Instead of a receptionist, a security guard sat at the desk and gave her a bored look. He punched in a few keys, a mini-printer buzzed out with her information on a card, and he handed her the ID tag. “Go down the hall, turn left, and wait in Conference Room C12.”

Lex clipped down the hallway, peeking briefly into a few open doors. A couple large empty offices, a couple conference rooms. She curbed left around the corner.

“Hey!”

Something warm – no, make that something hot splashed on her blouse. Lex bent over too late – some of it trickled down her shirt into her underwear.

Coffee. Extra-strong, from the smell. All over her white blouse and staining a narrow vertical strip down her pencil skirt.

A heavily made-up woman glared at her. “Serves you right for not watching where you’re going.”

The nerve! “You could use a few less calories anyway, toots.”

The woman opened her fuchsia lips in a soundless gasp. Then with a high-pitched grunt, she huffed off. Lex felt hot enough to steam the coffee out of her clothes as she watched the woman waddle into an office and slam the door.

Lex hadn’t passed any restrooms, so she moved on until she saw a break-room – probably where the coffee came from. She nabbed some paper towels and hustled back to conference room C12.

She dabbed at the stain while she waited. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes.

What gives?

She made her way back to the receptionist’s desk. A different security guard sat behind the counter.

“I came in twenty minutes ago and the other guy told me to go to conference room C12, but no one’s come to meet me yet.”

“Name?”

Lex stabbed a finger at her name tag.

The guard typed her name into his computer. “Oh. Miss Sakai, you were supposed to be in conference room D22. They’ve been waiting for you.”

Lex swallowed a hysterical scream. “Where is it?”

“Up the stairs, to the right, second door on the left.”

Her stupid pencil skirt wouldn’t let her take the stairs two at a time. She entered the conference room hot and panting. Three pairs of eyes glared at her.

One older gentleman with a ring of silver hair set down the phone. “The security guard told us you’d been sent to another conference room.” From his tone, he didn’t seem to believe her or the guard.

“I’m sorry.” Pant, pant. “The first – ” Pant, pant – “security guard – ” Pant, pant, wheeeze.

“Never mind.” A middle-aged man with a long, thin face waved her to a seat and introduced the silver-haired man and a young,antsy man. “We didn’t get copies of your résumé. Do you have extra ones?”

“Yes, sir – ” Lex opened her leather folio and grabbed -

One sheet. Where were her other copies?

In the printer. At home. Forgotten as she rushed out of the house.

“Uh… I only have one copy.”

The antsy man rolled his eyes.

Lex sat down on the chair, resting her hand on the smooth plastic armrest -

Eeewww.

Something sticky-slippery, like a cross between glue and butter.

All over the armrest, and now coating her palm.

This was going to be either a very short or a very long interview.

ELEVEN

The interview ended up being pathetically short. After a few questions that made her sound like a complete moron for applying for a receptionist position with no corporate receptionist experience, they pushed her out the door, which barely missed hitting her backside on the way out.

Her only saving grace had been that they didn’t even bother to rise to shake her hand good-bye, so she didn’t have to try a left-handed shake when her right hand looked fully functional. She entered the lobby and immediately saw the women’s restroom on the other end. With a yellow Cuidado: Piso Mojado sign in front of the propped open door.

She peeked in and saw the janitor, a surly-looking Hispanic man. “Can I just come in to wash my hand?”

“No entre. Es peligroso. ”

“I just need to wash my hand.”

“No, esta resbaloso. ”

“Please?”

“Por dios! ”

Guess that was a no. She headed toward the men’s restroom just as someone exited and caught a glimpse of other men inside. Nope, she couldn’t sneak in to use the sink.

A couple of oversized couch-chairs sat against the wall across from the restrooms. She walked over and flopped down -

“Stop!” A man’s voice came out of nowhere.

Squish.

Comfy overstuffed chairs – especially those upholstered in modern zippy colors – weren’t supposed to squish. Something colder than her skin seeped through her skirt.

Lex slammed her hands down on the chair arms to hoist herself up. She was reminded of the stickiness on her palm, but not in time.

Upholstery fuzz clung to the gummy residue on her skin. With a heave, she shot to her feet.

Her skirt stuck to her bottom with a disgusting, wet feeling.

A forty-something man in a polo shirt and slacks approached. “You okay? I saw the janitor clean a stain off the seat cushion a few minutes ago.”

Lex then noticed that the scent of industrial cleaner hung heavier in the air here than near the bathroom. She glanced back at the seat cushion and the psychedelic colors slammed her with an instant headache. “The fabric must hide the water mark.” She almost didn’t want to look at her behind, but she twisted around for a peek.

“It’s not too bad.” Then he looked away, face glowing. She guessed he belatedly realized he probably shouldn’t be staring at her tush. Not that she had that much tush in the first place.

His ringed left hand – darn, married – carried a worn leather briefbag like the ones she’d seen on Levenger.com, except his had a faded Indian badge attached to the flap. Stanford’s old mascot. “Wow. How did you get that?”

He shifted his bag in front. “Isn’t it great? I got it from a retired football coach. All my coworkers are jealous.”

“I am too. I wasn’t born yet when Stanford retired that mascot.”

His eyes seemed to glitter with curiosity. “Did you go to Stanford?”

“No – not smart enough. I went to San Jose State, and my cousins have all gone to Berkley.”

He tilted his head and his forehead wrinkled slightly. “You know a lot about Stanford for a Cal fan.”

She shrugged to hide her embarrassment. His tone reminded her of when her male cousins teased her about her sports fanaticism.

Then she remembered where she was. SPZ. Sports Mecca of Silicon Valley. Largest sports presence on the net. She was a sports nut just like any one of them. Oh, yeah! “Where did you go to school?”

“Sac State.”

“Oh, did you see the game last night? I thought Lloyd would hit fifty points.”

“That foul on him was so wrong.”

“Thornton should have taken Stuart out. He hasn’t been shooting well since he came back from that ankle injury.”

“Jamieson was smart to keep Costello on him.”

“Yeah, that was brilliant. Stuart didn’t have a chance.”

His direct, intense gaze reminded her of Aiden, except this man’s eyes were harder, more shrewd. “What do you think of UC Davis baseball this year?”

“Disappointing. All their key players graduated last year, and the new coach is failing his fresh blood. But their wrestling team is doing really well. I think they’re going to go to nationals.”

“You follow a lot of different college sports.” His mild tone contrasted his shrewd eyes, which seemed to search her face for her answer, not just listening to what she said.

“I love sports. I grew up with just my brother and my dad.”

“Not to be rude, but it’s kind of surprising.”

Lex gave a rueful snort. “Yeah, you kind of expect an Asian to be a doctor, lawyer, or engineer, right?” Like most of her cousins, who were pushed to excel in school, which just fed the stereotype.

“You’re here for an interview?”

Lex grimaced as she glanced down at her stained blouse and felt a fresh breeze spin a cold finger up her skirt. “For uh… receptionist. I’m actually a manufacturing engineer, but I’ve always wanted to work at SPZ and thought I’d get my foot in the door.”