The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(10)
“They’re going to love you, dear.”
“Oh God.” I exhale heavily. “I hope so. It took me six damn interviews to get this job, and I had to move across the country for it.” I screw up my face in fear. “Have I done the right thing, Mom?”
“Yes, love, this job is your dream, and besides, you needed to get away from Robbie. The distance from him will do you good.”
I roll my eyes. “Mom, don’t bring Robbie into it.”
“Darling, you’re dating a man who is unemployed and lives in his parents’ garage. I don’t understand what you see in him.”
“He’s just between jobs at the moment.” I sigh.
“Then if he’s got nothing going on here, why wouldn’t he move to New York with you?”
“He doesn’t like New York. It’s too busy for him.”
“Oh, Emily, can you hear the excuses you make for this man? If he loved you, he would be there supporting your dream, since he doesn’t have any of his own.”
I exhale heavily. I’ve been thinking these things myself, but no way in hell would I admit it to anyone.
“Are you calling me to stress me out about Robbie, or are you calling me to wish me luck?” I snap.
“I’m calling you to wish you luck. Good luck, darling. Go and show them what you’re made of.”
I jiggle on the spot nervously as I look at the towering building above me. “Thanks.”
“I’ll call you tonight for a full debrief.”
“Okay.” I smile. “I’m going to go in.”
“Go get ’em, tiger.” She hangs up.
I stare up at the building and at the fancy gold letters over the large double front doors.
MILES MEDIA
I exhale and drop my shoulders. “Right. You can do this.”
This is the opportunity of all opportunities. Miles Media is the biggest conglomerate media empire in the United States and one of the largest in the world, with over two thousand staff based in New York alone. My fascination with journalism started in the eighth grade when I witnessed a car accident on my way home from school one day. Because I was the only witness, I had to give a statement to the police, and then when it turned out that the car was stolen, the local paper came and interviewed me. I felt like a rock star that day, and the shine never dulled. I’ve been to college to study journalism and done internships with the best companies in the United States. But it was Miles Media that I had my heart set on. Their stories are a cut above the rest; no other media company would do. I’ve applied for every position that has come up for three years and only recently got a callback. And even then, I went to six interviews before I was offered the job, and God, just don’t let me screw this up.
I take out my security card and put the lanyard around my neck, and I glance down at my phone.
No missed calls. Robbie didn’t even call me to wish me luck. Ugh, men.
I make my way to reception. The security guard at the front desk accepts my identification, and I am given a code to work the elevator. My heart is beating so fast as I get into the elevator with all the beautiful posh-looking people, and I push the button for the fortieth floor. I glance over at myself in the mirrored doors. I’m wearing a black pencil skirt that hangs to midcalf, sheer black stockings with patent leather high heels, and a cream long-sleeved silk blouse. I wanted to look professional and elegant. I’m not sure if I pulled it off, but here’s hoping. I pull my hand through my thick dark ponytail as the elevator flies higher and higher. I take a side glance at the others in the elevator. The men are all in expensive suits, and the women are ultraprofessional and wearing full faces of makeup.
Damn it, I should have worn bright lipstick. I’ll buy one on my lunch break. The doors open on the fortieth floor, and I stride out as if I don’t have a fear in the world.
Faking confidence is my superpower, and today I’m totally faking it till I make it.
Or at least die trying.
“Hello.” I smile at the kind-looking woman standing by reception. “I’m Emily Foster. I’m starting today.”
She smiles broadly. “Hello, Emily, my name is Frances, and I am one of the floor managers.” She steps over to me and shakes my hand. “Lovely to meet you.”
Well, she seems nice.
“Come through, and I’ll show you to your desk.” She walks off, and I peer into the huge office space. The tables are grouped into lots of four or six with partitions separating them from the others. “As you know, each floor of this building is a different arm of the company,” she says as she walks. “We have internationals and magazines from floor twenty down. Floors thirty to forty are news and current affairs, and above forty are television and cable.”
I nod nervously.
“The two top levels of the building are senior management only, and your security card won’t get you up there. It’s customary for new employees to be taken on a guided tour of the building, and Lindsey from human resources will come and get you at two o’clock this afternoon.”
“Okay, great.” I smile as I feel my confidence seep out into the carpet. God, this is all so professional.
“Most people start on level four and work their way up the building, so congratulations for starting on level forty. That in itself is amazing.” She smiles broadly.