CHAPTER 1 #2
"Luxury tech corporate," Gabriel corrected, his eyes gleaming with pride for me.
"We're talking marble floors that look like mirrors, glass elevators that shoot into the sky, and silent-ass hallways where nobody dares to even clear their throat without permission. It’s a whole different world up in that tower. "
Kelly leaned back, crossing her arms and looking at me like a drill sergeant inspecting a recruit.
She pointed a long finger right at my chest. "Exactly.
She is going to snap her fingers and expect you to manifest miracles out of thin air.
And you—are you planning on walking into her multi-million-dollar office looking like a whole Sunday morning hangover? "
"I wasn't planning on walking into E-Tech dressed like a bodega sandwich, Kelly!
" I shot back, a hysterical laugh bubbling up from my chest as the sheer panic began to set in.
"Oh my god... what am I even supposed to wear on Monday? Do I buy a blazer? Where do you even buy a blazer that fits a girl with a shape like mine? Everything corporate makes me look like I’m trying to squeeze into a school uniform! "
"Relax, beautiful," Gabriel said, his voice dropping into that smooth, comforting register that always grounded me. "You’ve got three whole days to prepare. You're smart, you're capable, and you didn't get this by accident. Just remember: stay calm, be polite, keep your notes organized, and—"
"Don't smash your boss," Kelly interjected, a wicked, low-down grin spreading across her face. "Unless she looks at you with those cold-ass eyes and asks for it. Because let’s be real for two seconds... the woman is an absolute goddess."
I nearly choked on the remaining saliva in my mouth, coughing violently. "Kelly! What is wrong with you? She is my boss! Well, she will be my boss! And she’s a billionaire! And she’s terrifying!"
"I’m just saying what everybody else is thinking!
" Kelly said, throwing her hands up in self-defense.
"Have you seen the feature they did on her in Black Enterprise?
The woman is six feet of dark-skinned perfection, her suits are tailored by the gods, and she looks like she could step on you and you'd have to thank her for the privilege.
If I had a boss that looked like that? Frosty, gorgeous, independent, loaded?
Girl, I wouldn't even last a week before HR had to escort me out of the building. "
Gabriel chuckled, shaking his head as he finished his coffee. "You wouldn't last a day, Kelly. Security would have your picture on the wall before lunch."
"Worth it!" Kelly beamed, completely proud of her own hypothetical bad behavior.
I slumped back against the booth, covering my face with both hands as the reality of Monday morning settled into my bones.
The excitement was there, blooming like a wildfire, but beneath it was a deep, shivering nerve.
E-Tech Corp wasn't just a job; it was the big leagues.
And Helisa Smith was legendary for breaking people who couldn't keep up.
"What have I seriously gotten myself into?" I muttered into my palms.
"Success, baby," Kelly said, raising her plastic Starbucks cup high in the air like it was a chalice of fine champagne. "And probably a little bit of emotional trauma. But mostly success."
"They usually go hand in hand in corporate America," Gabriel murmured, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he raised his own cup to meet hers.
I peeked through my fingers, looking at the two people who had been with me through every failed interview, every late-night breakdown, and every doubt.
I took a deep breath, letting the Harlem heat outside and the warmth of the coffee inside steady my heart.
I grabbed my cup, clinking it against theirs with a sharp clack.
"To E-Tech Corp," I said, my voice finding its strength.
"To surviving the Ice Empress," Kelly added, her eyes flashing with mischief.
"To finding out what she’s really like," Gabriel finished.
And as the three of us drank, a strange, sudden shiver went down my spine—a weird little twist in my stomach that had absolutely nothing to do with the caffeine, and everything to do with the storm I was about to walk into.
***
The thing about having a fat ass and a tiny waist is that the corporate fashion industry does not care about your struggle.
By Saturday afternoon, my bedroom in our 135th Street apartment looked like a Category 5 hurricane had ripped through a TJ Maxx. There were button-down shirts tossed over the lamps, trousers draped over my vanity chair, and skirts piled up on my bed like a graveyard of failed fabric.
"Miley, if you don't try this last one on, I am leaving you to go to work in your pajamas," my roommate, Terra, called out from the living room. She was sitting on the couch, working on her laptop, completely immune to my mounting hysteria.
"Nothing fits right, Terra!" I yelled back, standing in front of my full-length mirror in a navy blue blazer that made me look like an NFL linebacker from 1994.
The shoulders were structured for a grown man, but the buttons across my chest were strained so tight they looked like they were fighting for their lives.
"If I breathe too hard in this, a button is gonna fly off and take out a security guard’s eye on my first day. "
Terra walked into my room, holding a hanger with a sleek, high-waisted black pencil skirt and a soft, cream-colored silk blouse. She took one look at the navy blue monstrosity I was wearing and immediately started laughing.
"Take that off right now. You look like you're about to go audit an insurance firm in Ohio," she said, tossing the new outfit onto the bed. "Try this. It’s got stretch. Real stretch, Miley. Not that fake stuff."
I groaned, slipping out of the stiff blazer and pulling the silk blouse over my head.
The fabric felt amazing against my skin—cool, expensive, and smooth.
I stepped into the black skirt, pulling it up over my hips.
It hugged my curves perfectly, cinching at my waist right above my abs, hitting just below the knee.
It was professional, but it didn't hide the fact that I was a well-built black woman.
"Oh, look at you," Terra said, leaning against the doorframe with an appreciative nod. "Now that looks like an executive intern. Sexy, but sophisticated. You look like money."
I looked at myself in the mirror. My braids were pinned up into an elegant, high bun, exposing my neck and the clean line of my jaw. My brown skin looked rich against the cream silk. For the first time in forty-eight hours, the panic in my chest subsided just enough for me to breathe.
"You think it's too much?" I asked, turning to the side to inspect the view. "I don't want Ms. Smith thinking I’m trying to turn the office into a runway."
"Miley, your body is your body. You can't leave your hips at home just because you're going to an office," Terra said frankly.
"You look neat, you look professional, and you look like you belong in the room. Stop letting Kelly’s horror stories get in your head.
Helisa Smith is a businessman at the end of the day.
She cares about results, not how much cake you're carrying. "
"I hope so," I whispered, staring at my reflection. "Because if I fail at this... I don't know what my next move is. This is the biggest opportunity I've ever had."
"You're not gonna fail," Terra said softly, stepping into the room to give my shoulder a firm squeeze. "You worked hard for this. You graduated at the top of your class. You know your stuff. Now go put your shoes away before I trip over them."
I laughed, the tension finally leaving my shoulders. But that night, as I lay in bed staring at the shadows dancing across my ceiling, the quiet hum of Harlem outside my window didn't soothe me like it usually did. All I could think about was Monday morning.
9:00 AM sharp.
E-Tech Corp.
The Ice Empress was waiting.
The Glass Tower:
Monday morning arrived with the kind of oppressive summer heat that made the asphalt sticky under your heels. By 8:30 AM, I was stepping off the train at 125th Street, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
The E-Tech Corp headquarters was an absolute architectural marvel.
It stood right in the heart of Harlem, a towering monolith of black glass and brushed steel that shot up into the sky like a futuristic monument.
It looked entirely out of place among the historic brownstones, yet somehow, it commanded the space with an undeniable power.
As I walked through the massive revolving glass doors, the noise of the Harlem streets instantly vanished, replaced by a cool, air-conditioned silence so profound it felt heavy.
The lobby was exactly what Gabriel had described: polished white marble floors that reflected the minimalist light fixtures above, soaring glass walls, and a security desk that looked like it belonged in a high-tech government bunker.
People in tailored gray and black suits moved across the floor like chess pieces—silent, purposeful, and elegant.
I swallowed hard, smoothing down the front of my silk blouse. You belong here, I told myself, taking a deep breath to settle the shaking in my hands. You are Miley Palmer. You do your sit-ups, you handle your business, and you don't let anyone see you sweat.
I walked up to the security desk, where a tall black man with an incredibly sharp haircut and a pristine uniform looked up at me.
"Good morning," I said, giving him my best, heart-melting smile. "I’m Miley Palmer. I’m here for the Executive Internship program with Ms. Smith."
The guard blinked, his professional exterior softening just a fraction as he returned the smile. "Good morning, Ms. Palmer. We've been expecting you. Let me just get your visitor badge printed out."