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Today, I find a job.
A real job. Not some made up pity work for a gorgeous mystery man who followed me all the way home after buying me a pregnancy test.
Looking in my closet, I find a clean black skirt, white button-down blouse, and a gray cardigan. Pulling my hair back and adding a pair of fake pearl earrings, I give myself a nod in the mirror.
I look like a Plain Jane, ready to report for clerical duty. No more pounding the pavements, a red scarf around my neck, interesting earrings dangling from my ears, searching for fancy art jobs that will feed my soul.
I was foolish to rely on my boyfriend in the first place, living off his salary while trying to find a dream job.
Today, I find a job, any job, that will feed my tummy and pay my rent.
Mystery man from the store last night did give me an idea.
Over summers in high school, I worked as a front desk clerk at Terrific Teeth, the only dentist’s office in my small hometown. The name was terrible, but I was good at the work. I kept bookings organized, and the patients seemed to like me.
I could do office work again. Sure, my hard-won art degree will silently cry tears behind my back, but for now, rent, utilities, and food are taking priority. I have to find something.
Anything.
Stepping out onto the bustling city street, I’m greeted by a crisp spring morning breeze that nips at my cheeks. The sound of traffic, car horns, and people chatting surrounds me, the chaotic energy of the city.
Amidst the suits and briefcases, the professional working world charging the pavements, I feel a fierce determination burning in my heart as I embark on my mission.
For hours, I walk from office building to office building, venturing further and further away from my apartment than I have ever ventured before on foot. Rejection after rejection weighs heavily on me, but I refuse to give up. With each step, my desire for stability and independence only grows stronger.
Thankfully, I had chosen to wear flats today, making it easier for me to explore the unfamiliar streets of Manhattan. As I walk past sturdy brownstone buildings, I come to one on the corner with an updated, modern-style glass façade. A sign catches my eye: ‘Rockwell Enterprises.’
My curiosity piqued, I hesitate for a moment before summoning my courage and walking through the revolving doors. Inside, the lobby is opulently decorated with marble floors, modern art adorning the walls. A beautiful woman sits behind a desk, her perfectly manicured nails clicking away on the keyboard.
“Excuse me,” I say tentatively, hoping this could be the opportunity I’ve been searching for. This side of town, this building, this lobby, it all breaths energy into me even if the job may not.
The woman eyes me from head to toe, her bright eyes filled with intelligence. “Hello. I’m Claudia.”
“Hi, Claudia. Nice to meet you. My name is Lily.” I stand there, trying to remain calm as she studies me. “I’m so sorry to bother you but I’m just wondering… are you hiring?”
“Actually,” she says, rising from her seat. “We are. Well, he is. My brother. This is his business. I’m just filling in for the time being. It’s this desk that needs manning, actually.”
“Oh.” Hope sparks within me. “Well, I’d love to be considered for the position.” I quickly pull a paper resume from my bag, my name, Lily Watkins, swirling across the top. “I have experience working a front desk back at home.”
She takes the resume from my hand, flipping through the pages with a critical eye. After a moment of silence, she looks up at me, a small smile playing on her lips.
“I’ll let him know you’re here. Just take a seat over there.” She gestures toward a plush waiting area. “I’ll go inform Mr. Rockwell of your interest in the position.”
I thank her with a grateful smile and make my way to the seating area, my heart pounding with anticipation. She disappears down a long hall, leaving the desk open. As I settle into one of the leather armchairs in the lobby, I can’t help but feel another surge of hope rising within me. Maybe this could be my chance to start fresh in this hard city.
I can’t help but stare at the big, beautiful black desk, picturing a nice potted plant, maybe an orchid on its shiny top.
Get the job. Sit behind that desk. Make it my own.
Minutes tick by slowly, each second feeling like an eternity as I wait for the man that must be both the boss and owner of this business. The soft hum of the air purifying system fills the silence, adding to the tension in the air. Finally, the woman returns, her eyes bright with excitement.
“Mr. Rockwell will see you now,” she announces.
As I follow her down the long hallway, my footsteps echoing on the polished marble floor, I feel a mix of nerves and excitement swirling inside me. The door to Mr. Rockwell’s office looms ahead, the frosted glass displaying his name in elegant gold lettering. With a deep breath, I push the heavy door open and step into the luxurious office space.
The room is bathed in warm light streaming in through large windows that offer a breathtaking view of the city skyline. A massive mahogany desk sits in the center of the room, adorned with a sleek computer and stacks of neatly organized papers. The walls are lined with bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes and intricate figurines from around the world.
And there he is, the mysterious Mr. Rockwell, standing by the window with his back to me. His tall frame is silhouetted against the golden light, his dark hair perfectly styled, bits of salt showing through the pepper. As he turns around, I catch a glimpse of those piercing blue eyes…
