‘Let me prove how much I want this job.’
But Vanessa’s slipping a pair of glasses out of her purse and setting up her laptop on the breakroom table. As the coffee starts to perk, she opens up Excel and dives right into the numbers.
“In this table here, I’ve factored in the living costs for each member of the cast.” She glances up and lifts a brow. “Are you calling them cast members or residents or what?”
“Community members.” A little dumbfounded, I drop into the seat beside her. “You already started running numbers?”
“I emailed the hiring manger to request some data—Marilyn?”
“Mari.” Who, of course, failed to mention this. “Go on.”
“Anyway, this takes into account the economic contributions of each community member—for instance, farmers, chefs, grocers—everyone who represents the food supply is shown in this column, while those who contribute to safety—police and fire, for example—are represented here on the grid.”
I listen to her rattle off numbers, staggered by how much she’s put into this. We had two other candidates make it to this round, and neither took it this far. I listen with rapt attention, impressed she’s thought of aspects of this that my five siblings and I hadn’t considered in months of planning.
“I’d be happy to email this to you if you’d like a closer look.” She smiles and glances at the coffeemaker. “Smells like that’s ready. Want me to get it?”
“Definitely not.” I jump up like my chair’s on fire and hurry to grab mugs. “If we were to offer you the CFO position, I’d want to be clear you’re not my assistant. You and I would be partners on the business side of this operation.”
She nods and tucks a shock of hair behind one ear. “And your siblings—they’re mostly on the production side?” She accepts the mug I hand her, wrapping her fingers around the warm ceramic instead of grabbing the handle. “I find the whole dynamic fascinating.”
“Yeah, Gabe’s directing, working with our sister, Lauren. She’s the producer.” I blow on my coffee, conscious of an odd sting in my nostrils. “There’s also Mari—Marilyn—she’s a psychologist. The social component was her brainchild.”
“And Lana.” Vanessa twists the mug in her hands but doesn’t take a sip. “Public relations, right?”
“Yep, and then Cooper. An actor, though he’ll be taking a different role with this endeavor.”
I wait for her to ask about Coop. Most people pry for gossip about the Judson family hellraiser, but Vanessa doesn’t go there.
“You have a lot of talent in one family.” She lifts her mug in a mock toast, then raises it to her lips.
The instant she sips, her brown eyes bulge. “Holy shit!” She sputters into the mug, spraying coffee as she jumps from her chair. “Did you brew napalm?”
I take a sip from my own mug and choke. “My God. It’s like battery acid.”
She’s wiping her tongue with a paper towel, gagging as she does it. “I thought you went heavy on the grounds, but this is like drinking tar.”
Handing me the roll of paper towels, she bends to rinse her mouth in the sink. Swishing and spitting, she coughs as she edges sideways to make room for me.
“Sorry,” I mutter, scraping my tongue with my teeth. “It’s—uh—my first time making coffee.”
“I kinda guessed by watching you,” she says. “But this is beyond awful.”
I finish gulping water from the tap and stand to face her. Water dribbles down my chin, and this is so far from the interview I imagined that there’s no point in saving it. “You knew I was screwing it up, but you didn’t say so?”
She folds her arms over her chest and stares me down. “It’s not my style to micromanage. I was giving you the benefit of the doubt that you had a different way of doing things.”
“And that I wasn’t trying to kill you?” I shake my head, feeling like an asshole. “I really am sorry.”
“Don’t mention it. What kind of coffee is that, anyway?”
I open the cupboard and pull out the flowery tin. “Jovan’s Special Blend,” I read off the label.
“Jovan?” She frowns. “The cult leader? Weren’t they raided like two years ago?”
I sniff the contents of the canister. “What does tear gas smell like?”
Vanessa grimaces and dumps the contents of her mug down the sink. “I think I’ll skip the coffee, thanks.”
“Good thinking.” I start to chuck the whole canister, then stop. “Maybe I should have this tested.”
She sniffs the contents and shrugs. “It smells like coffee. Really bad, really old coffee, but still coffee.”
I smell