Read Heller for Free Online Page B

you’ve been
through.” Daniel thought for a moment. “Wait there,” he said and
took off through the door to the stairs, returning a few minutes
later with some clothes. “These are mine. They’ll be too big for
you, of course, but probably not too bad. We’re about the same
height. You can get changed in the bathroom. The door’s over there
behind my desk.” He pointed to the desk closest to the lift, next
to the desk directly opposite Heller’s office.
    Why
not , I thought, optimism surging to the fore again. I had
nothing to lose. I took the clothes from him, picked up my handbag
and shoes as well and walked to the bathroom. I quickly changed out
of my ruined outfit into what appeared to be the Heller’s work uniform – the black polo shirt and cargo pants. Daniel had
thoughtfully provided me with a belt, which I needed to keep the
cargo pants from falling down. I tucked the polo shirt into the
pants neatly. I used the bathroom’s mirror to try to mend my makeup
and fix my hair back into some kind of order, though there was no
helping my poor nose. The bruising was starting to show already and
I didn’t have any concealer with me. The clothes looked odd with my
court shoes, but beggars can’t be choosers, I reminded myself. Then
I told my reflection that a beggar was exactly what I would be soon
if I didn’t nail this interview. I stepped back into the
office.
    “Heller will
see you now. Good luck, Tilly,” said Daniel, giving me an
encouraging smile and waving me into the room. I glanced over at
Niq tapping industriously on his computer’s keyboard. He looked up
and gave me another shy smile. I smiled back, thinking how sweet he
(she?) was and headed for Heller’s office.
     

Chapter
4
     
    “Mr Heller?” I
knocked softly on his door, aiming to restore some semblance of a
confident, professional tenor as I entered his office.
    “Just Heller,”
he instructed brusquely, staring in surprise at my new outfit. I
squirmed under the relentless blue inquisition. He probably thought
I was being very presumptuous, turning up wearing his business
uniform before I’d even been interviewed.
    “Daniel lent
me some clothes. My suit was ruined. Lift grease. And blood,” I
babbled in explanation.
    “I will pay
for your suit to be cleaned or replaced, of course,” he said
coolly.
    It was wrong
of me after such a generous offer, but my first thought was that
I’d never find a suit that cheap again. It was half-price ,
for God’s sake! And even then I’d be too embarrassed to tell him
that it was only reproduction designer or to confess how much it
had cost me. By the look of his elegant, well-fitting suit – and he
was a big man, not easy to fit – he had his suits hand-made,
probably somewhere exotic like Italy. He would never believe how
little I’d paid for my cheap suit and I suddenly felt hugely out of
my depth in this office with a man like him. I should have left
when I had the chance. I knew instinctively that this interview was
going to be a disaster for me.
    He gestured
for me to sit in a small meeting area he had positioned away from
his desk and next to the large sash windows. His office was quite
spartan, but the modest amount of furniture seemed to be of very
good quality. It was probably modern Danish designer furniture, the
type of which I’d only ever seen in magazines, but which I knew
cost a bundle.
    He sat down
across from me in a sleek black armchair, between us a folder
resting on a small black coffee table. I perched nervously on the
edge of the sumptuously soft black leather lounge, pinned like a
faded postcard on a corkboard by that intense blueness. A glass of
chilled water had considerately been placed on the coffee table
near my knees and I eyed it longingly, wanting to gulp the entire
contents as my throat was suddenly parched. I took a genteel sip
instead.
    His eyes were
like lasers, cutting right through my body, almost as though he
could see past my skin and bones, past my