Royal Indiscretion, chapter 37 (Patreon)

Yves looked up at the modern building with its rows of symmetrical windows. It looked soulless—like an empty box instead of a living building. And Yves was losing his mind when he started thinking of objects has having souls at all. What the hell was he even doing?

“I could go up with you,” Doug offered in a hopeful voice.

Yves tried to imagine how that would go over – showing up for an interview with his buff American boyfriend to protect him. It would not end in a job offer. “I'm fine.” He took a deep breath. “I can handle this.”

“You absolutely can handle this,” Doug said. “However, you look a little nauseous.”

Yves rearranged his features into a facsimile of a smile. “I understand it's traditional to be nervous before a job interview. I am simply attempting to uphold the traditions of my new culture.”

Doug raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, yes. My stomach is so upset it’s rolling, but I can handle this.” 

“You're going to be awesome.” The gentleness in his tone near proved Yves undoing. He wanted to throw himself in Doug’s arms and hide from the big, bad world. Yves sometimes hated his own weakness.

“And if I'm not?” Yves studied Doug's face. “What if I am absolutely wretched? What if I completely fail at this interview and the company puts a mark next to my name saying ‘Never hire this idiot. He is completely inarticulate the moment he feels stress?’” That felt too close to the truth.

Doug squeezed Yves’s hand. “Then we’ll deal with that,” he said firmly. “The first time I stepped onto a football field, I was a freshman. I tripped over my own shoelaces when the coach asked me to run a drill. The kids all laughed at me, and I might've quit right then, only at that time my bastard father was living with us. If I quit the football team, that was an extra two hours I had to spend with him. I decided I would rather get made fun of by my peers.”

Horror distracted Yves from his own situation. “That is an appalling story.”

Doug rolled his eyes, but then he usually did when Yves tried showing too much sympathy. The man might be a fount of empathy, but he was not always kind to himself. “My point is that you can suck at something and learn to do it better. So if you suck at interviewing, then we’ll have Caro set you up with an interview coach. It's not the end of the world.”

That reassurance made me feel better than all of the empty promises about Yves’s supposed talent. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem,” Doug said. “Now remember that speech the next time I come home freaking out about a young quarterback trying to steal my position on the team.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“I shall do my best to come up with an appropriate and supportive response,” Yves promised as he squeezed Doug’s hand a little harder. After giving Doug the best smile he could muster, Yves got out of the car and headed for the side entrance. He still had fifteen minutes before his screening interview, but he understood that being early was expected.

Yves easily found the appropriate office and introduced himself to the receptionist before taking a seat in a hard vinyl chair. Doug had cautioned him to avoid using his cell phone, so Yves threaded his fingers and considered the magazines on the side table. He hadn’t thought to ask whether reading a physical magazine would be impolite. He was on the verge of the world’s smallest panic attack when the receptionist called his name.

After jumping to his feet quickly enough to startle the poor woman, Yves took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. He then followed her into a maze of tiny cubicles with half walls and employees like little mice in their individual cages, typing away on their computers. He had never seen anything like it, except on television. And to be honest, he had always thought that the cubicles shown in so many shows were a metaphor for the dehumanization of individuals in the modern workplace. 

The receptionist led him past these people in their tiny square worlds and took him to a windowless office against the far wall. 

“Count Stenbock, this is Mrs. Linterra of our translation department.” Mrs. Linterra was a frail looking woman with a prominent nose. The receptionist continued her introduction. “Mrs. Linterra, Count Stenbock is your next appointment.” The receptionist gestured for Yves to enter the office before she retreated. 

Mrs. Linterra stood and came around the desk to offer her hand. “Count Stenbock, how nice to meet you.”

“Please, call me Yves.”

“That is rather informal.” She returned to her chair and gestured for Yves to sit. “Yes, but Count Stenbock sounds overly formal, and I've been informed that it’s reminiscent of a children's breakfast cereal.” Mrs. Linterra laughed, and some of the cords tied around Yves’s heart eased. “Since Mr. Stenbock is factually incorrect, using my first name seems best.”

“So it would seem. I understand you are looking to work as a translator for the company.” She opened the file on her desk. While Yves couldn’t read it from his position, he recognized the general format of the sheet as the resume Caro had helped him create. Yves had been embarrassed at the dearth of experience on it, but Caro had assured him that Yves’s skill with language was an asset they could exploit.

“I am looking for work as a translator. I speak six languages fluently and two more well enough to make myself understood, even if pedants might laugh at my pronunciation or conjugation skills.” That was the only marketable talent he possessed, and some of Yves’s fears returned as Mrs. Linterra lifted the resume to look at whatever she had underneath.

“It is an impressive list of languages. I am particularly interested in your Mandarin and Arabic skills. Those are two languages we always struggle to provide.”

“Mandarin is a common language. I am surprised you would have trouble finding translators for that, especially since so many people in China do speak second and third languages.”

“Yes, but there are a large number of translators required and few people possess the technical skills needed for the sort of exacting business transactions we undertake.” She looked up at him. “I understand your fluency is quite high.”

“Mandarin was a personal favorite when I had language tutors.”

She leaned back in her chair and gave Yves the sort of visual examination Yves had learned to expect from Hagan. “Of course we will have to test, but in general, how would you compare your Mandarin skills to your English skills?”

“I would say I am slightly more fluent in terms of formal language. I am more likely to catch allusions in Mandarin since I enjoy Chinese literature. However, I'm more familiar with American culture since television is a guilty pleasure of mine.”

She nodded and took some notes on a pad. Yves gripped his knees and tried to avoid the sort of fidgeting that would always bring the wrath of Duke Gerard or Hagan down on him. It was quiet difficult. She didn’t look up from her notes as she said, “That is quite impressive. And your Arabic?”

“I am fluent and I watch Arabic news often enough to keep that fluency, but it is not my strongest language. If that is the language that I will use often in my work, it’s easy enough to watch Arabic television in order to refresh my pronunciation and vocabulary. And of course, if the job will focus on a particular area of interest, I can study the specific vocabulary.”

She looked at him, setting her pen down next to the notepad. “I understand this would be your first job.”

Yves nodded since he didn’t trust his voice given a lump had taken residence in his throat.

She leaned back in her chair. “That is an interesting position for a man of your age.”

Yves swallowed. “Not as interesting for a man of my background. Neither my brother nor my sister had any work experience outside assisting with family business.”

“And did you assist the family business?” She picked up her pen again.

Yves locked down his emotions. When younger, much younger, he had tried to get involved. He had offered to help his brother in the office or work with his sister on some of the social obligations she arranged with Hagan. He had even offered to work in the stables, and considering the disaster when he had asked for a horse, that had been difficult. He had been soundly rejected. “In general, I did not. I assume my relationship with my father is not pertinent to my skills as a translator.” That was as close as he was going to come to speaking any part of the truth.

A frown flickered across Mrs. Linterra’s features. “I imagine you are correct. I do have a more relevant concern, but I do not want to offend you. How easily do you take offense?”

“Not easily at all.” In fact, Yves could already guess what she was thinking, so rather than force her to find the polite way to ask the question, he said, “You are either concerned with about my former drug use or my current homosexual relationship with an American.”

“Your love life is not any of our business,” she said.

Yves nodded. Of course. Everything in his life came back to the worst mistake he had ever made, and sometimes it felt like everything always would.

“I understand your American is quite the celebrity among those who follow American sports,” Mrs. Linterra said. The topic surprised Yves out of his darker thoughts.

“I would not know. I am less a fan of American sports than of Doug. So I take it that you are concerned about my history of drug use.”

She was silent for a moment. “I am. I am hoping you can provide some assurance that you will not relapse while working for us.”

Yves wished he had some magic wand that could make the past disappear. He didn’t. And he was incapable of providing the sort of absolutes that she was asking for. He leaned back and considered his words, well aware that this was probably the end of the interview. “I can't provide any sort of guarantee,” Yves admitted. “If I did relapse Doug would physically drag me to a rehab center, and the people I have in my life now support my sober decisions. I can't tell you that I'm never going to have a problem again, but I would make an excuse to not show up rather than do the job while under the influence. If you’re looking for more assurances than that, I'm afraid I don't have them.” Yves braced himself for rejection. He had enough experience with it that it shouldn’t hurt, but it did. Every damn time, it did.

She nodded. “That's a fair answer, and a better one than I have heard from other people in your situation. However, that won’t provide much comfort to an employer who is looking for someone to handle confidential translations.”

Doug nodded, and strangely the tension in his stomach eased. This is what he had expected, and in some ways it was a relief to know that he could still predict people's reactions to him. 

Mrs. Linterra closed the file. “So we will need to start you in less sensitive translations until you develop a better reputation. The pay will not be what you might expect as a translator with so many languages available, but when you have a proven track record, hopefully we can move you into the business division where the fees are significantly higher.” She smiled. “I assume you will wish to be based in the United States?”

Yves’s brain did a strange little skip as he tried to figure out the meaning of her words. It sounded like she was offering him a job. She raised her eyebrows, and Yves’s brain came back online. “Yes. I would prefer not to have to fly over an ocean to visit Doug.”

She nodded. “And how many days a month would you be available to work?”

“As many as are needed.” At this point, Yves would agree to any working conditions. He had a chance to prove he was something more than he had been, and that was an opportunity he would not waste.

She looked startled. “I understood you were in a new relationship. Are you sure you could commit to full-time work when that might require significant travel outside your home city?”

Yves nodded. What in the world were the tabloids saying that this woman assumed Yves and Doug could not be apart? “Doug and I are enjoying our vacation, but when we head back to the States, he will be training and playing full time. I fully expect that he will have a limited amount of time for me.”

For the first time, Yves realized that he had been worried about Doug's work. Doug had a life to return to. And Yves had not been able to imagine what his life might have looked like when Doug was off playing. Yves’s work with Nick on the ranch had given him purpose, and he needed that. He smiled at Mrs. Linterra. “I am dating Doug, I am not attached to the hip.”

She smiled at him. “Well then, I think we can do business. Let me walk you down to HR. You'll need to take a series of tests in each of the languages, so this may take a while. She stood and came around the desk. “Follow me.”