I am a slot machine of questions.What happened? Who felt what? Why didn’t you tell me?But it’sherquestion directed at me that gets answered first as my heels meet the entryway’s hardwood.
“Where are you going?”
I don’t pause at the sound of her voice.
“Interview!” I shout over my shoulder.
“Good lu—” The front door cuts off the rest of that word.
I’ll tell her thank-you later. Right about the time I ask her about Jake.
Any other morning it would be a twenty-minute commute to Ford Law, but on a Saturday, it’s less than ten. Even set back from the main road, the five-story commercial office building covered in more windows than wall is not hard to spot.
I find a space right up front labeledVisitor Parkingand catch a glance of the Boise River before slipping in the front door. The lobby is silent and empty. Black-and-white checkered flooring leads to an empty elevator bank. I’m certainly not taking the stairs after my ankles already threatened to collapse on foreign stilts while crossing the parking lot. I find my destination engraved in a gold plaque next to the elevator door.Emma Dawson, fifth floor, it reads.
The ride up is a lot faster than I’d like it to be. It’s not enough time to think this through. I should have stopped and told Julia about it. See if she thought I was crazy. What makes me think this job will be any different from the last ten?
Adingand the doors open. I step into a hallway of plush burgundy carpet leading in two different directions. I completely skip over any wall signs and follow the sound of a female voice coming from the right.
When I turn the corner, a long desk with two receptionists greets me.
“Can I help you?” the closest one asks. Her cream-colored silk blouse is the only part of her outfit I can see over the shiny surface. Diamond studs sparkle through her shoulder-length haircut.
“Yes, hi. I’m here for an interview with Emma Dawson.”
Her friend lifts a hand to her mouth. A stifled laugh supersedes her “She’s on the left side of the building” directions. I gatherleftto meanless thanwith the way she emphasizes it. Her eye roll also suggests I should have read the signs and known that. Her attitude in general is a far cry from the politeness I expected in an office of this caliber.
I offer a thanks even if she doesn’t deserve one. It’s after I’m out of their line of vision but not earshot I hear the one who didn’t talk whisper, “Did you see what she was wearing?”
I may not feel thirty in many ways, but the catty, mean-girl vibe they put off feels high school to me.
There’s nothing about the opposite side of the building that’s inferior. It’s a mirror image of the right minus an occupied front desk. There’s no one to check in with, so I knock on the only closed door.
“Come in,” she calls from the other side.
I twist the gold handle, and a head of dark hair is visible over the top of a large monitor.
“Please have a seat, I’m just—” Her sentence ends abruptly when she lifts her head. “Oh! Hi! It’s?—”
“Emma,” I fill in for her. “Good to see you again.”
Her warm smile puts my nerves at ease.
“You too.” She gestures to the two leather chairs facing her desk. I take the one on the left on purpose. There’s no sense pretending I’m notless thanin this place.
“I hope you found me okay.”
I don’t tell her it took a run-in with a pair of pompous receptionists to do it.
“I should have known it was you based on the application. It’s not very often I run into someone with the name Summer. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“I’d love a water, please.”
I regret accepting her offer the moment she stands and presses her palms down a navy-blue blazer and pencil skirt. By looks alone, Emma Dawson embodies every bit of poise I expected from this office. Thankfully, her eyes have never strayed from my face. She swings open the door of a black mini fridge to the side of her desk. Color-coded labels in neat rows line the shelves. She fists two glass bottles and swings the door shut, handing me one.
“Thank you,” I say, taking it from her.
“Of course.” She sits back down and rolls her desk chair to the side of her monitor. “Mind if I ask you a few questions?”
