Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Joey
The moment I set foot in the lobby of the skyscraper, I feel out of place. The marble floors gleam under the artificial lights while the scents of cleaning products and forgotten dreams swirl around me.
I spent maybe a little too much money on a more “professional” outfit. Black dress pants, a crisp white shirt, and a black blazer.
An overpriced penguin costume, essentially.
My plane landed in Seattle yesterday afternoon, and Bryan put me up in a pretty nice hotel with an incredible view of the city. If only I had more time to explore while I’m here.
My low heels click against the floor as I approach the front desk, where I apparently have to check in before being granted access to the elevators. It’s rather obnoxious.
I smile at the security guard. “Hi. Joey Thorne. I have an eight a.m. meeting with Droplet.”
He scrutinizes me, his brows knit together like he has no idea who I’m talking about.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I say, “Josephine Thorne.”
“Ah. That makes sense. They’ve got you down as Joey, so we were expecting a man.” He laughs like he’s told the most hysterical joke.
“Of course you were, because we live in a dumb patriarchal society,” I mumble under my breath.
He rounds the desk, head tilted. “Sorry, what was that?”
I snap my spine straight and plaster on a fake smile. “Oh, nothing. Just rehearsing for the meeting.”
With a hum, he heads for the elevators. “Follow me.” He uses a key card to open the stainless-steel doors, and once I’m inside, he presses the button for the thirteenth floor.
My heart lurches. I thought many high-rise buildings omitted the thirteenth floor.
Then again, I’ve always been superstitious.
I don’t step on cracks, I always throw spilled salt over my shoulder, and I’ve never killed a ladybug.
After a painfully awkward ride up, the shiny elevator doors open up straight into Droplet’s lobby.
It’s not anything like what I expected.
It’s cold and sterile, the fluorescent lighting harsh.
All the employees are dressed in impeccably pressed suits and perfectly tailored dresses. Despite the sharp clothing, their expressions and demeanor lack warmth or personality.
I made a good call with the outfit today. I can only imagine the looks I’d get if I’d shown up in my colorfully embroidered denim jacket. For a company focused on insulated water bottles, one would think that their employees wouldn’t be so serious.
On the outside, I blend in seamlessly with everyone else, but on the inside. . .I have my doubts.
Every person milling around nearby has hunched shoulders, like they’re weighed down with invisible burdens, and dark circles beneath their eyes.
As I shuffle toward the receptionist, who also seems less than thrilled to be here, Bryan swoops into my personal space.
Eyes wide, I take a step back to put some distance between us.
“Joey, good to see you again,” he says, extending his hand.
His handshake is so corporate. Whereas mine is closer to shaking hands with a wet noodle.
“Hi,” I squeak out, suddenly unsure of my decision to interview for this position. I feel like a tiny fish swimming in an expansive ocean, worrying I’ll find myself suddenly surrounded by the sharks.
“Before we head to my office to discuss the position, let me give you a tour.” He beams, his smile unnaturally white, then leads me around the office space.
Eventually, because the universe is out to get me, we run into the last person I want to see.
Norma.
She looks me up and down. Surveying my slicked-back hair, the tight bun that’s giving me a headache, and my sensible and professional suit. Then a calculating smile stretches across her face.
“Hello, Joey.” She reminds me of a ventriloquist’s dummy, lifeless and disturbing. It makes my stomach twist with disgust.
“Hi, Norma,” I say, my voice falling flat as I stare at her forehead, brows furrowed, hoping she thinks she’s got something on her face. I read somewhere once that periodically glancing at someone’s forehead while talking to them can cause them to feel insecure and uneasy.
When she wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, I cheer internally.
Nothing turns me on more than a little psychological torture. It’s a balm for my soul.
We quickly say farewell to Norma, continuing the tour, and accepting enough handshakes for me to warrant draining an entire bottle of hand sanitizer. Eventually, we end up in Bryan’s office, and he gestures for me to sit in the chair in front of his desk.
I ease into it, biting back a wince. This is why I never wear heels. My feet are killing me. I’m pretty sure a few blisters have made a nice, bloody home on the backs of my heels.
There’s a bit of awkward silence as taps his keyboard, all but ignoring me.
When I can’t stand the quiet anymore, I blurt out, “Is this when you ask me to tell you about myself? Maybe why you should hire me? I can also list off a few weaknesses which are actually disguised as strengths.”
Unamused by my humor, he only blinks at me. “Oh.” He clears his throat. “This isn’t an interview. The job is practically yours.”
“Uh. I was just making a joke because—you know what? Never mind. Tell me more about the position.” I cross my legs, settling my hands in my lap.
He shifts in his chair, facing me now, hands clasped on top of his desk.
“I’m so glad you asked. As the creative director, you’ll be in charge of overseeing the creative process for our various campaigns, projects, and more.
You’ll oversee a team of copywriters, graphic designers, photographers, and web developers. ”
Pausing, he raises his brows, like he’s waiting for me to ask for more information.
I don’t want to be an asshole, but I already know what a creative director does.
I want to know the good stuff. Tell me how many weeks of vacation I have and how many mental health days are acceptable to take before I’m at risk of getting fired.
I nod. “This all sounds wonderful so far.” I don’t even recognize my own voice. It’s so steady and calm.
“Great. The benefits are exceptional. We have top-tier health and wellness benefits and an executive bonus structure on top of your salary.” He passes me a sheet of paper, where a six-figure number has been typed out.
My eyes practically bulge as he goes on.
“You’ll have six weeks of vacation days and an equity grant, vesting quarterly over three years.
And we’ll pay for the cost of relocation, and we’ll set you up in a hotel for sixty days while you look for a place to live. ”
Holy fuck.
This is an incredible offer. Life-changing, even.
“Our employees love working here,” he says, pulling out one more sales pitch. “Some even willingly stay late and work on the weekends. It’s not expected, though.”
His tone changes at the end, like he’s lying. Like this company most definitely expects their employees to put in more than forty hours a week.
“The last thing I’ll mention is the mandatory employee etiquette training,” he says casually. “You’ll complete that before stepping into your role.”
For maybe the first time in my life, I’m overwhelmed by a gut instinct. This job offer is too good to be true, and that last little bit is all I need to know to confirm it.
Bryan’s words linger in the air, a reminder that in this world, it doesn’t matter how competent I am. Skill alone will never be enough.
“It’s very basic,” he goes on. “A run-through of things like global business and networking etiquette.”
Head tilted, I search his face. He’s holding back what he really wants to say.
Bryan clears his throat. “Along with professional attire and body language etiquette since we do have an image to uphold here.”
I stay silent
“All employees are required to take this training,” he tacks on, shifting in his seat.
Sure, Bryan. If it makes you feel better, keep telling yourself that.
“This will enhance your confidence and help you build strong relationships with stakeholders. It may even open doors for new opportunities. Including some very exciting promotions.” His words come out in a long, barely coherent string.
Fingers laced in my lap, I lick my lips, considering how to respond.
“Did I mention the salary? Also, I can talk to our HR Director about giving you two extra weeks of time off. Plus a holiday bonus. What do you say?”
My head spins. The position is a good one. But at what expense?
And does this mean I have to choose between a life on my own terms and the life I’m told I should want?
Is a person’s story prewritten? A path they must get lost along in order to find their way again? Because I feel utterly lost and alone right now.
I told Bryan I need time to think about the offer.
Financially, I’m doing just fine at my current job.
I planned, saved, and invested just like my dad taught me.
Sure, the healthy salary increase that Droplet is offering is attractive, but the money isn’t my top concern.
It’s the gnawing anxiety of having a life-changing career move knocking on my front door.
The shadow of bigger and better opportunities looming over me, all while I’m plagued by doubts.
The relentless pressure of feeling like I need to do more with my life.
The persistent thoughts continue to scream at me, trying to convince myself that I have to settle down and create a home in one place in order to be fulfilled.
The unsettling worry that I’ll never find where I belong.
The first thing Droplet wants from me is that I completely change who I am. They want me to be someone I’m not, and it struck a painful chord.
They like my work. But they don’t like me. And that fuels my worry that I’ll never be enough.
Fucking Norma and her insidious whispers. Planting seeds of doubt that if I don’t do this, I will never achieve that. Seeds that eventually grow into menacing fears that threaten to undo all the confidence I’ve worked to build.