Theinteriorlightdimsand blinks out, plunging me into darkness.
I've been sitting in the empty parking garage of my office building for what feels like hours, but according to my car, it's only been a couple of minutes.
My annual review with the CEO is today, so I'm rehearsing my presentation to ensure it's perfect.
My closing bit could use some work, so I recite it one final time, hoping the passion in my tone will convey the commitment I have to this industry.
"And finally, Mr. Robinson, I think the YouTube views speak for themselves. I have the highest number of most-watched trailers among our team, and the comments clearly display enthusiasm for my work. I'm ready to take the next step, and I hope all the data I've given throughout this presentation proves I can make this company a top contender in Hollywood. Thank you."
It's not my best. Certainly nothing like the famous speeches in award-winning films likeGladiatorandIndependence Day—hell, not evenBraveheart. My boss would have no choice but to grant me this promotion in the face of that level of brilliance.
But I can't rely on movie quotes as a fallback for everything.
I inhale and exhale dramatically, the top button on my blouse straining at the swell of my chest.
I'm ready. I'm ready to kill this presentation like Arnold Schwarzenegger killed the predator, minus all that blood and dirt.
I grab my laptop bag and lunch and head up to our office.
I'm one of those freaks who is always first to arrive and last to leave because I want to prove my loyalty. It's a difficult industry to get into, the movie trailer business, so I am determined to show my worth.
Even though the films we receive are awful—as in Lifetime network quality—I still give 110 percent.
Part of my job is to watch these movies, some completed projects, some not, and create a two-minute trailer to highlight all the intriguing scenes while leaving enough behind to surprise the viewers.
It's like Amanda Woods inThe Holiday, except I'm not getting action movies with James Franco and Lindsay Lohan. I'm getting D-list celebrities who will most likely be in rehab by the time the movie premieres. And we're not even talking red carpet premiere. Probably straight to the bargain DVD bin at Walmart.
And even though I wish I had projects with quality, I have worked my ass off these two years. The next step in my career is upon me.
"Where's Lucille?" I ask Damian, another member of our team, as I drop my stuff on my desk.
"I–um… I don't know," he stutters.
You know how people have a work husband or a work wife? I have a work grandmother, Lucille, who is the spitting image of Maggie Smith fromHook. She's older, wiser, and has been in the industry longer than I've been alive. She took me under her wing when I started two years ago, and we formed a bond. She’s also our team leader.
Honestly, it's rare she even takes a sick day. She's in her mid-70s and kicking ass when it comes to her health. Of course, the most upsetting thought imaginable pops into my head. Because I'm me. I pull out my phone and text her.
But fifteen minutes later, Lucille hasn't responded.
And sadly, I don't have time to worry about it because it's showtime.
Once I'm done killing this review and getting that promotion, I'm taking the rest of the day off and showing up at her place with champagne.
Grabbing my binder with all my notes, and my laptop with the PowerPoint presentation, I head toward the CEO's office.
"He's ready for you," his secretary informs me with a look of empathy. That's a little alarming.
"Great." I force some pep in my tone despite the red flag.
My blouse sticks to my back as I open his door.
Where did all that sweat come from?
Mr. Robinson ushers me in from behind his desk as I sashay into the room.
"Amelia, thanks so much for coming in," he begins.
"Of course!" I chirp, the excitement in my voice palpable.Reel it in, Ame, this isn't a maid of honor speech."I'm so thankful you have the time to meet with me."
