Chapter 1 – Anna
ONE
ANNA
The day she had a case of mild dyslexia.
Five Months Later
I opened the heavy glass door to a small lobby to find a smattering of people already waiting inside the generic space. In unison, everyone turned their head to look at me.
“Hey,” I said, with a small hand lift.
I was immediately assessed and dismissed in seconds by the group, as they all went back to staring at their phones.
There were only four chairs inside the lobby, two on either side of a round coffee table. All of them were filled.
So yeah, I was standing.
More accurately, ten minutes later, I was leaning. Between two generic pieces of wall art that I imagined were supposed to be a modern representation of flowers.
It was for the best. Standing was good. Standing meant I had to concentrate a little more, which would keep the anxiety at bay.
About my posture. (I really shouldn’t be leaning.)
About how bad my feet were killing me in these heels. (Which is why I had to lean in the first place.)
What to do with my hands.
I can tell you what I wasn’t doing with my hands, I wasn’t holding on to some leather billfold like the other candidates in the lobby were.
Two women, two men. All either close to, or younger than, thirty years old, I was guessing.
Besides their phones, they each held a leather billfold in their laps, which had been taken out of either a fancy leather briefcase or some cool across-the-shoulder satchel.
Because apparently, it was that kind of job. The leather-briefcase-leather-billfold-holding-my-resume kind of job.
I was so not getting this job.
Still, I had to try.
I continued to stand in the corner of the lobby, my hands clenched around the not-leather strap of my cheap purse, holding a sheet of paper that was my one-page resume.
One of the office doors opened and everyone held their collective breath.
A young man, wearing a full suit and tie, clutching a familiar leather briefcase, walked through the lobby at a brisk pace. As he passed me, I could see his cheeks were burning red. Head down, he looked at no one as he left the lobby.
“Next!”
The sharp bellow came from the other side of the door. Loud enough it made everyone jump a little.
“Now, please. I don’t have time for hesitation.”
The seated candidates looked at each other. One of the women, a redhead in a smart green pantsuit, stood. She was older and seemed a little less intimidated than the rest of us.
This woman wore red lipstick like she knew what she was doing with it. She marched into the office and shut the door behind her.
Finally, there was an empty chair. But I didn’t take it.
Two minutes later, the woman with the great lipstick stormed out of the office practically huffing with outrage.
She turned back to whomever was in the office behind her. I tried to peek around her but she took up most of the doorway.
“You’re very unprofessional,” she said, clearly indignant.
Okay, well, she was not getting the job.
“Next!”
The invisible man’s shout reverberated throughout the small lobby.
Green pantsuit lady strode across the lobby carpet and out the heavy glass door.
“I’ll go,” said one of the men still seated in the chairs.
Navy suit, slick haircut, there was a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. He looked more like a soldier ready to hit Normandy Beach on D-Day, than someone heading into an interview.
Maybe I should have done a little more online research about this job.
Navy suit entered the office and closed the door behind him.
“Fuck this,” the other man in the waiting chair said. He looked recently graduated from some fancy school because the watch on his wrist screamed fancy graduation gift. “I’ve got three other interviews lined up at top firms. I don’t need to deal with this shit.”
He was talking to everyone in the room, which I guess included me, but I had absolutely no idea how to respond.
He left, and other than me, there was only one other woman left. An Asian woman with really cool white and black patent leather shoes.
“Me, too,” the remaining woman said. “I know me. I’m a crier. He will make me cry.”
She packed up her leather billfold, stuffed it in her carrier and scurried out of the lobby.
Now all the chairs were empty and I was still standing. This seemed a little crazy. But surely there had to be more candidates coming in for appointments. Although I’d been here now for at least ten minutes, so maybe I was the last one for the day?
The door opened and Normandy beach dude walked out, pulling at his tie. He looked at me and mouthed silently.
“Good luck.”
Then he smiled, shaking his head, and just like the others, he left.
“Next!”
I let out a breath. There was no next. There was only last.
Me.
I was the last one standing.
I took my cue from the green pantsuit woman. I lifted my chin, threw back my shoulders and walked into the office like I had a clue what I was doing.
Walking into the office like there was a potential for explosions, I stopped and waited for him to look up from his laptop.
His head was down as he was typing furiously. Fingers pounding on the delicate keys like he intended to inflict pain on the piece of equipment. I don’t know what the keyboard did to piss him off, but I gave him a moment to let him work out his anger issues.
The room was sparse. This was supposed to be an ad agency, but there was nothing on the walls that suggested any type of client marketing. Just a desk, two large monitors that swallowed up the man behind them and a guest chair I didn’t dare sit in.
It occurred to me then, I didn’t know his name.
The temp agency had given me the address and not much else, which wasn’t typical, but they’d called me last minute as one of their other candidates had cancelled on them.
I was supposed to be interviewing for a receptionist position, but the people in the lobby all had looked way overqualified.
How much more did I need to know other than how to answer a phone?
I hadn’t seen the man’s face – the one I assumed had been yelling Next – yet. All I could tell from this angle was that he had all his hair. A burnished bronze that had a natural wave to it with some gray at the temples.
Then he lifted his head and I gasped.
I am so not getting this job.
After the initial shock of recognition, the first thing that registered was that he was handsome in artificial overhead lighting.
Not hot. Not someone I’d drool over on TV or something. There was just something classic about his face. High sharp cheekbones, really green eyes. Like a color you could see standing a foot away and have it register in your brain.
Not that his looks mattered. Handsome didn’t work on me.
“No,” he said.
“No, what?”
He sneered. Where half his lip twisted up and it re-arranged his face. Not so handsome now.
“No to you.” He waved his hand at me in a noncommittal gesture that basically said shoo. It was a generic dismissal and had nothing to do with who I was. Emboldened, I held my ground.
“But you haven’t seen my resume,” I said, being deliberately obtuse. My resume wasn’t going to impress this guy. Still, desperate times and all that. I unfolded the single sheet and placed it on his desk. “You should at least read it. Since the temp agency sent me here.”
“Temp agency? I didn’t call a-” he picked up the paper, scanned it, then glanced up at me. “Is this a joke?”
“Uh…I don’t think so?”
“You’re not even a college graduate.”
“Do I need to be? It seems like anyone with a brain can answer a phone.”
He huffed as if I’d said something ridiculous. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven,” I lied confidently.
He raised his eyebrow. “Try again.”
“Twenty-two next month,” I admitted.
“Why did you lie?”
Admitting I was a liar didn’t seem appropriate. “Felt like the thing to do to get the job.”
That made him pause. “Are you saying you would do anything to get this job?”
“There are certain moral and personal parameters I would adhere to,” I said truthfully. “But for the most part, I’m a ten on the scale of desperation, sir.”
His eyes stayed on me and I felt like now I had his full attention.
He didn’t know who I was. Just an unqualified candidate, standing in his office and probably wasting his time. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t just excuse myself, but I didn’t.
“You said a temp agency sent you?” he asked.
“Yes. Emerson Enterprises. I was told the receptionist position for your, I’m guessing this is your company, ad agency is available. But I’m going to admit right now, you don’t have a lot of ads on the walls.”
He let out a heavy sigh. “You’ve got the wrong office.”
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s a marketing agency. It’s Suite 301, down the hall. You’re in 310. Next time, pay closer attention to your directions.”
He held up my resume as a gesture for me to take it.
That couldn’t be right. I couldn’t have blown my chance at an actual job because I inverted two numbers. That was weak ass shit. I bought work shoes for this.
“Next!”
I jumped when he shouted, then decided to take out some of my frustration on him. “There is no one else,” I said, snapping my single sheet resume out of his fingers.
“Pardon me?”
“There is no one else,” I repeated. To prove it, I stepped outside his office, noted the empty lobby and stepped back inside. “Gone. All of them. One guy said he was too good to put up with your shit, and the other girl was a self-acknowledged crier. Probably a good move by her.”
He scowled.
“What is this super fancy job anyway?”
“I’m looking for an assistant,” he said, his attention drifting back to his monitors.
“Hold the phone. Literally. I can be an assistant.”
“Doubtful.”
“What does the job entail?” I asked, taking the open chair in front of his desk. Since it felt like there was nothing to lose, and my feet were hurting in these heels, I decided things couldn’t get worse. I was way too late for the other interview at this point.
“You assist me. You run errands, get coffee when I ask, make appointments, keep track of my schedule.”