It’s not me.
It’s you.
“I don’t understand,” I managed.
Danielle sat behind her desk and reclined in her leather chair. She regarded me across the wide slab of slick marble. There was nothing on the cold surface but her phone, a sleek laptop and an agate paperweight with no actual papers beneath it. She didn’t seem to do much work here. No; this was where she met with colleagues and clients to display how successful she was. Ones she wanted to impress or intimidate.
I’d never even stepped into the building before. I did all my work for her remotely.
Maybe this should’ve been my very first clue that this wasn’t going to be a happy meeting.
After a moment, she broke the silence. “What don’t you understand, Angeline?”
I took a breath. Then I took a sip of scotch. The instant it hit my throat, I coughed violently. God, that burned. I’d never drank scotch before.
She thought this would help me right now?
I set the glass carefully on the desk and looked up into her eyes. Danielle regarded me dispassionately. She wore a bright pantsuit, crimson red, with a luxurious, silky blouse, her hair in a sleek inverted bob. I was pretty sure I recognized the lipstick she’d paired with the suit:Soulcrushing Red.
There were tubes of it on the glass display along the wall beside me, along with other makeup from my sister’s celebrity makeup line,Kiss & Tell. And a framed album. And magazine covers with my sister on them. It was like a holy shrine.
“Well… all I ever heard from you,” I said carefully, “was that I would have a role at this company, after the internship.”
“Not would, darling. Could.”
“So, then… why can’t I?” I sniffled back the tears and snot that threatened to gush forth in an unholy flood, knowing I sounded like a sad little girl who’d been denied a play date with the cool girl at school.
Danielle’s phone lit up on her desk for about the dozenth time since I’d sat down and she’d crushed my soul. It made no sound, but her eyes flicked to the glowing screen. Like whatever was on it was more important than my fledgling career evaporating around me.
“Look, Angeline.” She finally looked me in the eye again, almost impatiently. “You have a way about you. It’s very… sweet. I know you mean well. But it’s just not going to work.”
“I thought we worked well together.”
“We did. You did everything I asked, and I’ve appreciated your enthusiasm. Your work ethic was never in question. It was your… how shall I put this delicately…” She tapped a black-tipped acrylic nail on the marble desktop.
“Please. You can be indelicate. Just…” I swallowed against the sick feeling in my gut. Rejection.Failure.Sitting here beneath the framed poster of my sister’s solo album cover from a few years back—her name in gold letters,ELLE, and the album title below,BOLD, her pretty face gazing down on me—it felt worse, somehow. “I want to know.”
Danielle studied me for a long moment. Then she said bluntly, “You get too personally involved with clients.”
I blinked at her, confused. “What?”
“Tooemotionallyinvolved.”
I blinked again, trying to force back the tears that were threatening. Again. God, I was fragile today. “Emotionally involved? How? I mean, I care about—”
“You’re very emotional, sweetie,” she observed, with no emotion whatsoever. “Passionate. There’s nothing wrong with that. It just has no place in our clients’ lives.”
“But—”
“I can’t be any plainer than that.”
“I… I try to treat them like family. You told me, when you hired me, that we—”
“You were never hired, Angeline. This was an internship. And it’s done now. I would’ve liked to offer you a position, for Elle’s sake, of course. But I can’t.”
For Elle’s sake.
Not for my sake.
