Prologue
EMMA, MIRANDA WANTS to see you in her office.
Startled, I look up from my screen to find Isabel standing in front of me with a wicked twinkle in her eyes. I rush to click away my list of DJ suggestions for an upcoming employee appreciation event we’re working on for a big multinational company.
Isabel takes a seat at the edge of my desk and sips from her steaming hot coffee before she continues. She didn’t seem too happy. Who was it again who booked that tuk-tuk instead of a limo for that accounting firm’s office party? Was that you?
That was me, I mumble.
Sidebar: I didn’t personally make the booking, but I did happen to be the lead on that project, so it was definitely my bad.
Not that the mix-up messed with the mood in any way.
The employees were losing their minds laughing in the passenger seats of the neon pink three-wheeler, all while screaming along to the driver’s party tunes at the top of their lungs.
Okay, maybe some of their exhilaration came from the fact that they’d been drinking since 5 p.m. and food didn’t hit the table until hours later, but still.
I roll my chair back, get up, and shoot a panicked glance at Miranda’s office. It’s so rare that she wants to talk to me one-on-one.
Isabel’s gossip-hungry gaze follows my every move as she lets out a quiet yikes.
I’m glad I wore heels today. I’m so short that I’m unimposing on the best of days, but in the presence of a woman with skyscrapers for legs, I’m reduced to a little puddle of nothing.
Let me know how it goes! Isabel calls out as I walk away. She hops down from my desk and wanders over to her own, where she starts up a conversation with one of our coworkers.
Dragging my feet, Louboutins and all, I head into Miranda’s office.
She holds up one perfectly manicured finger as soon as she notices me, signalling for me to keep quiet.
I feel a bit tense looking on as she converses in fluent Italian, her phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder, while simultaneously pounding on her keyboard.
She seems pissed, and I can’t decide whether it’s because of how fast she’s talking or the way she’s hammering away at the keys like it’s her life’s mission to shove each one of them straight through her desk to the floor.
I fidget awkwardly with the hem of my blazer.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
This is it. The moment I lose the job I worked my ass off for. All because some intern who quit one week into the job managed to book a tuk-tuk limousine instead of a proper limo.
Once she’s wrapped up her conversation, Miranda gestures at the chair across from her, inviting me to take a seat.
Holding my breath, I sit down, not entirely sure what to do with my legs. First, I cross one over the other. Then, I shift back. Until I cross them again. Finally, I decide to press them together, placing my hands on my knees as elegantly as possible.
Nervous, Emma? Miranda asks, one raised eyebrow disappearing behind her blunt bangs.
Not at all, I reply, as my toe taps the floor at the same frenzied pace as Eminem’s flow on Rap God.
Should I apologize? Say I’m sorry for letting an intern handle such a crucial task? Sorry that the accountants, whose wardrobes consist primarily of grey sweater vests, were picked up by a vehicle so bright it could trigger a toothache?
Miranda looks pensive behind her rectangular glasses, taking her time before speaking. The uncomfortable silence gives me a few extra moments to brainstorm every possible excuse for the botched transportation booking.
Finally, she says, I want you to move to New York for a year, just as I blurt out, Hackers!
Hackers? she asks, sounding puzzled.
New York? I ask, with even more confusion in my voice.
A light furrow appears between her eyebrows. Did we get hacked?
I blink a few times, my synapses firing at warp speed. Oh. No. I said heck yes, I correct myself in a hurry. Because I get to go to New York. I add a dorky fist pump. Heck yes, I repeat weakly.
I’m glad to see you so excited, she says, as a reserved smile forms on her face. Not everyone would be thrilled to leave home for such a long time.
Mm-hmm, probably not.
It dawns on me that I won’t be seeing my friends and family for quite some time.
It’s probably not the worst idea to get out of here for a while, though.
Not after what happened last year with .
. . him. Leaving town for a year significantly lowers my odds of bumping into him at the liquor store or on a patio in downtown Amsterdam with her.
This just might be my chance to close that chapter once and for all . . .
Plucking at the hem of my skirt, I glance at my boss. But, um . . . Why do you need me to go to New York? I ask, a hint of hesitation in my voice.
Miranda laces her fingers together. You know Make a Mark Events has an office in New York, too.
We opened there a few years ago and business has been off the charts recently.
We’ve added some massive clients. Prestigious to say the least. Major law firms, international corporations, you name it.
Demand for our services is so high that we simply can’t find enough people to keep guaranteeing the quality we’re known for.
So, I offered to send them one of my best.
She grants me a rare smile.
I can’t help it, but I feel my ego grow a few sizes. And why shouldn’t it? Aside from the tuk-tuk blunder—that Miranda clearly doesn’t even know about—my performance slate is squeaky clean.
Miranda interrupts my thoughts. Ideally, you’ll go next month.
Things get pretty busy in the lead-up to the end of the year: Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s Eve .
. . Obviously, New York is wildly expensive, so we’ll take care of housing and work things out so you’re only covering a portion of the total cost. There’s an expectant look on her face.
It’s starting to sink in that, just a month from now, I’ll be on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.
What do you say? she asks, clearly not prepared to take no for an answer. New York? Heck yes?