Chapter 1 #2
Sighing, he says, “Ember aims to be the market leader of luxury pleasure products. Tools, companions. We do not make toys—our customers are not children. They are affluent women with the means to invest in feeling good. We make high-quality products for them.”
“Of—of course.” My face is flaming—what is going on with me? Why can’t I string together a sentence, like an adult? Remembering the tagline I read a million times on the website, I manage to recite, “Ember—indulgent heat.”
His eyebrows raise, like he wasn’t expecting that from me. Another flick of attention toward me, just a crumb, before he returns to my resumé in his hand. “You have some assistant experience, but the rest looks to be… broad.”
I wince, thinking maybe I shouldn’t have included all my previous work experience. Flipping ice cream treats out a drive-thru window, walking too many dogs with better diets than me, selling essential oils for three weeks before I realized I’d actually been dragged into an MLM.
“That’s true.” I clear my throat, shift in the seat, and wish I still had my folder just for something to hold onto. “It may not look relevant, but I’m proud of all my experience—it makes me an excellent problem solver.”
It’s the last confident thing I’m able to say.
For the remaining twenty minutes of the interview, Dane Rourke asks me increasingly complex questions, most of which I only manage to stammer through.
Questions about their products, about the idea of pleasure, about the mission to provide an outlet for stressed, tightly-wound women.
In a perfect world, I might have met Dane Rourke and been clever and thoughtful. Impressive even. Maybe I would have been able to respond to his questions in a way that would have shown him that I’d fit in with a culture obsessed with sex and chemistry.
In that alternate reality, I’d be wearing something other than this black dress from Old Navy and the flats that, I realize now, are scuffed in the back.
“That’s all,” he says, finally, and it’s like being released by a hypnotist. I stand abruptly, start to offer him my hand again, remember what he did the first time, and snap it back to my side.
“Thanks for the opportunity,” I stammer, before turning and walking out of the room. Now, it’s not just my face that’s flushed, but my entire body. Shamelessly, I grab the front of my dress and tug on it a few times to brush cool air over my heated skin.
The elevator is open when I rush through the executive lobby, doors just starting to close. I stupidly stick my hand in, only praying it’s not sliced off by the onyx stone. It lets out an angry beep and swishes open. I jump inside, breathing hard, jamming the button that will take me to the lobby.
All I want is to get out of this building as fast as possible.
Luckily, the elevator doesn’t seem to need the key card to take me down. It descends in the same manner it came up—way too fast, a controlled fall. My stomach swoops.
The doors open and I’m coughed into the cavernous front lobby. My flats do not click like the other shoes around here, and it makes me feel quiet and small, a little mouse as I hurry from the elevator to the towering front doors.
It’s still spitting rain outside, but I don’t care. Maybe it will cool me off.
I’m just pushing against the revolving door when I hear someone walking fast behind me, and for a terrifying moment, I think it might be Dane Rourke.
The idea of him following me downstairs should be preposterous enough for my brain to dismiss it immediately, but apparently, it’s not, and I turn around expecting to see him.
“Hey.” The HR assistant says, voice muffled, face bored. “You still want the job?”
“What?” My voice is too loud and bounces back at me off the glass. I’ve already entered the revolving door, and I try to push on the door to come back into the building, but it won’t budge. I have to walk all the way around the revolving doors to get back inside, and I feel like a total idiot.
There’s no way he said what I thought he said.
Sighing, he rolls his eyes and says very slowly, “You still want the assistant job? For the executives?”
I should say no—that much is obvious. If my parents were here, they would never have let me set foot in this building.
Mary would tell me to listen to my instincts, and in this case, my fear, and do the safest thing. Even Aunt Ruby might wince and start talking about other opportunities.
But this is my last shot at a job here in the city—a real, concrete reason to stay. Furthering my career before returning to Missouri like a march to the gallows. One last chance to find myself before I’d have to tuck it away and settle down with a nice Lancaster boy.
This will be one last raised glass to Frankie in heaven, who’s no doubt peering down at me, urging me to do the scary thing. Take the fucking job, Lucy.
I stand up straighter in front of the assistant, who looks on, exasperated.
“Yes,” I say, brushing my hands down my dress and giving him a defiant stare right back. “Yes, I am still interested in the job.”