Page 93 of Saved By the CEO

I let out a sad little laugh and stare at the blinking line. It mocks me. “What do I even say?”

“Why you want the job?”

I tilt my head and purse my lips, pretending to think. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to write that I want them to hire me so I can fuck Andrew Bennett?”

“Carly Jane Michaels,” she says, clutching her imaginary pearls. “Language.”

“I’m kidding,” I say, then add under my breath, “sort of.”

“Are you finally admitting to being deeply, desperately in love with your boss?”

I roll my eyes. “I wouldn’t take it that far.”

Annie gives me a look.

“I wouldn’t,” I insist, even though my face gets warm.

“Sure,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “But anyway. You’re not applying to this job just because you want to get dicked down by WALL-E.”

“WALL-E, really?”

“You have legitimate reasons. Write them.”

I look back at the blank document.

She’s right.

Yes, it would be nice to get away from Andrew’s office. It would be nice not to sit outside his door every day, pretending I don’t want to climb him like I’m a forty-something white man with a midlife crisis and he’s Mount Everest. A better title could also mean more money, which means I could help Mom more without doing mental math every time I buy groceries.

But that isn’t the whole reason.

I scroll back up to the job posting and read it again. Communications Coordinator. Press prep, project messaging, community response. The words are dry in that special way HR language always is, and somehow it still sounds fun to me. Challenging and terrifying, but fun.

I want to think about messaging, public trust, and how people react when companies say the wrong thing. I want to be creative. Use my brain. I want to be the person someone goes to for advice because it’s my area and because I’m fucking good at it.

So I write that. Not exactly that, obviously. But something along those lines, sprinkled with examples of how I’ve handled similar situations in the past.

It takes forever, and by the time I’m done, the popcorn is gone, Annie is snoring next to me, and I have a crick in my neck.

I attach my résumé before I can change my mind.

Then I hit submit.

By lunchtime the next day,I have refreshed the application page so many times that my finger is starting to ache. This is, obviously, very normal and balanced behavior.

I tell myself I’m going to the cafeteria because I need food, not because sitting at my desk waiting for a response that absolutely will not come today is slowly turning me into a hollow shell of a woman.

The cafeteria is busy when I get there. I grab a salad I know will taste like damp cardboard and head toward the drinks fridge.

Then I hear my name.

“Carly?”

My hand freezes around a bottle of water.

Josh.

He’s standing near the coffee station with another guy from IT. A half-wall with potted plants separates the drinks fridge from where they are, so I know he can’t see me. Which means he isn’t talking to me.