Ignite Me (The Annihilate Me Series) Page 2

  “That would be fine,” I said as calmly as I could.

  “I thought so, though do expect to work long hours. Any issues with that?”

  “None.”

  “No boyfriend to take you away from work?”

  I hadn’t been with a man in years. “No. I’m too focused on my career to have a boyfriend. A boyfriend is out of the question for me right now.”

  “Well, then—that’s just about perfect. Wenn will also pay twenty thousand dollars toward your student loans for each year that you work for us—assuming that you have any, which you likely do since you hail from Harvard after all. Beginning immediately, you will have free access to Wenn Fitness, which is a high-end, exclusive health club with locations all over the city. I don’t use the service myself, but I hear that it’s popular. Health and dental are fully covered—you will pay nothing toward that. As for vacation time, you will accrue a month’s worth for each year you work at Wenn. The same goes for sick time—not that I expect you to get sick on me. Ever.”

  “May I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Whom will I be replacing—and where is that person going?”

  Blackwell lifted her chin. “You are replacing my former personal assistant Margaret Dowd,” she said. “I put her through a grueling first six months, but in the end, she turned out to be a terrific assistant. Last week, I promoted her to become the director of human resources at Wenn. As hard as I work, there is only so much that even I can do, particularly since I work so closely with Alexander Wenn, who owns this company, which often takes me out of the office so I can help to collaborate with him and his wife Jennifer. At this point, Margaret knows this department and its policies almost as well as I do. So, the job and the significant promotion that came with it went to her because she deserved it.”

  “How long has she worked for at Wenn?”

  “She began with me a year ago.”

  And that sealed the deal for me.

  “Would you like the job, Ms. Wells?” she asked.

  “I would, Ms. Blackwell.”

  “I’m happy to hear that, because it’s yours. But try not to disappoint me.”

  Feeling slightly faint that this had come together so quickly, I stood up when she did and shook her hand. “Thank you so much. I won’t disappoint you.”

  “While of course that’s nice to hear, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we? But for the record, Madison—I do hear you when you say that it has been difficult to get ahead in this city due to your gender. For me, all you need to do is to you prove yourself. Work hard. Learn fast. And know that at first, none of this is going to be easy. But one day? If you last long enough so that I can wrangle you into the employee I want you to become, then I promise you this: At my discretion, and in either a few months’ time or within one year, I will find something far more exciting and worthwhile for you at Wenn.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” I said.

  “Good. Then I’ll see you tomorrow at seven sharp?”

  “You will.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Just don’t think about showing up late.”

  I was about to say that I wouldn’t when a knock came at the door and Blackwell said, “That will be Brock. Another new hire. You’ll be seeing a lot of him over the next week or so as he gets settled into his new position, so why don’t you open the door and I’ll introduce the two of you?”

  “I’d be happy to meet him,” I said.

  CHAPTER TWO

  When I opened the door, I had no idea that I was about to face one of the sexiest, most gorgeous-looking men I’d seen in years—and Manhattan was full of handsome men. But not quite like this man. As my eyes looked up to meet his, I felt my lips part and my breath catch.

  “Madison Wells, Brock Wenn,” Blackwell said.

  We shook hands, and his engulfed mine for a beat too long before I pulled away.

  “Hello, Madison,” he said.

  Could his voice be any deeper?

  “It’s nice to meet you, Brock.”

  Could my voice sound any shakier?

  “I’ve just hired Madison as my new personal assistant, Brock.”

  Why is my heart beating so fast?

  “Congratulations,” he said.

  “Thank you. I’m very excited.”

  In fact, you can probably see my excitement right now because my nipples have just decided to bust out and press firmly against my suit. Look at me—an absolute professional to the core!

  He leaned toward me and lowered his voice. “And by the way,” he said, “no one at Wenn would blame you if you’re also a bit terrified at the prospect of working for that one.”

  “Please,” Blackwell said. “Just because I’ve known you since you were a boy and you’ve got the Wenn name, you’re still starting out at the bottom, Brock. And from that very low point, you will start looking up to me now and show me some respect.”

  “Just kidding,” he said.

  “Fine, but just so you know—I wasn’t joking.”

  When he stood up, I didn’t smell a trace of cologne in the sudden movement of air—instead, all I smelled was him. And it was intoxicating.

  It wasn’t like me to have such a visceral reaction to someone so fast, but that’s clearly what was happening to me now. He was exactly my type. Tall and dark, muscular and fit, his eyes as brown as mine. His closely trimmed beard only heightened his masculinity.

  You need to check yourself, girl. He’s just a man. Get yourself together. You’ll see him a few times, and then he’ll be gone.

  “Since Brock is going through a complicated hire, I’ll be working closely with him as it’s determined where Alex and Jennifer want to place him. If we’re lucky, that should take no longer than a week. But expect him to be in this office for that week.”

  A week? I don’t think I can handle being around this man for even five more minutes.

  “Brock is going into acquisitions,” Blackwell said.

  Then let’s just cut to the chase and allow him to acquire me.

  “But there’s a question as to which company Alex and Jennifer want him to target. And at what level of involvement. That sort of thing. And schedules are involved, which always are difficult to balance. So, once again, it’s complicated. But when the decision is made, Brock’s title will come from that decision. He already knows all of this, of course, but since I’ll eventually be handing over his paperwork for you to process and file, it’s good for you to also know what’s coming.”

  What’s coming might just be me if he doesn’t stop staring at me like that.

  “Brock is Alex’s first cousin,” Blackwell said. “Not that that affords him any special treatment, because it doesn’t.”

  “I don’t expect any,” Brock said. “I’m grateful for what Alex and Jennifer have done for me.”

  “As you should be. Though I am pleased to hear that you recognize their generosity. Now, much like Madison here, you just need to prove yourself.” She flipped her bob away from her face. “And by the way, no pressure there.”

  “I work best under pressure,” we both said at once, and when we said that, we just looked at each other and laughed.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “Sounds like we’re a couple of type A’s.”

  “Oh, dear,” Blackwell said, almost to herself, as she looked at us with new eyes. “Well, that happened quickly, didn’t it?” She stepped toward me. “I’ll see you here tomorrow, Madison. You know, before my office windows fog up?”

  She’d obviously sensed my attraction to him. I felt so embarrassed, I just looked at her.

  “Brock, have a seat.”

  As he brushed past me, he glanced sideways at me.

  “Madison, to the elevator. And perhaps then to Central Park, where you can find a nice quiet spot in the shade, think long and hard about what truly matters to you at this point in your life—you know, all the things that you just said to me—and hopefully that
alone will clear your head of everything that’s swirling through it right now. That is, of course, if you’re even capable of hearing me at this point, because I’m not sure that you are. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I stepped out of her office and before I could say another word, she shut the door in my face. And there I stood alone, my instant connection to an unknown man already exposed in front of my new boss.

  And I felt humiliated to the core.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Later that day, when I arrived at my shoddy two-bedroom walkup on Manhattan’s lower east side, I stepped out of the cab and into the unusually searing, early summer heat. I paid the driver, thanked him, and then looked up at the decrepit building before me with a sense of despair—but also with a sense of hope that my days here might be numbered.

  With its broken brick facade, its cracked granite steps, and the dangerously sketchy neighborhood in which it was located, the building represented the totality of just how far I’d come since moving from Cambridge to Manhattan in search of a job that would help me realize my dreams.

  In other words, I’d failed and gotten nowhere.

  The building itself stood as a towering testament to that. I saw it as a symbol of every job I’d taken since I’d first arrived in the city, and every promotion I’d been denied as well.

  But today had been different, hadn’t it? Today, I’d actually secured a well-paying job that might just change my life—provided I could meet Blackwell’s expectations, as high as I knew those were going to be.

  And I will. In fact, I must.

  With a sense of purpose in my step, I got my keys from my purse, unlocked the front door, felt a suppressive wave of heat overcome me, and started to climb the four floors that led to the apartment I shared with my best friend and roommate Rhoda Burns.

  Rhoda was one of the first people I’d met when I came to the city, and the way we’d met had been unconventional, to say the least. I’d been searching for a place to rent while couch-surfing with two former college friends when I came upon Rhoda’s ad in the Village Voice:

  New York Psychic Seeks a Madison . . . or Maybe It’s an Addison . . . (It’s Something Like That) to Share a Two-Bedroom Apartment and to Eventually Become Best Friends. Madison or Addison Will See that I’m Never Wrong About These Sort of Things. Rent: I Already Know that You Can Afford It, So Don’t Worry About it, Darling. Give Me a Ring at 555-0667 When You Read This on Tuesday. Talk Soon!

  For a long moment, I’d just stared at the ad, not knowing what to think before I came to the conclusion that one of the girlfriends I was staying with had played a little prank on me—and since it had caused me to pause, I had to give it to either Diane or Melissa. It was a pretty good one.

  I’d been reading the Voice and the Times daily in an effort to find an affordable place to live, which Diane and Melissa knew. Since I thought that the telephone number likely belonged to a cheap TracFone one of them had purchased because they hoped that I’d take the bait, I decided to call the number so I could give one of them hell.

  And when I did, my world changed.

  “Madison?” a woman said when the line was answered. “Or is it Addison? I’ve been going out of my mind with which one it is, but the cards won’t tell me. So spill it. Madison or Addison? I’ve got to know.”

  “Who is this?” I said, not recognizing the hearty voice. “Is this one of Diane’s friends? Or one of Melissa’s?”

  “It’s neither of them, though I can tell you that those two are getting close to nudging your ass off that couch you’ve been using for the past two weeks, so you need to listen to me now before you become a homeless wanderer left to the city’s streets. My name is Rhoda Burns. I’m a psychic. It’s my job. It’s what I do. And this is real.”

  “You’re a what?” I asked.

  “A psychic. I have a storefront on Christopher Street in the Village. Psychic Readings by Rhoda—you can look it up on the Internet if you want. I’m very popular with the locals, and especially with the tourists because I have been given a rare gift. Or a curse—you’ll see what I mean by that when we discuss it later today. Anyway, when I was born, I was endowed with the power to tap into the otherworldly.”

  Seriously? I thought. Really? Diane or Melissa or both of them are going this far? Please. “Who is this?” I asked again.

  “Rhoda Burns,” she said. “And while I know that all of this seems unreal to you right now, you need to trust me because apparently this was meant to be. From the age of six, I’ve known that this day would come.”

  “How old are you now?” I asked.

  “Thirty-one.”

  “Why do I feel as if I’m being fooled?”

  “Because you have every reason to. I know all of this sounds insane, but trust me on this—it isn’t. It’s all out there in the universe. It’s already been determined. I’m here to tell you that it’s true.”

  “I think I should just hang up,” I said.

  “That’s OK,” she said. “I already know that you’re about to. But after an hour or so, you’re going to call me back again, ask me some personal questions, hang up on me again, and then you’ll call back to set up a time for us to meet.”

  Who was this woman? Whoever she was—and even if this was a joke—she was creeping me out.

  “Goodbye, Ms. Burns.”

  “Talk to you soon, toots!”

  An hour later, just as she’d predicted, the forces of nature—fueled by my own curiosity—pressed me into calling her back.

  “Who are you?” I asked when she answered. “If this is a joke set up by my girlfriends, it’s gone far enough. Will you please just tell me now if that’s the case? Because I’m feeling very uneasy about this right now, and even if it is a joke, it’s starting to freak me out.”

  “It’s not a joke,” she said quietly. “And I understand your concerns. Of course I do. Who wouldn’t question something like this?”

  “Tell me something about myself that no one knows?”

  She paused when I said that.

  “Come on,” I said. “If you can. . . .”

  “How deep do you want me to go?”

  “As deep as you want.”

  “Are you sure about that?” she asked. “It’s only going to upset you if I do.”

  What could this woman possibly know about me? Nothing. So, it’s time to call her out. “Yes,” I said. “Go there.”

  “All right, but I think you’re making a mistake.”

  “Tell me.”

  “When you were at Harvard, you had your heart broken by a man you were very close to falling in love with. I have problems when it comes to recalling names, but generally I come pretty close, as I did with your name. His name was either Bill or Will. I’m not sure which, but I know that it’s one or the other, and I am sorry for how he cheated on you, Madison, and especially for how you found out. I’m also sorry that for the past three years, you’ve been reluctant to trust another man since the night you found him in bed with your best friend.”

  My face had already gone pale before I severed the connection.

  Later, for reasons that came straight down to how this woman could possibly know something so utterly personal about me, I picked up the phone again and called her back. “All right,” I said. “How could you have known that? I don’t get it.”

  “It’s just who I am,” she said. “As I said earlier, I knew at a very young age that one day we’d meet, become roommates, and close friends. I know this sounds bizarre, but it is what it is, and I am who I am. I’ve been saddled with this since I was a child. I have zero control over what pops into my head—it just does.”

  I heard her sigh into the phone. “Like I said earlier, whatever gift I’ve been given has also been a curse. I see too many things. Sometimes what I see is as vivid as looking at myself in the mirror. Other times, it’s just a jumble that creates a puzzle I don’t quite understand—though I still feel something, and it affects me. Every day I walk past people on the s
idewalk on my way to work, and there’s nothing I can do but to absorb what they’re feeling at that moment—their happiness, their betrayals, their enthusiasm, their anger, their greed, their loves, and their losses. Sometimes I can sense life growing inside a woman who doesn’t even know that she’s pregnant. Worse, sometimes I can sense someone’s impending death, which is devastating to me. Or there are times when I’ll come upon someone who has a horrible disease that they know nothing about. And then there’s everything else, everything that slips between me and the in-between—because that’s where I exist, Madison. In the in-between. I can’t explain it, but long ago, I knew I had no choice but to accept it. Look, why don’t we just end with this? You need a place to live. My roommate recently moved out and I have a spare bedroom to rent. At the very least, why not come and have a look at the space for yourself—though don’t expect much because the building is a shithole if I do say so myself. Still, the rent is cheap. And I’m a good person. And if nothing else, I’ll make life interesting for you. So, come and meet me. How about that? Then you can decide for yourself if I’m crazy, or whether I was just born with something that no one can explain. After a face-to-face talk, you’ll know whether you’d like to rent here.”

  “I’m assuming you already know the answer?”

  “I do.”

  It was around five in the afternoon when I met Rhoda Burns in person in what had to be one of the worst-looking buildings New York had to offer. When she answered the door, I was greeted by a big, brassy woman with bright red hair tied back in a yellow kerchief, zero makeup on her otherwise full and pretty face, and a smile that was so wide and warm and filled with excitement—apparently to finally see me in the flesh after all of these years—that she just reached out and held me in her heavy arms.

  “Finally,” she said. “After a twenty-five-year wait, you’re here!”

  Where it went from there turned out to be one of the strangest days of my life—but one in which I now considered to be one of my luckiest, because Rhoda was right. Over the past two years, we had indeed become best friends. As different as we were—Rhoda was an eccentric, full-on, sage-burning, pot-smoking psychic hippie, and I was a driven Harvard grad with plans of one day hitting it big—when we first sat down to talk, the chemistry between us was palpable, and it had only deepened since.