CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER TEN

AMBER

He asked me out again. Sweet.

Life is good, and then I remember the reason he wants to go out with me—to get his mom off his back. Why am I not feeling like a winner?

Noah didn’t come inside when he walked me to the door. I didn’t let him. Didn’t want him to see my bland, tiny apartment. It is clean, though. Clean as one can make it, anyway. When I moved in, I scrubbed for three days to make things sparkle. Didn’t change a thing.

I wish it were morning, so I could call Manning Advertisement and speak with Tom’s secretary. This is a tremendous opportunity for me. A chance to get my foot in the door, and that’s all I can ask.

Before hopping into bed, I receive a text. Had a good time. Talk to you tomorrow. Good night.

I smile. It’s from Noah. I don’t know why, but I don’t text back. I set the phone on my nightstand and hook up the charger. Crawl under the covers and go to sleep. Dream of Noah. He’s the first date I’ve had since moving here. And I had a terrific time.

* * *

My alarm shrieks at seven a.m. I spring from the bed, jazzed, and kill it. Haven’t looked forward to a day like this in a while.

I’m prepared to tell them, “You’re damn right,” if, when I call, they ask if I can be there in an hour. Have to be ready first, so I race to the shower and clean up. Blow-dry my hair and apply makeup. Go through my closet for something to wear. Decide on a floral-print midi-dress. It’s cheerful and comfortable. I like it.

Seven forty-three arrives, and I’m ready to go. My foot is tapping wildly as I stare at the clock. Tick. Tick. Tick. I was going to call at eight—that’s when I assume their workday starts—but I can’t wait any longer. I’m on a high. Too much adrenalin.

I dial the number Noah gave me.

“Manning Advertisement.”

“Hi, I’m Amber Allen. Noah Dalton gave me your number and told me to call?”

“Yes, I’ve already spoken with him, and the only time we can fit you in for an interview today would be nine-thirty.”

“That’ll work.”

“I’ll let the front desk know to expect you.”

Chills form from head to toe. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I sit there for five minutes—glowing, I imagine—before calling the temp agency and telling them I won’t be accepting any jobs today.

“We have one lined up for you already.” Her tone is sharp. They don’t like it when you turn down jobs.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah. Well…” Click.

I decide on a quick breakfast of toast. Check and re-check the address for Manning Advertisement. Do the dishes (wash the knife). Go to the bathroom for a final once-over. Hair is fine, makeup is fine, dress is fine—no sign of toast crumbs anywhere. Guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.

I grab my resume and take off.

Showtime.

Let’s go get ‘em.

* * *

The agency’s on the third floor. The receptionist there asks me to wait.

Artwork adorns the walls; furniture is sleek and retro. This place is upscale, and I’m sure everyone employed here is brilliant. My self-esteem is taking a hit. Why did I wear this dress? Did I apply too much makeup? These shoes are hideous. I won’t fit in here. So, what am I doing?

I take a meditative breath and center myself. You’ve got this, Amber. I feel my shoulders relax and notice the mass of desks and cubicles behind the reception area. Bright and airy.

“Ms. Allen?”

The woman approaches me from the blindside, and I flinch. She’s about forty-five but appears younger. She’s wearing a dark blue one-button blazer over a white silk blouse. Her skirt is dark blue as well. The shoes on her tiny feet are Christian Louboutin pumps and probably cost her two grand. Her hair is spot-on: One would have to wake up three hours early to style hair like that. Red carpet stuff.

“Ms. Allen,” she says again.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

She extends a hand. “I’m Mrs. Kyle.”

I shake. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“I’ll be handling your interview, so if you’d follow me.”

She waits while I stand and then marches off. Leads me through a maze of desks to a sunlight-filled office. “Please, sit,” she says and takes a seat behind her desk.

“A lot of windows in here,” I comment.

“Yes. It’s nice.” She picks up a pen. “I understand you’re here for a marketing position.”

“That’s right.”

“Do you have your resume?”

My resume. It’s bleak. College internship and summer help. Macy’s and temp jobs since arriving in New York. Nothing I can do about it now.

“Right here.” I snatch it from my purse and hand it over with shaking hands.

“No need to be nervous.” She takes it and examines it. The room turns quiet. A fly buzzes in the next room. “You’re from Chicago, yes?”

“Yes. I was born there.”

“Friendly town.”

“It is.”

“I was there twenty years ago. Went to a little bar called The Cage. Ever heard of it?”

“Sorry. Can’t say that I have.”

Mrs. Kyle taps her lips with her pen as she relives a memory. Must be quite the memory because she’s smiling a nasty smile. She snaps herself out of it by shaking her head. “That’s enough of that, I guess. We should probably begin, huh?”

I sit up in my chair. “I’m ready.”

We’re twenty minutes into the interrogation when the phone rings. “Excuse me.” She answers. “Yes. Uh-huh.” She swivels her chair sideways. “Yes. I think so. Yes. All right. Thank you.” She hangs up and mumbles, “That was interesting.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, nothing.” She hands me back my resume. “Can you start today?”

I manage not to squeal. “Yes.”

Mrs. Kyle rises from her chair with immaculate posture. “You can wait in the break room while I line things up.” She wriggles her delicate fingers. “I’ll show you the way.”

Thirty minutes pass before Mrs. Kyle returns and takes me to another room that holds a long table with ten chairs on either side and a screen on one end. A projector on the other. She has me take a seat and then sets a mountain of paperwork in front of me. “Why don’t you fill these out, and if you have questions, you can ask Ms. Joyce. She’ll be in shortly to walk you through everything. There’ll be some videos for you to watch. Need anything?”

“I’m good.”

“Very well, then. Welcome to Manning Advertisement, and we’re happy to have you.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Mrs. Kyle crosses her right foot over her left, makes a half a turn, and steps. Glides from the room like she’s on a catwalk at a Paris fashion show. The woman is something else.

I finish the first form when a twenty-five-year-old woman with auburn hair walks in. “How are you doing?” she asks. She’s built like a pole dancer and wearing casual high-waist pencil pants with bow-knot pockets. Shirt is lightweight, double-layered printed chiffon. Am I the only one here not beautiful?

“I’m fine,” I answer.

“Good. I’m Doris Joyce, and I’ll be walking you through everything. Any questions so far?”

“No.”

“All right. Don’t hesitate to ask if you have any. I’ll be right over here.”

“Thank you.”

She takes a seat at the end of the table and thumbs through her phone.

I finish the forms with no help, and then she cranks up the videos. Finish up around one, and my stomach’s grumbling.

“You hungry?” Doris asks.

“Starved.”

“Vending machines in the break room. Food trucks show up out front at eleven and stick around until two. Restaurant down on the corner isn’t too bad, but they’re always packed. I’d have lunch with you, but I have a dental appointment at one-thirty, so . . .”

“I’ll just go to the break room.”

“Okay. Let me show you the way.”

“I already know. Mrs. Kyle brought me here from there.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Go.” Doris makes a move, and I stop her. “What should I do after lunch?”

“You’ll be in the break room?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’m going to have a girl by the name of Kathy swing by, and she’ll take care of you.”

“All right.”

“So you don’t have to wonder. You’ll recognize Kathy by her hair. It’s the color of a ripe tomato.”

I smile. “Got it.”

“See you later, then.”

“Thank you.”

I take a wrong turn to the break room, and somebody has to show me the way. They’re nice about it.

Lunch ends up not being too bad. Microwave cheeseburger, bag of chips, can of Coke to wash things down.

Yeah, not too bad at all.

I’m studying an oddly-formed chip, wondering what it reminds me of when I glimpse the flaming red hair. I wave. “Kathy?”

“Amber?”

“Yes.”

“How are you?” Kathy sits across from me. She has a plethora of freckles splattered across her nose and cheeks. Eyes are emerald, and they are to die for.

“I’m fine,” I answer.

“Liking it here so far?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Good.”

I put the odd-shaped chip back in the bag and tell Kathy I’m ready.

“All right,” she answers and rubs her hands together. “Let’s get you started, then.”

She guides me to a cubicle. “This is your new home.”

I thank her, and she checks the time and tells me to familiarize myself with things—the computer, keyboard, desk, and anything else. She’s not in charge of doling out assignments. “I’m guessing they won’t have you start anything until tomorrow.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

I set my purse on the desk.

“I’m down that way if you need anything.” Kathy points.

Down that way? Guess I’ll find her if I need her. “Thank you.”

Kathy leaves, and I sit down. Put my purse in a drawer, power up the computer, dink around. Check my phone after a while and notice a text from Noah. He’s wondering how things are going. I text him back: Got the job. Thanks for the introduction.

He texts back: Good to hear. Need to celebrate. Pick you up at seven?

I mull it over (Not really). Sure.

Quitting time shows up, and I’m feeling perky. Feeling grateful. The people I associated with today were nice. They all said, “See you tomorrow,” with a smile when I left. Think I’m going to like it here.

It’s six o’clock when I arrive home, and I have to get ready for my date. But first, I call the temp agency and tell them to take me out of the system. I’ve found a permanent job.

I think about calling Macy’s but decide to do that later. I need to clean up and find something to wear. I repeat this morning’s routine all over again, only much more quickly. Shower, hair, makeup. Rummage through the limited wardrobe in my tiny closet and decide on an Aloe vera-colored dress with matching belt. It’s flattering and hugs all my curves. Slip on a cute pair of Mary Jane heels, and I’m ready.

There’s a knock at the door, and I open it. Noah stands before me. What a handsome man.

“Hello, Noah.”

He answers by pulling me into him and kissing me.

I kiss him back. Hard.