Jaime
JAIME
Tugging down my burgundy pencil skirt and straightening my jacket, I take a deep breath before approaching the large, glass-fronted building. Three weeks into the semester, I’d all but given up on hearing back from any of my other applications, so when I got the call from KBCX, I couldn’t believe it. The universe has granted me a second chance, and I’m trying not to think about how much is riding on it.
There are videos my mom has of me in kindergarten, standing in front of the TV wearing a pair of her heels, using my hairbrush as a microphone. Back then, I thought the shiny lady on the screen was the boss. Because that’s what I want to be. The boss.
My family’s legacy in the trade world is one I’m proud of, but it’s not a mantle I’m interested in taking. I want to forge an empire of my own, and media and communications is where my heart is.
As I catch my reflection in the shiny glass, I realize that my smile is somewhere between too bright and too fake, but when I try to dial it down, it feels like a grimace.
“Good morning.” The young brunette woman at the reception desk smiles up at me as I approach. “How can I help you?”
“I’m here for an interview with Brad Longstead,” I say. “ Smith.”
She taps at her computer for a second before handing me a visitor’s badge. “Fourteenth floor. Check in with the secretary there and they’ll let him know you’re here.”
I give her a grateful smile and step into the elevator, hoping she didn’t notice the way my hands are trembling where they clutch my portfolio. As soon as the doors close, I exhale, trying to calm my nerves.
It’s a different type of nerves this time around. When I went to the first interview, I felt invincible, like my nerves were merely a part of the process. Now, I know what it feels like to fail, and I have no plans of letting it happen again. Even if the circumstances were out of my control.
My phone vibrates in my purse, and I pull it out, frowning at the screen. We’re barely into senior year and already the drama has hit new heights. This morning, someone posted an entry from Sasha’s diary online. We were supposed to rule the school this year and scandal was never part of the plan.
Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I tap out a response to Abi’s frantic texts in our group chat before switching to flight mode and dropping my phone back into my purse just as the doors open.
The fourteenth floor isn’t what I was expecting. Unlike the foyer, with its tall glass windows, up here it’s dark and moody, with picture blocks on the walls and blue neon accents along the ceiling.
I’m still taking it in when a cool voice pulls me back to Earth. “Good morning. How may I help you?”
I snap my mouth shut and stride over to the high desk, offering the slender man behind it a smile. “Hi. I’m Smith. I’m here to meet with Brad Longstead.”
His smile is nowhere near as warm as the woman downstairs and I swear he looks me up and down before turning to his computer, his eyebrows slightly raised beneath his perfectly coiffed pompadour hairstyle.
“Take a seat, Miss Smith,” he says, cool blue eyes flitting up to me briefly before returning to his screen. “He’ll be right with you.”
I try to keep my smile warm and friendly as I thank him and do as he says. The seats are not as comfortable as they look, the teal leather tight and hard, forcing me to sit tall, my portfolio balanced on my lap.
Right now, the rest of my classmates will be sitting through a lecture. I’m not worried about missing it, though. Professor Brierley okayed me to miss class today and Wes has said he’ll email me his notes. Things are already in place for if I get the internship, and my heart flutters in my chest at the thought.
Once again, I’m so close to getting everything I’ve ever wanted.
And just like that, my heart drops like a lead weight. No. Not everything I’ve ever wanted. There are some things that can never be mine.
“Miss Smith!”
A deep and booming voice has my head snapping up, and I try to stand as gracefully as I can to greet the man striding toward me with a blinding million-dollar smile.
I’ve researched the hell out of Brad Longstead. I swear I could tell you what brand of underwear he prefers. But despite seeing a thousand pictures of the man, it’s nothing compared with seeing him in the flesh.
A legend in the industry at only thirty-six, he’s tall and muscular with a square jaw and perfect hair. He’s like Clark Kent without the glasses and nervous energy. Superman in a three-piece suit.
Coming to a stop before me, he holds out his hand and I grip it firmly. A good handshake is the ultimate first impression, and I’m relieved when his is firm and sure, unlike Kendall’s limp grasp. What I’m not expecting is the way he holds onto my hand a little longer than necessary, his bright blue eyes trailing down my body in a way that makes my skin crawl, despite how attractive he is.
“A pleasure to meet you,” he drawls, finally dropping my hand. “I was very impressed by your application. Won’t you come into my office?”
“Thank you,” I say, following as he turns and leads me to one of the many black doors along the corridor.
He pushes it open and holds it for me to enter first. The door opens inwards, which means I have to almost brush past him to step inside, his expensive cologne hazing my senses.
“Please, take a seat.”
I do, glancing around his office, decorated in dark wood and touches of teal, as I try not to think about the nerves fluttering in my stomach.
“So, you’re a senior at Franklin West,” he says, sitting behind his desk and leaning back on his chair. “How are you planning on juggling your coursework with an internship?”
Wow. Cutting right to the chase. I shift in my chair, mildly more comfortable than the ones in the waiting area.
“I spoke with my professor before accepting the interview,” I explain. “He’s agreed to give me course credit for completing the internship as long as I still complete my written assignments and thesis.”
Brad nods and steeples his fingers together. “And you can manage that?”
“I can.”
He stares at me a few seconds longer and I take a breath, ready to ask whether he’d like to take a look at my portfolio, but he pushes back from the desk and stands.
“One thing you need to know about me,” he says, scratching his sharp jaw. “Is that I don’t sugarcoat things. So, trust me when I say, this isn’t going to be easy.”
I sit up a little straighter. “I can take it.”
“You say that now, Miss Smith.” He moves around the desk and leans against it, crossing his ankles. “But interns are the lowest of the low. You’ll get great insight into how the station works and, of course, it’s a foot in the door, but you’ll be grabbing coffee, talked to like trash by some of our divas, and you won’t be getting paid for it.”
He waits, his eyebrows slightly raised, as though that information is going to have me scrambling for the door.
“I’m prepared for that,” I say. “There’s nothing you can tell me that will change how much I want this.”
He lets his gaze roam over me again, lingering on my legs, and it takes all my self-control not to tug my skirt further down. “I just mean, it might be a little tougher than you’re used to.”
My eyes widen as I realize what he’s getting at. I thought I’d imagined his tone when he mentioned Franklin West, but perhaps I didn’t.
A sinking feeling builds in my stomach. Once again, I’m blocked by preconceptions. He thinks I’m some spoiled trust fund brat who’s never done a day of hard work in their life. My heart speeds as Kendall Marks’ face flashes in my mind. Her unabashed sneer over her glasses. I won’t let that happen again. I can’t.
Willing my face not to fall into a scathing scowl, I smile, readjusting my grip on my portfolio. “I assure you, Mr. Longstead, if you give me this internship, you won’t regret it. I can take whatever you throw at me and then some.”
His lips curve into a smile and he shakes his head. “We’ll see, Miss Smith.”
Usually, I’m good at reading people, but other than the fact this guy gives me the creeps, I can’t figure him out. I’m not sure whether to go quiet or unleash the sass. My gut tells me he prefers women to be seen and not heard—perhaps the reason I’m not liking him at all—so I keep my mouth shut and my smile plastered on my face.
He gestures to the door, and I realize this ‘interview’ is over. Panic flares in my chest. I didn’t get to sell myself—to give him one of the hundred and eighteen reasons I’m the perfect woman for this job.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Smith,” he says as I’m left with no choice but to stand. “We’ll be in touch before the end of the week.”
Fuck.
His hand lands on the small of my back as he guides me out of his office, and I try not to cringe at the over familiar touch.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Longstead,” I say. “I look forward to hearing from you.”
He maneuvers us to the bank of elevators, pressing the down button. “Take care, Miss Smith.”
As soon as the doors close behind me, I exhale, my body trembling. I have no idea how that went. Not a clue. Longstead is sleazy as hell, but if I get the job, I probably won’t have to deal with him directly. Besides, I meant what I said. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m not afraid of hard work and I’m more than willing to start at the bottom and work my way up.
A shudder runs through me at the way Brad looked at me. Maybe he thought I meant I’d do anything . Well, he’s going to have a very big wakeup call and a fucking lawsuit if he thinks that’s happening. Even if the only reason he gives me the internship is because he thinks he has a chance at some head, I don’t care. Once I’m in those doors, I’ll prove myself invaluable. I’ll be the best damn intern they’ve ever had.
I don’t want my success handed to me. I want to earn it. I want to sweat for it. Dig it up from nothing and shape it with my bare hands.
The cool autumn air hits me as I step outside, and I take a second to calm my racing heart before heading down the block to where I parked my car. I smile as she comes into view, clicking the fob to unlock the doors.
Settling back against the soft leather, I close my eyes and draw in a breath. I should have said more. I should have made myself impossible to say no to.
My phone buzzes in my purse and I pull it free, my eyes narrowing as I swipe to answer. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
“. I have some good news.”
I lean back against the headrest and close my eyes. My mom’s idea of good news is rarely the same as mine. “Oh?”
“The Chevaliers are coming next week.”
Bile rises in my throat, and I swallow hard. “What?”
“Pardon,” my mother corrects. “Manners, . They’re arriving on Tuesday. I’ll be in touch once we have more details. Be ready.”
Ready. Sure.
“Okay, Mom.”
“Take care, honey. Love you, bye!”
I keep the phone pressed to my ear for a few seconds after she hangs up. This wasn’t supposed to happen so soon. I was supposed to have more time.
Exhaling, I drop my phone onto the passenger seat and wipe my damp palms on my skirt before turning the ignition. I was planning on going back to Franklin West, but I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t have the energy to fake it right now.
Smashing my hands against the wheel, I turn off the engine and climb out of the car, slamming the door behind me.