We are in our fourth year, as my mother likes to conveniently bring up on every phone call we have. A “boyfriend on standby,” she has coined. Each time she said it, it would send me straight to the store to stock up on my stress foods: Reese’s and Twizzlers.
I think I may need some right now, because staring at my wristwatch only makes my heart accelerate faster. Torn between leaving and staying.
If I leave now, what would that say about me?
Public relations is all about image. My image said I was reliable and hardworking. You don’t get to be a strategist without a little sacrifice.
When I picked up my boss’s dog shit, I remembered that opportunity was waiting for me around the corner.
Talent is ten percent in this town. The remaining amount is pure drive. I had the ninety.
My phone buzzes on the table, interrupting the motivational speech I was just giving myself.
Aidan:I was really looking forward to our night out…
My fingers are ready to reply, but I can feel a set of eyes on me as I pretend to work. All I can do is mindlessly cross off items I had already completed today on my notepad.
A faint voice cuts through, forcing me to look up. When I do, all I see is his sleepless stare. Those piercing green eyes and shaggy brown hair dangling in front of me.
I purse my lips together, give him a once-over, then return back to my checklist in a matter of five seconds. My philosophy being that there is no point in conversing with the people who came in and out of this firm. The front desk people who didn’t have a nameplate were just an afterthought. The next day would come and the introductions would start all over again.
“Is Chris Blackburn here?” the man finally asks. I nod at my paper, pointing to the man giving me a dissatisfied sneer. Chris immediately locks eyes on the newcomer, exhibiting a grin that only I could tell was forced, leaping out of the chair and opening his arms to this disheveled man with a levity that I only ever saw with prospective clients.
With each signature on the dotted line, I could visibly see the dollar signs flashing behind his eyes. An expression I had witnessed time and time again when a new client entered the firm.
They both grip each other’s hands tightly, each trying to size up the other on who could lift more at the gym.
This is already off to a great start…
“I can’t wait to get started,” Chris says. The rest of their conversation is muffled as he shuts the door, purposely looking at me to signal that I am unwelcomed. Focusing on the clock, I try to forget about this new prospect.
One day that will be me.
I’ll have a shiny office with a fancy nameplate. Until then, if Chris asks me to pick up dog shit, I’ll grin and bear it.
If he asked me to buy Christmas gifts for his family, I’d do it—no questions asked. These are the sacrifices. Because being an assistant isn’t supposed to be a forever thing.
After twenty minutes and lots of fidgeting, I receive an email titled, “New Client - Holden Strauss.” The contract was attached to the email for him to sign. This could either go one of two ways: Chris would have me deep-diving on his profile or finally send me home.
Twiddling my mom’s silver opal ring on my index finger, I mutter to myself, “God, let this be a good thing…” and read the rest of the terms out loud. This must be the day of people loving to sneak up on me when I’m not looking, because Chris is standing right in front of me. Three feet away, Holden is lingering nearby with a big, shit-eating grin as words roll off Chris’s tongue. “What was that?”
Sliding the ring up and down my finger, my words tangle in my head.
“My mother… is just inviting me to go shopping this weekend.” My shoulders shrug nonchalantly, trying to convince myself of my own lie.
Chris squints his eyes at me while laying his leather-bound notebook on my desk. The word “Confidential” is underlined several times on the page reserved for Holden.
“Uh-huh… please type up any notes and give Holden a rundown on how we operate in our follow-up to the contract.”
I nod in agreement as he shuffles back to his desk. I then take the scribbles on the pages and put them on a new Word document.
Like I’ve always done since I’ve started, I add a few suggestions to punch up the strategy Chris has laid out for Mr. All or Nothing before sending it back for final approval.
A minor win, since my primary goal is to nod, type and fetch. Speaking is a privilege I don’t have.
Chris shoos me out of the office once the notes are typed up. I bolt for the elevator. The countdown starts now, as I have thirty minutes to get across town to get the burgers Aidan requested. I frantically called Sal, the owner, as I exit the elevator.
“Just another forty minutes, please!!”
