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“I already showed the admin your accounts—just the ones that are public—and they loved everything. If you’re up for it, they want you to come in tomorrow for an interview.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes. At nine o’clock. You say the word and I’ll confirm it with them.”
“Okay,” I squeaked. “I’ll be there.”
“Great. We can carpool.”
“Great,” I echoed, imagining myself behind the camera of all the viral videos of hockey players that flooded the internet.
“You’ll be great at this, Em. I believe in you.”
At least one of us had faith in me. I would be a nervous wreck face-to-face with all those guys. But it was a job, and I would do whatever it took to make it work.
We said our goodbyes, and I fired up the mixer, pouring every ounce of my nerves into those two batches of cinnamon rolls.
Chapter Seven
Emily
Roxie: The cinnamon rolls sold out in the first hour.
I read the text seven times. Roxie’s Café was known for having the best breakfasts around. If my cinnamon rolls were a hit, that had to mean something. Baking had always been my escape, and I had mostly kept that side of me a secret from everyone, so I had never known if I was any good.
But people liked my cinnamon rolls?
My mind strayed, wondering what they might think of my bread that was much more perfected than the recipe I had thrown together last night.
Emily: Seriously?
Roxie: Yes. Customers are begging for more. Can you stop by the café for another batch?
My fingers itched to work themselves into a ball of silky, sweet dough. To escape into the bliss of baking.
But I couldn’t.
I was getting ready for my job interview with the Evergreens.
Cinnamon rolls wouldn’t pay the rent, but this position could.
And I didn’t want to let Sebastian down. He had arranged this interview for me on super short notice and his face had been so cute as he described the job when he got home last night.
I sent Roxie a reply and pulled a pink and black blazer out of my closet. It hugged my curves and cinched at the waist, giving me the best shot of looking cool and hip.
Did cool people use those words? Probably not.
I groaned and slipped my arms into the blazer, checking myself out from every angle, sighing when I wasn’t sold.
But with a pair of black leggings and a black cami, it was the cutest outfit I owned, so it had to work.
I zipped myself into a pair of ankle boots that always gave me a boost of confidence and stared at my reflection. I needed to be on my game. They were used to working with confident hockey players and were in an industry where it seemed like everyone had poise bordering on conceit.
I had to walk into the admin’s office like I knew what I was doing. They would smell fear on me from a mile away and this job required me to get right in the fray of all those big egos and people who made more in a month than I had ever seen in my life.
If I got the position, I would oversee the team’s social media accounts. I would be behind the camera making those funny videos I always saw on TikTok and Instagram with hockey players dancing to popular songs or dressing up in princess dresses and twirling on the ice.
I checked myself out one last time, pressing my eyelashes up and tugging my blazer down. There’s no way I was what they were looking for. But I’d go to the interview and try.
