In that alternate reality, I’d be wearing something other than this black dress from Old Navy and the flats that, I realize now, are scuffed in the back.
“That’s all,” he says, finally, and it’s like being released by a hypnotist. I stand abruptly, start to offer him my hand again, remember what he did the first time, and snap it back to my side.
“Thanks for the opportunity,” I stammer, before turning and walking out of the room. Now, it’s not just my face that’s flushed, but my entire body. Shamelessly, I grab the front of my dress and tug on it a few times to brush cool air over my heated skin.
The elevator is open when I rush through the executive lobby, doors just starting to close. I stupidly stick my hand in, only praying it’s not sliced off by the onyx stone. It lets out an angry beep and swishes open. I jump inside, breathing hard, jamming the button that will take me to the lobby.
All I want is to get out of this building as fast as possible.
Luckily, the elevator doesn’t seem to need the key card to take me down. It descends in the same manner it came up—way too fast, a controlled fall. My stomach swoops.
The doors open and I’m coughed into the cavernous front lobby. My flats donotclick like the other shoes around here, and it makes me feel quiet and small, a little mouse as I hurry from the elevator to the towering front doors.
It’s still spitting rain outside, but I don’t care. Maybe it will cool me off.
I’m just pushing against the revolving door when I hear someone walking fast behind me, and for a terrifying moment, I think it might be Dane Rourke.
The idea of him following me downstairs should be preposterous enough for my brain to dismiss it immediately, but apparently, it’s not, and I turn around expecting to see him.
“Hey.” The HR assistant says, voice muffled, face bored. “You still want the job?”
“What?” My voice is too loud and bounces back at me off the glass. I’ve already entered the revolving door, and I try to push on the door to come back into the building, but it won’t budge. Ihave to walk all the way around the revolving doors to get back inside, and I feel like a total idiot.
There’s no way he said what I thought he said.
Sighing, he rolls his eyes and says very slowly, “You still want the assistant job? For the executives?”
I should say no—that much is obvious. If my parents were here, they would never have let me set foot in this building.
Mary would tell me to listen to my instincts, and in this case, my fear, and do the safest thing. Even Aunt Ruby might wince and start talking about other opportunities.
But this is my last shot at a job here in the city—a real, concrete reason to stay. Furthering my career before returning to Missouri like a march to the gallows. One last chance to find myself before I’d have to tuck it away and settle down with a nice Lancaster boy.
This will be one last raised glass to Frankie in heaven, who’s no doubt peering down at me, urging me to do the scary thing.Take the fucking job, Lucy.
I stand up straighter in front of the assistant, who looks on, exasperated.
“Yes,” I say, brushing my hands down my dress and giving him a defiant stare right back. “Yes, I am still interested in the job.”
Chapter 2
Lucy
I’ve been offered a lot of jobs on the spot, usually by very desperate fast-food places, but none of them have been quite like this.
First, the HR assistant marches me up to the hiring office, where I catch a glimpse of Linda through a glass window, talking on the phone. It was never going to be her—maybe I should have assumed it would be theexecutiveinterviewing theexecutive assistant. Maybe that would have kept me from making a complete fool of myself.
It doesn’t make sense to me. Surely there must have been other more suitable candidates. People who did better during their interview than I did. So why hire me on the spot?
Unless therearen’tother candidates, and this is the start of a thriller with a ridiculously expensive set. Maybe there’s a reason people don’t want to work here—and it could start with the woman at the front counter, her bob unreasonably, perfectly straight.
“You’ll need to start studying theserightaway,” the assistant says, dropping several binders into my arms without fanfare, though they send me stumbling backward a few steps. “They have all the information you need to know about the execs—and,despite what you might be thinking, yeah, youdoneed to know this stuff. You need to know which brand of organic coconut water they drink, their allergies, their preferences for which private jet to use, depending on where they’re going—all that. They’ve fired people for fuck-ups way smaller than the wrong drink. There should be notes from the last assistant but take them with a grain of salt. You know, since he was fired.”
I stare at the binders, then glance up at the assistant, whose name I still don’t know, with a slightly slack jaw. This is real. This is actually happening.
“I’m getting the impression that executive assistants don’t last long here,” I say, trying to be friendly, and he just gives me a tired look.
“Lazy people don’t last long,” he shrugs. “This is a competitive environment.”
