Authors: Heidi Medina
“Oh hell, Reagan, don’t get me crying again!”
Helen wiped her eyes quickly and occupied herself with trying to locate her
cigarettes. I silently pointed to her pocket, and then hesitantly leaned in
for a hug. It was something she wanted, but something she’d never initiate.
She loved me too much. Seeing my willingness to overcome my discomfort for her
sake, she grabbed me tight around the shoulders, taking care to not trap my
upper arms. Despite her desire for this physical contact, she was still
putting my feelings first and my heart swelled with love for this woman who had
taken me in all those years ago. Tears leaked from my eyes, despite my rather
forceful silent command that they stay put. She held on for several seconds
before reaching down to grab my hand, which hung limply at my side. “I’m going
to miss you, kiddo.”
“Me too. I’ll call you every day,” I
promised as we made our way back to the apartment.
Helen laughed. “Let’s agree to talk at least
once a week and go from there, okay?” I agreed that every day was probably a
stretch. “Just don’t forget about me up here in your new life.”
“Never,” I vowed.
Helen left the following morning, and Brooke
took me sightseeing that afternoon. Austin was huge, but with the amount of
things to see and do in New York City, Austin paled in comparison. We returned
that night and had dinner, as promised, with Gabby and Paul. I learned that
Paul was a professor at NYU, and as Brooke had mentioned, Gabby owned a coffee
shop a few blocks away.
“Reagan, what are your plans now that you’re
here in the Big Apple? Any idea what you would like to do?” Paul asked as we
sat in their living room, stomachs full from the amazing tilapia Paul had
prepared for us. My seafood experience to date had been what I ordered from
Long John Silvers, which admittedly was never the fish, but I surprised myself
by actually enjoying tonight’s meal.
I took a small sip of wine before
answering. “I know I would like to work in graphic design. I really like to
design websites, but I figure I’ll have to just take what I can for now, and
hopefully get my foot in the door somewhere,” I explained.
“Websites? “ Paul looked intrigued.
“Interesting. And seems you’d not have any trouble finding work there. I
mean, really, who
doesn’t
have a website these days?”
“You know Cup of Joe’s website could use a
makeover,” Gabby suggested.
“Yes, Gabby pays for it and I don’t think
anyone even knows it exists,” Paul snickered and winked at Gabby.
“I would be happy to look at it for you,” I
offered. “I can even take a few orders for you, too. I wasn’t all that shabby
at taking coffee orders in Austin,” I continued with a smile. Probably
presumptuous of me to practically ask for a job, considering I’d known them for
all of five minutes, but these days it was all about who you knew. And while I
had just about convinced myself that everything was going to be perfectly fine,
and the most amazing job would appear at the right time (repeating it to myself
nine thousand times a day kind of did that to me), I couldn’t shake the small
pit of anxiety that had taken root in my stomach. And so I was not above using
my connections, no matter how new or slim they appeared to be.
“Reagan, you will not come all the way to New
York just to pour coffee. No offense Gabby, you know I love your coffee,”
Brooke chimed in.
“None taken,” Gabby laughed good-naturedly.
“I have a full staff right now anyway, but it’s good to know in case I get in a
pinch.”
“Brooke, why don’t you see if your fearless
leader needs any help in the design department?” Paul raised a single eyebrow
in her direction. I turned to look at her. Fearless leader—what?
“I’m already on it,” Brooke replied with a
wave of her hand. “I’ve made some calls and I’ll know more tomorrow.
I blinked, looked between Brooke and Paul,
and then blinked again. “Wait a minute. Brooke, you made some calls? To
who? Wait,” I paused as my eyes widened in recognition. “To Elite?” I shook
my head. “No, Brooke. You’ve already done enough for me as it is. I don’t
expect this,” I protested. Elite Design, Inc. was one of the most prestigious
design firms in the New York area. I knew Brooke worked there, and had
secretly aspired to do the same. But despite my earlier pep talk about
connections and ‘who you knew’, this is not something I would have ever asked
of her. It was too much.
“Good Lord, girl!” Brooke laughed. “When
opportunity comes knocking, you certainly don’t slam the door in its face.
Like I said, I will know more tomorrow, and I can’t make any promises. But I
will do what I can. I’ve seen some of your work from Jen, and you’re good,
like crazy good.”
“Well, thank you,” I murmured, heat flushing
my face.
“Besides, if your resume doesn’t impress
them, that southern drawl certainly will. You’ll have them eating out of your
hand in no time,” Gabby joked.
“Hey! It’s not that bad,” I countered.
We all laughed as Gabby refilled our wine
glasses. I looked at each of their faces and repeated my mantra to myself. It
really was going to be okay.
It turned out Paul was right. Gabby’s
website was very outdated, as I learned a week later. The graphics were dull
and several of the links were still ‘under construction’. She shrugged
apologetically when I expressed my dismay, telling me she had paid a local
college student to set up the site for her, but he had transferred mid-build and
she didn’t have the know-how or time to finish it up. I was secretly appalled
she had paid anyone for the crap that advertised “the best caffee in town”
(obviously website design wasn’t the only area lacking for this guy), but
promised her I would be happy to make some changes and bring the site into the
21
st
century. I was finishing up my second cup of coffee, buried in
HTML code, when my cell phone rang.
“Reagan, how fast can you get ready?” Brooke
exclaimed into the phone.
“Ready for what?” I asked, my eyes never
leaving the screen as I deleted code, section by section. I was going to have
to start over.
“You have an interview at 2 pm with Isaac
Reynolds; he’s the head of our marketing team,” Brooke explained.
I gasped, and almost dropped my cell.
“What? Brooke, seriously? Two o’clock?” I powered down my laptop, scrambled
to collect my purse and waved to Gabby. Leaving the coffee shop, I practically
sprinted back to the apartment, trying to keep track and make sense of what
Brooke was saying, as she continued to explain.
“Yes, two. As in today. As in two hours
from now. I know its last minute, but trust. You’ll be fine. I told you I
had made some calls. Turns out, Isaac has a spot open on his team. He’s
leaving for Brazil tomorrow so, you know. Today it is.”
Today, indeed. I entered our building,
catching a glimpse of myself in the lobby mirror as I passed. Dear God. Two
hours to make myself ready for the interview of a lifetime? I needed at least
that much time to do something about that hair.
“Ok, I’ll be there. Thanks, Brooke,” I said
as I unlocked the door and raced for my bedroom.
“Yeah, yeah,” Brooke laughed. “Look, check
in with security when you get there and tell them you’re there for Isaac. Oh,
and bring a resume. I talked you up as best I could, but he’ll need one for
HR. Call me as soon as you’re done and fill me in!”
I tossed my phone on the bed and yanked open
the closet. No. . . . No . . . God, no, I muttered, flipping through hanger
after hanger, vetoing their contents. I finally settled upon a black,
knee-length pencil skirt and a deep plum colored silk blouse. Having just
showered that morning, I quickly dressed and stared at myself. The hair . . .
what to do? Up? Down? It’s an interview, Reagan. Not a date. I opted to
leave it down, hanging in a thick, dark curtain down my back. A light
application of mascara and gloss, and I was ready.
My cell phone pinged, and I discovered Brooke
had texted me the address to Elite. I still had an hour, but not being
familiar with New York midday traffic; I slipped on my black heels and headed
down to hail a cab. As I settled in the backseat, I googled Elite Design,
Inc., and brought up their website. I knew Brooke worked there as an
administrative assistant for Roger Preston, owner and CEO. Yikes, I thought as
I brought up his picture. Fearless leader, indeed. He looked every bit as
ruthless and demanding as Brooke claimed he was. There were no pictures of
Isaac Reynolds, no pictures of anyone else, actually. I scrolled through the
gallery of designs and projects that hosted the Elite name, forcing myself to
take a deep breath. My heart was pounding so hard, I was surprised the cabbie
couldn’t hear it. Then again, who could hear anything over the snake charming melody
that blared from all four speakers?
I was beyond nervous, but knew this was what
I had come to New York for. This was my chance. Mentally, and literally,
crossing my fingers, I exited the cab. I paid the fare, turned, and paused as I
stared up at the sleek building in front of me, all glass and sharp corners.
It was daunting. Straightening my blouse, and holding tighter to my bag
containing the promised resume, I pushed through the large revolving doors.
I barely had time to blink before I was
escorted up to the eighth floor. It seemed my name was already on the list,
and once I had shown ID, security had whisked me through without question.
“Miss Andrews, would you like any water,
coffee, tea?” the receptionist asked, after directing me to a seating area
consisting of four large, black leather chairs that looked as if they cost more
than my rent. Each.
“No, thank you.” I was too nervous to drink
anything and knowing me, I would end up dumping it all over myself. Not a
great way to put my best foot forward. Best foot forward? Helen would be
proud, knowing I was quoting one of her euphemisms.
Wait! Helen! I hadn’t even called to give
her the good news and ask for her to wish me luck! I contemplated making the
attempt—I still had ten minutes, after all—but was not given the luxury as the
receptionist quietly took a call and then beckoned me to follow her down the
hall. I was shown to a large office, expensively and stylishly furnished.
Rising from behind the mahogany desk was an older African American man with
salt and pepper hair. I guessed him to be in his early fifties. He came
around the desk to shake my hand, introducing himself as Isaac, while the
receptionist left, closing the door behind her. He was wearing black framed
glasses, dark navy blue suit pants and a white dress shirt. No tie.
He gestured for me to sit before his desk,
and I awkwardly took my seat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Reagan
Andrews,” Isaac murmured, his voice deep, confident, and all business. “Do you
have a resume for me?”
I slid one across his desk. “It’s nice to
meet you, too, Mr. Reynolds. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”
I flushed slightly. I really did have a southern accent, and yes, it was bad.
“I see you graduated top of your class in
Austin, and finished your degree this spring. Tell me, what brings you to the
Big Apple?” Isaac asked.
I took a breath, “Well, I’m very passionate
about web and graphic design. I feel it’s something I am good at, and needed
a place to start. New York seemed to be that place.” I didn’t add that I had
been dying to leave Austin, and put as many miles as I could between me and the
memories that haunted me there. The thing about memories, though? They
followed you no matter where you ended up. “I could be an asset to your team,
if given the opportunity.”
Isaac gave no indication if I had given a
satisfactory answer, or totally blown it. His face remained expressionless as
he briefly explained the position and asked me a few more questions.
“Ok, Miss Andrews. I should have a decision
within a few weeks. I am leaving tomorrow on business, but interviews will
continue in my absence. Someone should be in contact with you in the next two
to three weeks. Thank you for coming in today.” Isaac walked me out to the
elevators after I shook his hand and thanked him.
The interview hadn’t gone badly, I thought,
although I didn’t know if that was entirely true, or just me trying to be
optimistic. There were other applicants, obviously, and selling myself to a
prospective employer was not something I had much experience with, but overall,
I still thought I had done pretty well with the whole best foot forward thing.
I smiled to myself, deep in thought, when the elevator opened on the fourth
floor and a man stepped on.
My concentration immediately took a nose
dive, as, for some unexplained reason, my hands went clammy. He was at least a
foot taller than me, and was dressed in charcoal grey dress pants and a blue
button up shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and as he moved to
push the floor he wanted, I could see what appeared to be the edge of a tattoo
on his right bicep. And what a bicep.
Even in my semi delirious state, I couldn’t
deny the way his clothes molded to his large frame. His dark blonde hair was
unruly, expertly styled to appear as if he’d just run his fingers through it.
Gorgeous. No, the man was freaking hot.
In the six seconds it took me to notice all
of that, he nonchalantly leaned against the far elevator wall and looked right
at me. Holy mother of God.
“Enjoying your day?”
I looked at the elevator buttons. Were we
even moving? It suddenly felt as if it was a hundred degrees in this metal
box. I glanced back at him, as I felt heat rise up my neck. I found him
staring at me with piercing, deep green eyes that pinned me to the spot I was
standing in, taking my breath away. Literally. His eyes seemed to look right
into the deepest part of me, scouring over the secrets that lay there, and I shifted
uncomfortably.