“Is that what he told you?”
“No. I just… know.” Or I thought I did.
I tried not to bring any personal stuff into this job. And I’d never even thought of suggesting to Danielle that we try to land Johnny O’Reilly as a client, just because I knew him through his sister. But last night, the opportunity presented.
Danielle shook her head, like she was deeply disappointed in me for not getting it. “He was toying with you, Angeline. Giving you attention to upset Brianna.”
“So… I’m to blame for other people’s bad behavior?” I tried to rein my emotions in. “I thought that was exactly the kind of thing you wanted me doing at parties. You know, making connections for you.”
Danielle’s eyes burned into me, making me feel small, when I was not small. I did not deserve to be talked down to, and yet… “Let me ask you, Angeline. Do you know how to make a connection with a man without flirting with him?”
“I wasn’t trying to flirt with him,” I protested, but my voice faltered. I really wasn’t.
But her words hit deep.
They were so very similar to words Flynn had leveled me with whenever he felt I’d overstepped a line at some party. Being too friendly—too warm, too kind, too sweet—to any other man who wasn’t him.
It was a reoccurring fight, one neither of us ever seemed to win.
Including last night.
I’d told him that he was being overly jealous about the attention I’d paid Johnny at the fundraiser. We weren’t even on a date; we were both working last night. Flynn as Elle’s bodyguard. Me as Danielle Duke’s intern, a publicist-in-training.
But now I asked myself… was he actually right?
“I know where the professional line is, Danielle.” The tears were drying up now, my hurt replaced with a need to stand up for myself. “I may be ‘passionate’ and, I don’t know… overly patient… but I listen to people and I try to treat everyone with kindness and respect.”
“Here’s the thing, darling,” Danielle said impassively. She leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the table and entwining her fingers. “Clients, and their families, and their partners, and their friends, and even prospective clients, will all behave badly at times. Some of them behave badly most of the time. It’s not our job to get manipulated by it. It’s our job to sugarcoat whatever they put out into the world. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. They take a shit, we sprinkle it with sugar before it floats downstream.”
I wrinkled my nose. Honestly. She’d given me that same metaphor the first day I started interning with her.
I never knew that she meant it quite so seriously.
But the look on her face was dead serious when she told me, “We don’t let them convince us that the shit they just took is actually ice cream.”
“You think I’m naïve,” I concluded.
“Not naïve.Sweet.So sweet, you think everyone’s serving up ice cream even when they’re not. And that would be a detriment to this company, if I were to hire you.”
I tried to swallow the lump that had formed; my throat was still burning, but I picked up the scotch. As I slugged it back—the whole damn thing—Danielle looked almost amused.
I winced and set the glass on her desk before standing up and looking her in the eye. My mentor. My would-be boss. All at once, standing here with my stomach burning and my heart in my throat, I was glad she didn’t hire me. Deeply glad.
Maybe I hadn’t found my place here at her company, under her expert wing, like I thought I had. This was my very first job, internship or not, ever. And I’d never wanted anything like I thought I wanted this job. When she let me go, my entire self-worth could’ve been ripped out from under me. Especially considering the morning I’d had.
But instead, this conversation only made me realize what I did not want.
I did not want to end up like the woman in front of me.
“Well, I’d rather see the world as one giant ice cream parlor than a toilet.” I picked up my purse. “And for what it’s worth, I was not flirting with Johnny O’Reilly, and I’m terribly sorry if I offended his date. Thank you, sincerely, for everything you’ve so graciously taught me. And for giving me a chance. I’m really sorry it didn’t work out. ”
I scurried to the door before my eyes could start leaking again; I could feel the dam stretching, about to burst.
“You’re welcome,” Danielle said behind me. “Keep that chin up, sweetheart.”
And that did it.
Something about the way she called mesweetheart—like I was some cute little kitten she could just brush aside?—made me stop in my tracks. Hadn’t people spoken to me like that my entire life? My sister’s friends? My sister’s boyfriends?
