Sunday I wake up and dedicate the day to Job Prep Mode. I iron my entire professional wardrobe. Set three separate alarms on my phone because apparently I don’t trust myself to wake up for the most important first day of my life. I even practice my introduction in the mirror like a complete psychopath.
“Hi, I’m Bree Dawson.” Too laid back.
“Hi! I’m Bree Dawson!” Too enthusiastic.
“Hi. I’m Dawson. Bree Dawson.” Too James Bondish.
Sunday night, I lie in bed staring at my ceiling and catastrophizing every possible scenario. What if I’m terrible at this job? What if I accidentally spill coffee on someone important? What if—
My phone buzzes with a text from Sora.You’ve got this! Go be amazing tomorrow!
I smile.
Good ol’ Sora.
Hope she’s right.
Monday morning arriveswith all the enthusiasm of a root canal.
I stand in front of my closet, staring at my limited selection of freshly ironed professional outfits.
I grab the navy blazer and matching pencil skirt. Going with conservative today because, well, first day and all.
I arrive at the building at 8:30 AM sharp. The lobby is all glass and steel, the kind of corporate architecture designed to make you feel small.
I approach the front desk, where a security guard who looks like he moonlights as a bouncer eyes me suspiciously.
“I’m here to start work on the 28th floor,” I say, trying not to sound like someone who’s hoping she didn’t walk into the wrong building.
“Rossi Industries?” he asks.
I nod. “That’s the one. First day.” I smile sheepishly.
He ignores my smile, picks up a phone, murmurs something I can’t hear, then gestures to a waiting area. “Someone will be down shortly.”
I perch on the edge of a sleek leather chair and try not to fidget. My palms are already sweating.
You’ve got this, I tell myself.You have a master’s degree. You can handle being someone’s secretary. Besides, you already passed the interview with flying colors.
A woman in her late twenties appears from the elevator bank. She’s wearing a crisp whiteblouse and black pants, and looks more confident than I’ve probably ever felt in my entire life.
“Briana Dawson?” she asks.
“Bree,” I correct automatically, standing up too fast and nearly dropping my purse.
Real smooth.
“I’m Cressida Ortiz, executive assistant to the COO.” She extends a hand and I shake it, trying not to notice how perfectly manicured her nails are compared to my own slightly ragged cuticles. “I’ll get you set up. Follow me.”
She leads me to the elevator bank, swiping a card that makes a panel light up green. While we wait, she hands me a similar card attached to a lanyard.
“This is your access badge,” she explains. “You’ll need it to get through security here downstairs and to access the 28th floor. Keep it on you at all times.”
I loop the lanyard around my neck, feeling like a kid on the first day of school.
The elevator arrives and we step inside. Cressida swipes her card against a reader and presses 28. The doors close and we start ascending.
“So,” she says, turning to me with a polite smile. “First day jitters?”
