Madison's POV
I huff out a breath. Go in, solve the problem, do your presentation, get out.
At exactly 9:20 a.m., after driving like a maniac, I stand in front of the Acercraft building. I've seen photos before and know the general location, but seeing the building in real time is jarring.
It's an enormous obelisk of marble and black glass, pristine in its appearance. I don't know what I expected, but I didn't think that an online gaming company would need to have a building this big. I catch myself before the familial discomfort, which I often mask as scorn, takes root.
I may, or may not, end up working here. It wouldn't be wise to start by hating it so soon.
I change into my heeled pumps, stuffing the boots into my large backpack, and step inside.
I'm blown away. I feel like I'm caught inside a virtual reality paradise. Decorated in tones of black and gray, the enormous lobby gives off a calming, somber atmosphere. Life-sized figurines and avatars of best-selling games decorate the area while large potted plants infuse life and humanity into the futuristic look. It's breathtaking.
I approach one of the smartly-dressed receptionists at the front desk, and she directs me to the waiting area, informing me that someone will be down for me soon. I take a seat, observing as people stroll around in clean-cut suits.
Then I notice the looks from other clients in the lobby.
I'm sitting down, so it can't even be the skirt.I discreetly do up another button on my silk shirt.
There, guys, happy now?
You should invest in a sober stylist.
Fuck you, Calhoun. I've never questioned my style before. I'm not about to start now.
"Madison Russo?"
A rail-thin man with curly brown hair approaches me. His simple, black t-shirt emblazoned with the Acercraft logo and jeans makes me want to hug him. For a second there, I was getting worried about all the stuffiness and suits.
I give him a wide smile and stand. "Here."
"I'm Danny, Mr. Farrington's assistant. Welcome to Acercraft." He checks his wristwatch.
Crap. I know I'm late. Kick me out now.
"Thanks."
"Your slot was ten minutes ago, but I've moved things around, so you're up in approximately twenty minutes. That doesn't give you much room to work on the bug, but I'm afraid that's the best I can do." He leads me towards a bank of elevators.
"There are two more candidates after you, but they specifically requested those slots. Will you manage?"
I don't need half an hour to find and fix a bug. "Yeah, I'm sure I'll be fine."
"Good. We have everything set up for you in a quiet room."
He quickly shows me what to do if I have any tech issues, then points to a large door at the end of the room.
"Once you're done, you can wait in that conference room down the corridor, where someone from IT will take you to the next stage. Good luck, Madison."
"Thanks," I say to his already retreating back.
When I see the challenge, for a moment, I wonder if it's a trick question. There's got to be more to it. It's too freaking easy.
In less than fifteen minutes, I've debugged the code. Finding other problems with the initial code I go a step further to write a prototype for a new program that would track the codes from getting bugs in the future.
I pack up and then head to the conference room, where two nervous-looking candidates are waiting. One guy is pacing around, and the other is leaning against the wall and tapping his foot.
Nodding at them in greeting, I take a seat.
"When is yours?" I hear the guy behind me ask the other one.
"10:30. Hell, I can't believe I'll be meeting the Calhoun Kennedy in person."
"I know, it's sick. I'm so close to shitting myself. He's like the god of programming. He's developed more than fifty programs and applications."
Calhoun?I turn around to look at these guys. Grown men are fangirling over him? I inwardly shake my head.
Just then, a tall, tanned guy with longish, black hair comes in. "Ms. Russo," he greets me and smiles, revealing straight, white teeth. "Do you want to come with me?"
I rise and follow him. Strangely, I'm not nervous, but as we walk down the carpeted corridors, I wonder if perhaps I ought to be.
"I'm Sajid. It's nice to meet you in person."
"Likewise."
"As we mentioned in the final email from HR, you'll be interviewed by a panel of the managing partners."
"Okay." Actually, it's not okay. All three managing partners of the company are interviewing? I don't know much about how the corporate world works but it sounds like this job might be an even bigger deal than I envisaged.
"I'm just the guy who fetches candidates." I know he's downplaying his role. I suspect he vetted every single candidate that made it through to this stage. "I'll also be the friendly face for you in there, okay?"
When we reach the wide double doors, he presses on a circular flashing button, and the door swings open.
He motions for me to proceed. "I'm sure you'll do fine, Ms. Russo. Good luck."
It's a large room, and the lights are muted. I didn't expect the room to be a beacon of light, given that the interview is an interactive multimedia presentation, but I also didn't think it'd be so dark.
My eyes slowly adjust to the dim light as Sajid leads shows me where to go. We reach the end of the long, rectangular table by the huge projector, and I face the interview panel.
The first person I see is Calhoun Kennedy, sitting at the head of the table, exuding an air of confidence bordering on arrogance, his posture relaxed, as if he owns the place.
Well, he does own the place.
His head is bent, and he appears to be typing into his phone. A ball of nerves uncurls in my belly, and suddenly, I don't feel so confident anymore.
Jordan was right. I might fail this presentation. It's probably a bigger deal than I prepared for. I'm sure I've missed something. I knew the challenge seemed too easy.
He hasn't even looked at me, and I'm already losing my shit.
I take a deep breath and observe the other panel members. Jordan sits to Calhoun's left, and on the other side is a slightly older man, probably in his late thirties or early forties, who I assume is Mike Waldrow, the third managing partner.
They seem welcoming enough, and Jordan looks happy to see me. We exchange polite smiles and nods.
As my gaze falls back to Calhoun, he raises his head. His dark hair is impeccably styled, and his sharp features hold an intensity that is both captivating and intimidating.
He's not wearing glasses, so I see the exact moment he recognizes me, the shift in his demeanor, confusion and disapproval registering on his face.
Was he not expecting me?
"Gentlemen," Sajid says, starting the introductions, "this is Ms. Russo."
Mike inclines his head again in greeting, and Jordan smiles widely, which reassures me, but when I look back at Calhoun, he has a horrified look.
I think I may have crashed the party.
Again.