When I figure I’ve had enough, I gather my documents, packing them into a folder and setting it on the desk. I look in the mirror, and despite being exhausted, I look vibrant, alive. I remove the hairband from my wavy chestnut hair and run a brush through it, one hundred strokes, the way I’ve been programmed to do my entire life. My hazel eyes with glints of green look bright and hopeful. Being away from my parents is definitely good for me. I look at my wrist, at the bangled tattoo I got on a drunken night in college and smile. It was my first act of rebellion, and my mother threw a fit when she saw it. That was the first of many times I took charge of my life.
I text Casey goodnight before climbing under the covers, setting the alarm for 6:00 a.m. My interview is at nine, and the hotel is within walking distance of CJJ. I feel the anxiety building in my chest and decide to take a herbal sedative to help me drift off. Tomorrow is the start of a whole new chapter in my life.
* * *
Nothing went to plan.
I hit snooze on my alarm for an hour, who the fuck does that? I eventually get up at seven in a daze, legs tangled in the blanket. Before I know what’s happening, I find myself face down on the carpet. After a serious struggle, I manage to shower and dress, running downstairs and reaching the restaurant a few minutes before it closes.
“Just scrambled eggs and toast left, Miss,” the waiter tells me sheepishly.
“That’s fine,” I reply. “Just make it quick.” I look around at the fancy restaurant. A few people are reading newspapers or finishing up what I assume was a leisurely breakfast.
I scarf down the scrambled eggs and toast when they arrive. Distracted by the headline relating to my father taking over another company, I squeeze ketchup on my white shirt. I spring up from the table, knocking over my coffee, spilling some of it on my light gray pants.
“Fuck!” This morning is not going my way.
“I am so sorry, Miss, are you okay?” the waiter asks, coming over with a stack of napkins. I was in such a hurry, I hadn’t even bothered to use a napkin.
“Yeah, thanks for breakfast. I need to get changed.” I tip him and leave the restaurant, my cheeks heating at the stares from the other patrons. “What? You’ve never spilled on yourself before?” I yell as I hurry to the elevators.
After rushing upstairs to change into the second outfit I thankfully brought with me, I make it out onto the busy street at exactly 8:50 a.m. I tug at the black pinstripe jacket I paired with black pants and a charcoal shirt.
A brisk walk to CJJ would take me fifteen minutes, so I’ll have to make a run for it. I slip off my Alexander McQueen pumps, slip on my flats, which I always keep in my bag, and I’m on my way. This should give me sufficient time to visit the ladies room, fix any flyaway hair, and touch up my makeup.
I pause in front of the skyscraper CJJ is housed in. I have to catch my breath from the jog and the reality that in a few minutes, I am going to be sitting in a boardroom with some of the people I admire most in the business, trying to convince them that I deserve the job they’re interviewing me for.
People walk around me as they make their way to their offices, the buzz of the central business hub giving me a heady feeling. One day this will be me, I remind myself. I take one step forward toward the revolving doors, unable to hide the loony smile on my face. I can imagine the thoughts running through the heads of anyone watching me. And then it happens. Someone bumps me from the back, I miss the gap, and smack my face into one of the revolving doors. I catch myself before I’m injured but land on my ass inside one of the spaces, having to scurry into the building on my knees when the exit appears.
A woman rushes toward me. “Oh, my God, are you okay?”
“I don’t know.” I answer in a daze. “My head hurts like a motherfucker.” She helps me up and leads me to the front desk.
“Give me a minute, I need to get something for that,” she points to my forehead. I reach up and touch it, and its tender. It’s going to fucking swell, and I’ll have a double head during my interview. I feel the tears burning my eyes, but I bite down on my bottom lip until the wave passes.
The woman returns holding an ice pack in her hands, which she places against the side of my forehead. “How are you feeling, sweetie?”
“Stupid.” I let out a groan.
“You aren’t stupid. It was an accident,” she says kindly.
“Yeah, someone shoved against me, probably ’cause I was standing out there like an ass.”
“Just take a moment to get your bearing,” she coos. “I’m Kiara, by the way. I’m a receptionist at CJJ.”
I spring up, the mention of CJJ reminding me of the reason I’m here. I feel a bit woozy, but I ignore it. “What time is it?”
“Five minutes past nine,” Kiara replies.
“Oh, God, I had an interview with Catherine Cole at nine.” I say, my voice laced with panic.
“Sit down, Hun. I’ll call her assistant. What’s your name? Didn’t catch it with all this,” she says lightly. How can she be so calm when inside I’m dying?
“Eliana Hernandez,” I answer.
“Hi, I have Eliana Hernandez here for Catherine. She had a bit of an accident downstairs, if Catherine could give her a few minutes to recoup, she’ll be up there shortly.”
Kiara smiles down at me. “Sure, I’ll hold.”
