand beside Nate, whose head is still bent forward in concentration. “Dude, you have avisitor.”
Nate lifts one hand off the keyboard, holding his index finger into the air, making the universal sign forjust a minute. Weirdly, his other hand is still typingfuriously.
The wait is long enough that Rebecca has time for a little extra panicking. What if Nate already hates her paltry résumé? What if Harry was wrong, and these guys aren’t looking for an office assistant at all? What if Nate isn’t even expectingher?
What if he never stops typing at all? Will she just walk outeventually?
Breathe, Rebecca reminds herself. These are just ordinary people. They hold no power over her. If this job doesn’t work out, she’ll find another. She is the sort of girl who always finds away.
Just as she mentally writes off this entire interview, Nate sits back in his chair, lifting both arms to cradle the back of his head. Rebecca probably shouldn’t be noticing that he has nice arms for a computer programmer. He’s a lean guy, but his biceps are well defined where they emerge from his T-shirt. And his fingers are long, like apianist’s.
“Holy shit,” the Ping-Pong player says. But Nate’s arms aren’t the object of his fascination. The guy takes a closer look at Nate’s screen. “Did youjustwrite a shorter algo for determining the range of our… Holyshit!That’sepic.”
Nate pokes his coworker in the chest. “I just saved you about three days of coding. How about you buy lunch? It’s your turn,anyway.”
“Fine. But I’m in the mood for Chinese. Now greet your guest, you rudefucker.”
Nate swivels his head toward our girl. Finally. The first thing she sees is a set of intelligent eyes. They sweep over her, but not in a sexual way. He isn’t leering; he’s assessing. Also, he’s younger than Rebecca expected. Mid-twenties. Cute, too. His face is angular, but it works on him. His prominent cheekbones are balanced by a full mouth and wavy brownhair.
He has big eyes, and they’re an interesting shade of light brown. They blink once at Rebecca. Then he rises from his chair with surprisinggrace.
“Wait, you’re…” He pauses to shuffle through some papers on his desk, and a couple of sheets go sailing toward thefloor.
“…Rebecca Rowley,” the other guy—the Ping-Pong player—says. He reaches down and plucks a sheet of paper off the floor. “Here’s herrésumé.”
Thank you, baby Jesus. “Nice to meet you,” Rebecca babbles, meeting him halfway across the rug to shake his hand. “I heard you were looking for an officemanager.”
Nate shakes her hand, then glances around the space, as if noticing it for the first time. Then a wince. “We aren’t very good at the corporate stuff. It’s time, Iguess.”
“It’s past time,” his coworker says. He shakes Rebecca’s hand, too. “I’m Stew. You’re the one Henry sent over,right?”
“Right.”
“Good, good.” He pokes Nate. “Interview her. Ten minutes. We needthis.”
Nate’s eyes flick over to his computer monitor, and Rebecca can almost feel the pull of it on his consciousness. Within weeks, Rebecca will figure out that Nate is truly special. A genius, really. And within a year he’ll do business with every mobile device maker on the globe. Just standing here in front of a young Nate Kattenberger will prove to be like watching historyunfold.
Today it’s too soon to tell, though. She’s just a girl who needs a job. She doesn’t even care that he graduated magna cum laude from Harkness College, or that he’ll secure his first multimillion-dollar contract two months fromnow.
“Let’s find you a place to sit,” he says, sounding distracted. He moves toward an empty desk. There’s nothing on it but old pizza boxes. These he sweeps into an overflowing recyclingbin.
Someone should empty that, Rebecca says to herself.Do they even have a janitorial service come in atnight?
“Have a seat,” he says, indicating the office chair that’s pulled up to the now empty desk. He perches opposite her, on the corner of the desk itself. “There are seven of us. Stewie handles all the money stuff. But the office itself is kind of a free-for-all. Phones aren’t always answered. People come and go. Our files are adisaster.”
Rebecca nods, wondering whether she’s supposed to know exactly what this little companydoes.
“We all work at least forty hours on-site, but not thesameforty hours. It’s flexible,” Nate continues, and his big brown eyes never leave her face. “What’s your availability? You, uh, probably sent me a cover letter with this résumé but…” He shrugs, having the decency to lookembarrassed.
“Full-time,” she says quickly. “I can take whatever hours you give me. And I’m available immediately.” She knows it soundsdesperate.
“Awesome,” he says, flashing her a smile. The dimples catch her by surprise. Then he glances at her résumé again. “If I may ask…” He clears his throat. “Why the sudden availability? Seems like you were in school until lastmonth.”
“Right,” she says softly. “My father died two months ago. It makes more sense for me to be workingnow.”
