Brooklyn: It screams “I could out-design your flat ass any day. So give me this job with a signing bonus.”
Cammie: Ha. With the sleep I got last night, I'd settle for a signing latte.
I didn’t get the chance to read her response because we were already pulling up in front of the Sterling Bank Building. I’d never actually ventured inside of it before, but it was one of the tallest office buildings in downtown Los Angeles and I’d seen it countless times. Its black metal frame paired with its imposing shiny black glass gave the building an industrial, masculine feel. Even the heavy doors served to intimidate guests as they entered the pristine lobby.
I paused just outside of the front doors and took a deep breath, trying to get my bearings. I was twenty minutes early for my interview. My outfit was still wrinkle-free and fit like a glove. My pad folio was filled with extra copies of my resume and reference letters, and I’d rehearsed every question that Grayson Cole could possibly ask:
Greatest weakness? My inability to settle for anything less than what I deserve. I’m stubborn and persistent.
The honest answer? My inability to overcome my schoolgirl crush on you even though you’re a self-righteous ass.
I would NOT be giving him the honest answer.
I reached for my phone to check the suite number of Cole Designs just as a businessman yammering into his cell phone, bumped into me from behind. I lost my balance and in a matter of two seconds, my pad folio went flying across the concrete and I had to think fast to catch myself on my hands and knees. The asphalt rushed to meet me and I hissed as my kneecaps caught the brunt of my weight. The sound of ripping tights was the icing on the cake.
“Watch where you're going,” the man snapped, not even bothering to help me up or apologize for bumping into me. “Jesus. No, I’m still here,” he barked into his phone. “Go on.”
I ground my teeth together as I pushed to sit up on my heels, and then I reached to collect the papers that had slipped out of my pad folio. Once I’d stuffed them back inside, I stood and flinched at the feeling of blood running down my tights. I had nothing to clean it off with and my tights were already stained down to my shin.
Awesome.
I straightened my dress as best as I could and assessed the damage. Other than the small amount of blood, there were two giant holes in my tights directly over my kneecaps. I knew the fabric would continue to split as I walked, but my dress would look too sexy without the added cover the tights afforded me. I was early, but not early enough to run home and change. My only option was to trash the tights and pray no one noticed my short hem and skinned kneecaps. I’d have to distract the interview panel with my sparkling personality if I had any hope of making it out of there with a job.
With my chin held high, I pushed through the front door of the building just in time to see the rude man step onto one of the elevators. He turned and I caught a better sight of him. He was middle-aged with thinning hair and a greasy forehead. His beady eyes narrowed when he spotted me across the lobby, as if he were angry with me for the accident out front. The audacity.
I purposely waited until he was long gone before I made my way over to the elevator bank. While I waited for the next elevator to arrive, I pulled out my phone and checked the confirmation email from an assistant at Cole Designs.
“Cole Designs, #1160”
It seemed easy enough. I took the elevator up to the eleventh floor, slipped off my tights without flashing the security camera, shoved them into my purse and then watched the numbers change above my head. This was it. Cole Designs was the premier design firm in Los Angeles and I had one shot at landing a job there. I just had to prove to Grayson Cole that I was a capable architect. MORE than capable according to most of my professors, but their letters of recommendation probably wouldn’t be enough to sway Grayson Cole. No, I’d have to really impress him during my interview.
The elevator doors slid open and I stepped out onto the eleventh floor with a confident smile and a walk that belonged on a runway. (Y’know, a runway that didn’t mind bloody kneecaps.) The elevator opened up to a small waiting room with a petite blonde sitting behind a mahogany desk. She was facing away from me, chatting with another employee. I didn’t recognize either of them from the employee section of the Cole Designs website, but I couldn’t really see their faces.
“No. Seriously, the teenager swore that she’d never been sexually active,” the employee whispered, much louder than she probably intended.
“Was her mom in the exam room with you guys?” the receptionist asked.
“Yes! That’s why she didn’t want to tell us the truth.”