He whispers, in a conspiratorial hiss, “I. Killed. Mufasa.”
My jaw drops open, the sticky remnants of my Listerine strip no doubt visibly blue on my tongue. I drop all pretense of subtlety and stare at him, utterly dumbfounded.
Did he just quote Scar fromThe Lion King?
His smile—a gentle, attractive pull of his lips at one corner—dissolves into messy laughter at my expression. He doubles over, clutching his stomach, and a deep, musical sound escapes him like it cannot possibly be contained a moment longer.
I still haven’t located my vocal cords.
The elevator pulls to a gradual stop on the ninety-eighth floor, and he pushes off the wall and grins with abandon. “I read that onaBite the Handlist of weird things you can say to strangers in the elevator,” he explains.
Somehow, a quick reply jumps out of me. “On a scale of one to ten, how weird wasthatline compared to the rest of the list?”
“Five,” he says, not missing a beat. His voice is scratchy. I wonder if I’m his first occasion to speak today.
“You spared me levels six through ten?” I ask.
“I wanted you to smile, not call security.”
It works, just as the doors open. My mouth gives in, pulling up into a smile at the absurdity of this man.
“There it is,” he murmurs. “You looked like you needed it.”
He throws me one last grin—like I made his whole damnyear—as he strolls into the Little Cooper Publications executive suite.
CHAPTER TWO
Eight minutes later, Molly breaks my heart.
We’re in a bland, forgettable conference room I’ve occupied hundreds of times before when all my frenetic nerves, all that anxious energy, leaks out of me like big corporate oil into the gulf. I have now murdered an ocean with my sadness.
“You were a strong candidate, Casey,” Molly says, voice gentle. “But ultimately,Bite the Handwent with someone who has more entrepreneurial experience.”
They went with someone else.
Which really means,You’re not good enough, Casey.
“As you know, BTH is kind of like a digital media start-up,” Molly says. “And… well, they found someone with that exact job history.”
My face flushes with mortification, sadness giving way to raging embarrassment in the span of a second. I feel hollow, but I force myself not to break eye contact with Molly as she continues to metaphorically stab me.
“Technically, it’s not even the same role you interviewed for,” she explains, trying so obviously to soften the blow. “The BTH team changed the job description to match the strengths of their new hire, who has a huge vision for the brand and plans to take a broader approach than we originally considered possible for this position.”
“What vision?” I ask, doing my best to disguise any resentment. “What approach?”
Her voice turns admiring, her eyes glassy, and that’s when I know Molly’s met the new hire herself. Already fallen under theirvisionaryspell. “Bite the Handis going to become its own subsidiary company. An independent website for social news, targeting a younger customer than our magazine audience. The new hire will be a project manager helping make that happen.”
What Molly’s telling me is that they loved this person so damn much, they created abetterjob just for them.
I nod, my focus dropping to the table between us in a signal of acquiescence.
This makes sense,my mind supplies for me. In a self-admitted coping mechanism, I start to rationalize all the reasons this is the only logical conclusion.
I’m too young for a new job already. It’s been only two years since I graduated from UT.
I’m too analytical for a project role.
Not enough of a visionary.
