"—Although the hours we work are not nearly what you were doing at Prescott," Marcel says. "We’d never, ever ask an employee to miss her sister’s wedding.”
“That’s a relief,” I answer, even though, honestly, isn’t that just the bare minimum?
“I’m sure it would be. We also take weekends off here," he says as though it's a point of pride.
"Although we do work the occasional Sunday," Monica says. "We have a lot of clients in Asia and that's their Monday, so we kind of have to."
"You gotta be available to the clients," Marcel says. "But you know all about that already."
Nodding, I say, "I do."
The next fifteen minutes are spent with the pair of them explaining to me what a junior ad executive position entails at their firm, and going over vacation time (two weeks per year to start), salary, the commission structure, and expectations of employees. I listen and jot down a few notes for myself, the entire time feeling a sense of dread building inside of me, even though they're saying everything I’ve always wanted to hear. There is ample opportunity for advancement here, the starting salary blows mine out of the water, and they're willing to allow for time offduring working hours for me to complete my degree. My sense of logic and responsibility is screaming at me to say yes and take the job. But my gut is telling me no. Actually, it’s probably my lady bits shouting no because they still believe there's a chance I could wind up back in the Caribbean with Mac.
"So, that's our pitch," Monica says, smiling at me. "We'd love it if you could start as early as this afternoon so that we can get the orientation and HR stuff out of the way today. We have a new client coming in first thing tomorrow morning and we’d love you to be a part of that campaign. Start you off with a bang."
Leaning in, Marcel lowers his voice. "We can't say exactly who the client is until you sign the NDA, but let's just say if you could find an overweight country singer who’s willing to inject himself with a new weight loss drug, that would be enormously helpful for us."
Take the job. Just take the job—you need the money, neither of them seems like an obvious malignant narcissist, and … it’s a lot of money. This is your dream, being handed to you on a silver platter. Just say yes."Can I take a night to sleep on it?"
33
So This is the Center of the Universe…
Mac
I’m here.I am really here. I stand in the lobby facing the bank of elevators, frozen in place. Partially because I’m freaking freezing. New York is cold in the winter. Ridiculously, ‘why does anyone live here?’ cold. But the main reason my feet are stuck in place is because I’m scared. Scared that when I get up to the thirty-second floor, she’ll say no, thank you. Not interested. And that would be a soul-crushing event that I’m not sure I’ll recover from. But no pressure…
I rub the back of my neck, trying to figure out how I wound up standing here listening to the ding of the elevators and the clicking of heels in this busy lobby? This suddenly seems like a terrible idea. Am I sweating? How can I be sweating when I’m so cold?
I tighten the grip around the bouquet of tropical flowers I brought from home and order my feet to start moving. I came all this way. There’s no turning back now.
When I finally step on the elevator and push thirty-two,I feel a strong mixture of terror and excitement flowing through me.You got this, Mac. You’re about to make her a great offer. You’re willing to trade in your life for one with her, wherever she wants to be.
The doors finally open and I step directly into the lobby of Prescott Marketing and Ad Solutions. A woman behind the front desk smiles and stands up. “Ooh! Flowers! For me, I hope.”
“Actually, they’re for Paige Chadw?—”
I don’t get out her name before the woman launches herself at me, clamping her hand over my mouth. Glancing around wildly, she says, “Don’t say her name.”
She keeps her hand there, muffling my voice as I say, “Is she here?”
“No,” she whispers, finally releasing my mouth. “She quit.”
Breaking out in a wide grin, I say, “She quit? Good for her. I knew she could do it.” I stand there smiling at the woman for a minute before it hits me. I have no idea where to find her now. “Any chance you have her home address?”
“I can’t give it to you,” she says. “That would be a violation of her privacy. For all I know, you’re a stalker.”
A thin, tall man who looks to be in his twenties walks up. “He’s no stalker. This is Mac Gamble, the pilot.”
I smile at him. “Yeah, that’s right. Listen, you don’t know where I could find Paige, do you?”
“Ssshhhhh!” the receptionist hisses. “Seriously! If he even hears her name, he’s going to lose it.”
Lyle rolls his eyes at her. “He’s in the conference room. He can’t hear us from there.” Turning to me, he says, “Do you see that office tower right there?” He points to the one across the street.
I nod, because obviously I can see the massive building.
“She’s in a job interview on the 32nd floor of that tower.”
