After yoga, I lean against my bed and email Lola. My former-assistant-turned-good-friend is now my chief operating officer.
She is a jack of all trades and helps with everything in the office. There is absolutely no way I could ever do any of this without her.
I ask her again, for the millionth time, if she wants to attend today’s lunch meeting with me, knowing she’s going to shoot me down again.
Lola is more introverted and feels most comfortable behind the scenes, but I’m slowly trying to break her out of the awkward shell she keeps herself in. She lacks the confidence needed in our industry, even though she’s still young.
My phone pings instantly. I’m not surprised.
She’s a nervous nelly on the best of days, and there’s no way she’s sleeping, either.
The response is short and sweet:
No.
Love you lots.
Unable to hold back my laughter, I reply with a sad face, even though I never expected her to respond any differently.
I guess I’m doing this alone today.
Well, fuck it… that’s how it should be, right?
I didn’t work my way up to need the support of others. There is only one name on my office door:
Hughes.
And you best believe Annabelle Hughes can handle things all by herself.
* * *
Just a spritz more hairspray to ensure the curls hold throughout the day, and I’m done. Challenging, when you have long, thick hair that is hard to tame on a good day, let alone when you need it to behave most.
I tuck my pearl silk cami in my trousers, then shrug on my black Prada suit jacket.
My power suit.
I bought it for my first big client pitch and wear it to all my important meetings. It’s been good luck ever since.
Not that I need it, I remind myself. Luck shouldn’t be a factor today, my team and I worked day and night on this project, and we deserve the contract.
Just as I’m about to exit my bedroom, I turn around for one last look in the mirror.
A slight smirk graces my face.
Fuck yes, I look good, and I’m ready to be the badass businesswoman I know I am.
No more doubts.
I’m Annabelle Hughes, and I got this shit in the bag.
I grab my phone to call for my car, but it buzzes in my hand before I can dial.
Huh?
I glance at the clock. It’s ten to four. What the hell?
“Hello?” I answer as I pack up my work bag. People are screaming in the background, and I can hardly hear. “Hello,” I yell into the phone.
