by other, trickier questions.
‘What are your passions?’ a middle-aged female interviewer at a tech start-up once asked Ella. ‘Apart from coding.’
‘Apart from coding?’
‘Yes,’ the woman smiled. ‘We’re looking for well-rounded individuals. People with more than one string to their bow.’
Ella’s palms began sweating. All the responses she’d practiced were about coding. What sort of ‘passions’ did the woman mean? Bob had warned Ella vociferously never, ever to mention sex in these encounters. But what did that leave her with?
‘I like … coffee cake,’ she said at last.
The woman looked blank. ‘Coffee cake?’
‘I can shoot a deer from three hundred yards,’ Ella blurted. The interviewer’s horrified face told Ella at once that she’d made a misstep, yet some death-wish prompted her to follow up with: ‘I can gut fish!’
‘Very interesting. Well, thank you, Miss Praeger. Please, see yourself out.’
Landing the Biogen job a year ago had been nothing short of a miracle. Ella was pretty sure she’d only got that because Gary Larson fancied her. But now she’d lost it, thanks in part to her stupid headaches, which weren’t getting any better and would probably ruin her chances at her next job, if she ever got one.
Don’t be negative, she told herself. Healthy people turn their lemons into lemonade.
This time she would do better. She would follow Bob’s example and break the problem down into small steps. Step One: get better at interviews.
Standing up, she positioned herself stiffly in front of the mirror. Many people had told her that ‘tone of voice’ was important, as well as body language and eye contact.
‘A pleasure to meet you!’ Ella grinned at her reflection, proffering her right hand. ‘I’m Ella Praeger.’
Hmm. No, Too gushing.
‘How do you do?’ she tried again. ‘I’m Ella.’
This time her smile looked like a rigor-mortis grimace.
‘Thank you for seeing me,’ she told the mirror, relaxing her jaw and tossing back her hair in what she hoped was a relaxed and natural manner. ‘I’m Ella.’
‘The pleasure’s all mine, Ella.’
Ella spun around and screamed. Standing behind her, leaning nonchalantly against her bedroom door as if he had a perfect right to be there, and grinning like the Cheshire cat, was the man from her grandmother’s funeral.
‘Get out!’
Picking up a hairbrush from her perfectly arranged dressing table, Ella hurled it at the man’s handsome head. He was even more attractive than she remembered him from the ranch, but this was no time to get distracted. The throw was accurate and lightning fast, hitting him painfully on the side of the skull.
‘What did you do that for?’ The man scowled at her.
‘You broke into my apartment,’ Ella retorted, reaching for a heavy-looking glass perfume bottle.
‘Don’t!’ the man begged, covering his head protectively with his arms. ‘I didn’t break in to your apartment. The door was open.’
Ella’s eyes narrowed. ‘I always close the door behind me.’
‘Not this time,’ shrugged the man.
‘Who are you?’ Ella demanded, still clutching the scent bottle.
‘That’s not important,’ said the man, his earlier confidence returning even as he rubbed the growing lump on his skull, already the size of a walnut.
‘It’s important to me. Why are you here?’ said Ella. ‘And why were you at my grandmother’s service?’
‘Put down that bottle and I’ll tell you.’
The man smiled, and for the first time Ella allowed herself to take a really good look at his face. She’d already clocked him as attractive, but she saw now that his defining feature was his jaw. Strong and perhaps a little too wide, it gave him a rough, rugged look at odds with his otherwise sophisticated manner and dress. He had brown eyes, surrounded by fans of deep lines that marked him as older than Ella had thought at the funeral service. Forty, at a guess, but in good shape for his age and with no hints of gray at the edges of his thick, dark hair. He was wearing a suit again today, well cut and expensive, with gold cufflinks that glinted when he raised his arms to shield himself from Ella’s impending blows.
While Ella looked at him, he returned the compliment, his gaze trailing languidly up and down Ella’s body in a most disconcerting manner. The look in his eyes was part curious, part predatory. Ella felt an instinctive rush of blood to her groin. She gripped the perfume bottle tighter.
‘Tell me, right now, who you are and why you’re following me or I’ll call the police and have you arrested for trespassing.’
‘No you won’t.’ The man turned and walked into Ella’s living room, sitting down at the table and stretching out his legs with a maddening lack of concern. If he’d had a cigarette, he would have lit it.
‘I might,’ Ella protested weakly, unsure how she’d somehow lost the upper hand in their interaction. ‘Or for harassment.’
‘No one’s harassing you, Ella.’ It was the first time he’d used her name. ‘Sit down.’ He gestured to the chair opposite him, as if this were his apartment, not hers. Ella contemplated refusing, but then decided it would look weak and churlish. Besides, now that the shock at being ambushed had passed, she felt more intrigued than threatened. Putting down the bottle she joined him at the table.
‘Good.’ He smiled again, flashing his white teeth like a wolf. ‘Now, I believe you had some questions for me?’
‘Why were you at Mimi’s funeral?’ Ella began.
‘To see you.’
‘But you didn’t see me. You didn’t introduce yourself. You left before I could speak to you.’
‘I saw what I needed to see.’
Ella scowled. She’d never been a fan of riddles.
‘What does that mean? What do you want from me?’ Her exasperation was starting to show. ‘You show up at my grandmother’s funeral, uninvited. Then you walk into my home, unannounced, and actually at a really bad time. I lost my job this morning.’
The man shrugged, showing zero interest in this information, never mind sympathy.
Christ, he’s rude, thought Ella. Of all the obnoxious, self-centered …
‘You
