Page 2 of Hating the Boss

Freaking pantyhose.

Who was I?

I also had on my most expensive perfume that I saved only for special occasions, trying my best to stretch out its life expectancy because I doubted I would be able to afford it again.

I had to admit I did feel powerful in the dress, though. Feminine, yet strong. Successful, even though I had just enough for my half of the rent and microwaveable ramen for the month. You would never know it in this dress, with its modestly scooped neckline and tailored waist. You’d think it was Chanel.

“I don’t know…” said Brittany thoughtfully. “Those floral capris and matching tank tops I whipped up for that one middle school dance was hard to beat.”

“We looked like the Olsen twins.” I laughed, the memory popping into my head.

“Who didn’t want to look like them?”

“True.”

“Pretend you’re Mary-Kate in today’s interview,” said Brittany. “Child actor to successful businesswoman.”

“Hey, I thought I was Ashley.”

“Whoever. Just nail it.”

“I’ll try.”

“Good luck,” she said in a sing-song voice before we said our goodbyes.

I slid my phone back in my purse and leaned my head against the window, the railings of the Brooklyn Bridge towering above me against the darkening sky.

“Please don’t rain,” I whispered, feeling unprepared without an umbrella in a dress that could very well reveal too much when wet.

As the skyscrapers of Manhattan replaced the low brick buildings of Brooklyn, the nerves began to flutter in my stomach, threatening to fly up and escape my throat. I swallowed them down, distracting myself with one of the many articles Brittany had texted me the night before.

5 Ways to Look Confident in an Interview.

Breathe.

Don’t fidget.

Eye contact.

Ask questions.

Be positive.

I read through the tips, even though they were pretty much givens. Reading was still a good distraction, until the bus came to a slow stop, and the nerves came exploding back.

“Sixth Avenue!” called the bus driver disinterestedly before pulling this morning’s paper from the dash to read.

I pulled myself to stand and balanced carefully on my heels as I made way down the aisle, giving the driver a quick nod of thanks before disembarking down the stairs. Outside on the sidewalk, the air felt thicker than the usual mugginess of the city. It smelled like rain. I looked up at the sky, willing the gray to magically turn blue. A summer shower was not welcome today.

Quickly, I checked the GPS on my phone to make sure I had my bearings. Feeling sure of where I was, I headed toward a nearby crosswalk, keeping a careful eye on the sky. The city was bustling, men and women in suits pushing their way through the crowd, having conversations through the Bluetooth devices in their ears. I tried to keep up, careful not to get a heel caught in the pavement. Trying to feel just as important as they made themselves out to be.

I broke free and found myself on the block of my destination, a towering glass building with a peaked top that seemed to be piercing the storm clouds. And maybe it actually did, because I suddenly felt a sprinkle of rain against my cheeks as I peered up at what could be my future place of employment.

“Shit,” I said under my breath, picking up my pace as I strode for the building.

Another sprinkle of rain, the drops bigger this time, left a pattern on my dress.

“Shit. Shit. Shit,” I whispered.