“Sorry, Mom. I’ve got to go.”
And then I hung up on her.
I numbly let myself back into the apartment and finished my cold waffle. As I ate, I flipped through the stack of mail piling up on the counter. Three bills had come from the storage unit and a handful of others. I had put good faith in the idea that perhaps my mom was paying them online. But apparently not. I opened one of the bills, aghast at the amount. Three months of unpaid bills had led to a collection threat and notice of a lien if not paid in time.
Though definitely tipsy, my mom had also sounded happy on the phone. Not a care in the world. Whenever my mom thought herself to be in love, she became the best version of herself. No matter how many times she’d been burned before, she was all in with any relationship. Which was all part of the tragedy. There was light in her eyes, excitement on her face… Though she loved us girls, we rarely got that part of her all on her own. It was always attached to a man, her self-worth literally held in the balance of a selfish, scheming, and conniving man out for a good time. And my mom fell for it. Every. Single. Time.
Harsh?
Maybe.
True?
Yes.
I pushed aside the bills and the guilt, not sure what to do with myself. I eyed my computer. Duke said he’d send the email today. Beyond two emails from a clothing company I bought from one time three years ago, there was nothing. I even checked my spam folder. It was probably too early. He could have forgotten. I hadn’t allowed myself to be that excited about the idea in front of him. Maybe he decided to cut his losses before he started.
I spent the next part of the morning cleaning the apartment as quietly as I could, disinfecting the countertops and dusting the furniture while mentally berating myself for even considering the job. It wouldn’t happen. And even if it did, who was I to think I’d ever win the permanent position? My mind wanted to reject the whole idea because it felt like some sort of handout. I wasn’t sure, of course, but it was all so sudden. Convenient. Not to mention, Duke was…hard to figure out. I wasn’t sure what his motives were.
I checked my email again. My heart dropped because, this time, there it was. One unread message shown in bold from RDM Marketing.
Not Duke, specifically. From Mel at RDM.
I opened the email. Might as well have all the info to make an informed decision. I squinted closer. It wasn’t an application as Duke had led me to believe. This was an acceptance email.
DearNora,
Congratulations on being chosen to take part in the internship program at RDM. We, as a company, are looking for highly motivated and creative individuals who are interested in helping to grow the company. This is a paid internship position. You will be tasked with entry-level assignments to grow your knowledge base and hone your skills while working under a highly reputable graphic designer. Three candidates will be accepted into this three-month program. As part of the last month of the program, each candidate will be required to design and create an entire branding package for a business of your choosing, including a website, logo, social media campaign, etc.
The winner of this competition will receive a full-time position with RDM as an official intern. After the employee gains the necessary education and experience, they will be promoted to a full-time graphic design position. The winner of the internship will be eligible to choose a graphic design program approved by and paid for by RDM Marketing to complete their schooling.
If you would like to accept the terms of this program, please click here to sign…
I skimmedthrough the rest of the email, my cursor hovering over the link to complete the signup. Okay, so Duke’s company sent me an email offering me everything I could possibly ask for, beyond just skipping the whole competition thing and hiring me full time. Even the idea of having the rest of my education paid for brought on such a feeling of relief it was almost hard to breathe.
The struggle to make and save money was an uphill battle I’d never quite conquered. Whenever I got something substantial tucked away, an unexpected bill would appear, or my mom would wreck our car, or one of my sisters would need money for dance camp or a basketball tournament. I could never get ahead. Not fully. And then North Dakota happened and blew everything else out of the water.
I clicked on the link, finding more detailed information. With a sigh of relief, I discovered that the internship would pay about as much as I earned from the cafe. Which meant that I could quit my job as waitress and use the extra hours working for Cathy to throw towards my bill. It would leave me in the same position, money-wise, but at least I’d be working in a job with potential. If I did end up winning the competition, my education would be paid for. I couldn’t say no even if I wanted to.
Looked like I would have to find a way to co-exist with Duke Webber at the office. There was no way I would be giving up this opportunity.
12
One week later,I found myself walking on the city sidewalk leading up to my building, this time the heels on my new shoes clicking pleasantly on the pavement. The fashionable pants and stylish top I wore felt like a step up in the world. For the first time ever, I was not wearing clothes or aprons covered in stains. Instead of my hair being tangled into a messy ponytail, it bounced against my shoulders, leaving me feeling soft and feminine. I wondered briefly if Duke would notice, until I pushed those thoughts away. I didn’t care if Duke liked my hair. And the second I did care, I vowed I’d quit.
Well.
Maybe not quit…
This time, the streets were bustling all around me. A motorcycle’s loud engine roared as it passed by, zipping way too fast down the crowded streets. Large city buses and a handful of taxis sped past. A certain buzz was in the air. A crisp morning full of possibility. There was underground parking for all companies in the office building, but today I parked in a lot above ground, two blocks away. Just this one time, I wanted to bask in the feeling of my romantic-comedy moment. I stopped to grab a coffee from the street vendor, smiled cheerfully at other men and women making their way to their offices, and put some change in an open guitar case while a man played an old Bon Jovi song for his mobile audience.
I opened the doorway and breathed in the smell of paper and coffee and some sort of pastry sold in a shop on the first floor. The first floor was nothing new to me. Nothing had changed but my own circumstances, and it was hard to keep the grin from my face. I stopped in front of the elevators, but as I reached for the button, another finger got there first.
Duke.
He was wearing his fitted gray slacks and white button-down shirt with a yellow tie and his sleeves rolled up halfway. Handsome and effortless and sinfully sweet all rolled up into one delicious package—an extremely off-limits package. He had been in meetings a few of the nights I’d been working my janitor shift, and he’d only waved, which I very much appreciated.
“Hello.” I spoke casually, breezing into the empty elevator when the door opened. My voice sounded level and smooth, for which I gave myself a mental pat on the back. For all the effort it took to hide my own jitters, he seemed as calm as a summer’s morning.
