Sweetly, she says, “Next time, don’t wear perfume.”
“I didn’t. There was a woman in the elevator.”
The pretty, brown-haired receptionist scrunches her face for a moment, then relaxes.
She moves her manicured hands up to her modest-sized chest and mimes having big boobs, like the woman in the elevator.
“Did she look like this?” The receptionist pretends to boost up the imaginary bust.
“Yes,” I say, laughing with relief.
I’m glad she believes me about the woman. I may be new to corporate life, but I do know enough not to wear strong perfumes to an office, where some people might have allergies.
She presses a button on the phone at her desk and says softly, “Jessica is here now.” She releases the button and looks up at me, her blue eyes friendly. “That woman in the elevator was Stephanie. She works in a department that doesn’t officially exist, so she has a different set of rules.”
“Really? That’s funny, because I work down in archives. That’s an entire floor that doesn’t officially exist.”
She presses her lips together, suppressing a laugh. “Stephanie’s department is a little different from yours.” She looks me over again. “Or maybe not.” She gestures toward a set of double doors behind her. “You can head in there any time.”
I take a deep breath and start to walk around the reception desk and toward the doors.
The girl stops me abruptly. “Jess, can I give you a word of advice?”
I stop and turn back, careful to keep my expression light and not show my anxiety. “Sure.”
“When Maggie asks you for something, don’t say yes right away.”
“What?”
“Say no. She won’t respect you if you’re too easy.”
My heart drops down into my stomach. This is the exact opposite of what Nick told me to do, and I don’t even know what I’m up here for.
The sick feeling creeps up again.
Chapter 7
I force myself to walk forward. I’m going to meet the vice president of Morris Music.
I know almost nothing about Maggie Clark. Nick told me to say yes to anything she asks. The receptionist told me to say no.
Maybe I’ll just keep my mouth shut the whole time.
My hand trembles as I pull open one of the double doors.
Walking in slowly, I try to get my bearings while still appearing more confident than I am.
Where is Jess the tomboy? The old me would push past the boys racing to the top of the stack of hay bales and proclaim herself queen of the castle. She wasn’t scared. You put a skirt on me, and suddenly I’m nervous and awkward.
The vice president’s top floor office is to die for. This place looks like something in an architecture magazine. It’s gleaming and bright, full of designer furniture.
“Over here, sweet thing,” calls out the woman who must be Maggie Clark.
She’s not at the enormous desk that dominates the room. She’s perching in a sitting area surrounded by leafy green plants.
“I’m in the jungle,” she says, waving in case I still hadn’t found her.
There must be a dozen enormous potted plants, some as big as trees, surrounding a sitting area with four leather armchairs.
A petite woman of about fifty, with platinum blonde hair and oversized glasses, sits in one of the chairs. She’s got an open laptop resting on her knees.
“This is quite the jungle.” I approach carefully, waiting to see which chair she’d like me to take, if at all. “You’re like a tiger in a lair.”
As soon as the word tiger has leapt from my mouth, I regret my words.
Luckily, she takes my joke the right way and laughs. “A tiger! That’s me, all right. I like you, Jessica.” She pats the seat of the chair nearest her. I carefully take a seat, crossing my legs like a lady.
“And how about you?” she asks. “Are you a tiger, Jessica? Can you growl for me?”
My cheeks grow hot. “Grrrrr.” Now I feel ridiculous. Was this a request I was supposed to say yes to? Or did I cave too easily for her to respect me?
She taps away at her laptop for a moment, her oversized glasses sliding down her nose. She sniffs, her nostrils flaring. “Ah, you’ve met Stephanie,” she says, sniffing again.
I nod, even though she’s not looking at me and won’t see my response. She’s focused on her laptop screen, which I can’t see from my angle.
Underneath her fringe of platinum hair, she has tidy brown eyebrows, filled in with an eyebrow pencil. I never could figure out eyebrow pencils, among other things. Her eyes are icy blue, and magnified by the lenses of her glasses. As I’m watching her eyes, I can see her pupils dilate and contract as she focuses on her computer screen.