Emily
Chapter
Two
Iwobbled in the scuffed discount high heels that I’d found at the local second-hand shop two days ago and hoped no one saw.
I was already feeling out of sorts as I scurried through the building, trying my best to follow the directions the helpful security guard at the front desk had given me along with a visitor’s pass.
I was five minutes late to my interview and wanted to cry, but blinked rapidly to fight back the tears that threatened.
It had been the worst morning in a very long line of bad mornings.
After a restless night of little sleep thanks to my neighbor’s late night activities with his noisy, and obviously faking it girlfriend, I slept through my alarm clock until said neighbor started pounding relentlessly on our adjoining wall, cussing dramatically about shutting the heck up.
It was all okay, though. I was still on time, even though the shower was lukewarm at best, and I shivered all through the process of drying my hair.
Until my hair dryer stopped working halfway through.
I stood there helplessly staring at my reflection.
The right side of my head was mostly dry where I’d brushed my brown hair straight while carefully maneuvering the dryer that I had picked up at my favorite discount store.
The left side was still damp and even dripping at the ends.
The unruly curls that refused to be tamed were mocking me in the mirror.
With a heavy sigh, I reluctantly wet my hairbrush to comb through the dry hair, trying to even everything out. In the end, I pulled it all back in a ponytail.
My makeup was light as usual, only a touch of mascara and blush to brighten up my naturally pale complexion.
Unfortunately, I faced yet another setback when I went to pull on the beautiful slacks that I’d been excited to find at the thrift store.
I realized that the zipper was broken. With a disappointed groan, I exchanged the slacks for a black pencil skirt that I knew was at least a full size too small for me and would be digging into my rib cage all day.
The blouse I had picked out was a pale, blush pink.
There was a small stain near the bottom hem, but I tucked it into the waistband of my skirt so it would stay hidden.
Nobody would ever know. The blouse was a little too big, but it was so pretty that it made me feel soft and feminine.
Even with all the mishaps of the morning, I was still excited for the upcoming interview.
It had been a stroke of luck seeing the want ad on the job search website I had been scrolling through.
I didn’t have any experience as a personal assistant, so I had hesitated applying.
Then, when I’d received the email inviting me to an interview, I thought I was dreaming.
The pay would be triple what I got as a waitress and would come with excellent benefits.
But the best benefit of all would be being able to move out of the dump I was currently living in.
I finally was on my way, making it to the bus stop to stand there and wait for the bus that would take me to the office building downtown.
Several other men and women were also waiting, eager to get on with their day, leaving no room to sit on the only available bench.
My feet were already starting to ache in my shoes, so I wasn’t looking forward to the wait. Then, the bus ran late.
We were finally loaded onto the bus and I was beginning to relax, thinking things were finally settling into place, when the bus hit a parked car of all things. The accident caused a delay while the passengers were told another bus would arrive soon to take over the route.
As if there hadn’t been enough disasters, the new bus driver got lost on the route he was unfamiliar with and ended up on the wrong street.
I quickly realized that if I didn’t act fast, I would miss my interview entirely.
I rushed to the front and requested the driver to stop.
Giving me a sour look, he thankfully did what I’d asked and I jumped off, walking the rest of the way to the high-rise office building where I was supposed to be in just a few minutes.
The pretty, yet too-small shoes I’d found when I bought the slacks made the brisk walk nearly unbearable by the time I reached the impressive Lane Industries offices.
As I stepped off the fancy elevator and into the equally lush waiting area, I looked around and felt my shoulders slump. It wasn’t because there were no seats available, though I would love to sit and get off my aching feet. I was feeling dejected at the array of beauty everywhere I looked.
Blondes, redheads, brunettes with shiny, thick, perfectly straight hair sat in every available seat. Most were checking their already flawless makeup in little handheld mirrors.
I looked down at the paper I had printed off at the library with the instructions that had come with my invitation to interview.
It was the right place and the right time.
I glanced back at the elevator, debating on just leaving.
Landing the job had always been a long shot, seeing all the pretty, professional women waiting for their turn to interview for the same job as me killed all the enthusiasm I’d been filled with ever since I’d opened that email.
I heard steps approaching from the hallway where I suspected the interviews were being conducted, and a flare of panic hit me square in the chest. I looked down at myself, noticing where I had felt cute and feminine in my dingy apartment; now I looked frumpy and disheveled.
I knew without looking that the walk in the morning humidity had caused my hair to frizz, and I was probably sweaty and stinky from my near jog to get to the office building.
I turned to leave when I heard my name called.
Not wanting to be rude, I slowly turned back around to see a tall, confident looking older woman standing at the entrance to the hallway, holding a clipboard and staring right at me.
I glanced around at all the other women waiting and saw several watching me as I stood there awkwardly.
A few of them leaned over to whisper to others, not even trying to hide the fact that they were talking about me.
I felt my face heat with all the attention.
I cleared my throat and hesitantly stepped forward with a small, awkward wave.
“That’s me.”
I wanted to smack my palm into my forehead.
Obviously, the woman already knew it was me.
Though when I thought about how she knew, I couldn’t come up with a way.
As far as I knew, there wasn’t a picture of me on the job search website.
At least, I didn’t remember if I had uploaded one or not to my profile.
When I reached her, she gave me a tight smile. “Follow me, Miss Fontaine.” She immediately turned to walk, expecting me to follow obediently.
“Uh, ma’am,” I said quietly, hoping only she could hear me.
She stopped abruptly and turned back, one eyebrow raised, waiting impatiently.
I side-eyed the rest of the group to see more whispers and a few laughing snickers behind well-manicured hands.
I leaned closer. “I think I made a mistake. I should go.”
For the first time since she called my name, her face softened, and she gave me a genuine smile. “Miss Fontaine, why don’t we head into the interview room? Then we can discuss why I think you might be perfect for the job.”
With my head spinning with her confusing words, I followed her, barely feeling the pinch of the heels that had already started to form blisters on my feet.