8. Dee
Chapter eight
Dee
“Holy shit. You’re serious?” I grip my phone like the lifeline it is. Booming laughter sounds from the other end of the line.
“Yes, but it has to be today. Four thirty, before my grandfather leaves for vacation. He was supposed to have an interview, and they canceled last minute. He’s not the kind of guy you cancel on, so I offered your name as a fill-in.”
I work at four, but I can’t afford to miss this interview.
Sure, Phil was kind of a dick when we worked together on a few projects at Keller’s.
He was a financial analyst, and I was one of the data analysts doing my best to support the work his team was trying to do.
He was part of the boys’ club. Definitely a misogynist. But if I didn’t plan to ever work with one of those again…
well, I’d never work another day in my life. And momma needs money.
I either have to call off for my shift at the bar or knowingly arrive late. I bite my lip, all too aware I’m still in my probationary period in this job, and let’s face it, I’m not showing much promise.
“I’ll be there,” I say.
I run around my apartment in a frenzy, pulling my business attire from the back of my closet, dressing as quickly as I can. I throw my makeup and bartending clothes into my bag.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I plead with my piece of shit printer as I wait for my resume, cover letter, and references to slowly drop into the tray.
“And we’re off,” I shout, grabbing the papers and my bag, flying out of my room as fast as I can.
If I were going straight to the bar for my shift, I’d be able to drive myself and wouldn’t be late.
But Phil’s office is on the other side of town.
I need a miracle to make it to this interview on time, plus I need the extra time in the car to finish getting myself interview ready.
I pull up the app on my phone to request a ride. Fuck yeah. Two minutes away.
I rush to the pantry, bumping Dylan out of the way as he stands there gawking at the snack options, indecision clear in his stance.
“Hey, what’s the hurry?” he says, affronted as I continue to shepherd him around the kitchen while I move as quickly as I can.
“No time,” I say breathless. I grab a granola bar and rush to refill my water bottle before throwing them both in my bag.
I grab a pair of flats from the front closet and hop around, slipping the slightly too-tight shoes over my heel.
“Scored a last-minute interview. Gotta run. Don’t wait up, sweetie.
Remember to feed the cat!” I yell before slamming the door shut behind me and racing down the hall to the elevator.
“We don’t have a cat. Right? Dee?” I hear Dylan call after me.
I laugh, not stopping to answer, picturing Dylan hunting for a litterbox for the next ten minutes to confirm I do not, in fact, have a cat.
My ride is pulling up to the curb in front of our apartment building just as I race out the door.
I’m meant to get this job. It wouldn’t all be working out so perfectly if I weren’t meant to have an opportunity like this fall into my lap.
I use the twenty-minute drive to do my makeup, fix my hair, and repack my bag so it doesn’t look so lumpy with my bar clothes shoved into it. Then I find everything I can online about this company, mentally running through a few practice interview questions.
My stomach pits, my nerves on fire as adrenaline wears off from my rush to get ready, while also preparing me to “fake it until I make it” in this meeting.
I am competent. I am intelligent. I am an asset.
Do I always try to exude confidence, bordering arrogance, at work? Sure as fuck do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get the same nauseous flutter in my stomach when I know I’m about to be under the microscope, with every personality flaw and professional experience under scrutiny.
Some might call it a defense mechanism, but in my experience, it’s necessary.
I can’t survive the workplace with anything less than steel walls, built sky high.
No weakness. No insecurity. Be as brazen, bold, and entitled as the men around me so they have no reason to question why I’m sitting next to them or why they should listen to me.
The driver pulls up to the building, glass walls stretching into the clouds, the glass reflecting the setting sun. The lobby is pristine, and the receptionist takes my information with a sharp smile before I find a seat in the waiting area.
Phil rounds a corner fifteen minutes later, five minutes after my interview was supposed to begin, dragging his hand over his jaw, a tight frown on his face.
That can’t be good.
“Hey, Dee. You made it.”
“Good to see you, Phil. Thanks for this opportunity.”
I stand, but Phil doesn’t budge. “I guess plans have changed. My grandfather decided to head to the airport early and had his secretary clear his calendar. I just found out on my way down here to meet you. Sorry about that, but you know, we could grab some food and I could tell you about the company if you want? I can try to get you rescheduled for an interview. No guarantees or anything, but I’ll do my best.”
Yep. Still a fucking prick.
“Actually, I need to be somewhere.” I attempt to hide my irritation on the off chance this could lead to an interview in the future—I don’t make it a habit to burn professional bridges. Personal ones? Sure, with good reason. But I need a fucking job, and I can’t take the risk. “Rain check?”
He nods before I thank him. I head to the bathroom to get changed and order another ride to get to the other side of town.
Once I’m settled in the back of the car, I rest my head against the window as the sun sinks further in the sky, melting from blue to orange and pink.
What the fuck am I going to do? I’ve heard it’s rare for anyone to actually work in the field they studied. Maybe this is a sign that I need to move on and try something completely different.
My mind wanders, and by the time we end up at the bar, my mood has soured. But I can’t afford to miss my shift, so I do my best to shake this day off and give myself another mini-pep talk. I can choose to make the best of the situation.
I clock in, apologizing for being late. Just when I’ve managed to talk myself into a better mindset, I get called into the manager’s office.
The inevitable. Fired.
Goddammit.