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I wanted to ask if he needed a napkin to wipe the drool he was working up since he was so obviously gleeful about my predicament. One I didn’t need for him to spell out.
“I think I can pull it together and get those grades up and avoid failing,” I said. So what if a low grade would bring my average down? In my current position, I’d have no way to pay to retake those classes if I dropped them, and two of them were required. “When is the interview?” Maybe changing the subject back to why I came would get him to hand over the information, and then I could leave.
“Tomorrow,” he said, still keeping the paper tucked out of my grasp. “Are you sure you should spend your valuable study time chasing after something that you most certainly won’t get?”
“I thought they said they were open to interviewing anyone in poli-sci?” I retorted.
He narrowed his eyes at my prickly tone but sighed and handed over the paper with the time and place. He did not wish me good luck on my way out, but I didn’t tell him to have a nice day, either.
I was much too excited to go back to the apartment, even though there was always studying to be done. Instead, I headed into town to the upscale boutique where Brooke was lucky enough to have landed a plum sales position. There had recently been an opening, and she’d put me up for it, but Katie hadtalked me out of taking it, something I still regretted since it was commission-based and the stuff in there was expensive.
Brooke had promised to talk to the owner about me again, so when I hurried in, I tried to make a good impression just in case. If I got a paid internship and could work part-time at the boutique, that would make a real dent in my problems. Just a dent, but it was a start.
We went straight to the sales rack and picked out some suits. I had left behind the lavish new wardrobe Katie had bought me, but when I got home, I realized she had somehow slipped a wad of cash into my bag. It was dumb and childish to mail it back to her, and this way, it would at least advance my career. The last gift I’d accept from her and Aleks, it was going to help me on my road to financial independence.
I found a nice, form-fitting navy suit that was half-price, and Brooke let me use her discount on it, too. At the checkout, I chatted with the owner, a stern-looking lady with sleek silver hair and the most amazing, over-the-top handmade jewelry the shop also sold for a small fortune. If I could work there a couple hours a week, it wouldn’t just be fun. It could end up being pretty good money.
Back in Berkeley, I was too anxious about the interview in the morning to get much studying done, and ended up going to bed early so I’d be one of the first ones there the next day. The bus was bursting with commuters balancing coffees, phones, and briefcases, and for about the thousandth time, I wished I had a car. Even an ancient heap of rust like Brooke’s. That was a pipe dream, though, so I crammed in between a guy yapping away on his phone and someone who smelled like they ate onions at every meal.
Since I was early, I walked around the block, giddily taking in the building I might be working in if I had a stitch of luck. No. I’d dazzle them and make my own luck. The new suit gave me confidence, and the cool, foggy morning air dissipated the onion odor I picked up from my fellow passenger. As I made my way up the elevator to the lobbying firm office, there were stars in my eyes.
They blinked out when I saw the crush of other students already waiting to be called. It seemed everyone had the idea to get there early, making it seem like I was late. The receptionist barely glanced at me and waved her hand at a sign-in sheet. I quickly counted the names ahead of me. Eighteen people, all of them in crisp suits, and most of them older than me. My spirits wilted. Why would they hire someone shy of twenty when they could pick someone about to graduate who was ready for the real world? I’d never once been chosen for an internship before, and it was difficult not to get a little downtrodden.
Despite my dip in mood, I kept my shoulders back and my chin up when the receptionist told me it was my turn.
“Come in and have a seat,” a woman in her mid-thirties said from her desk piled high with resumés.
When she looked up, she tilted her dark red glasses further up her nose, then swiped a stray strand of jet-black hair behind her ear. She had a half-full cup of coffee next to her and grimaced when she sipped it.
“Ice cold,” she muttered.
“It’s only good when you order it that way,” I said, instantly feeling stupid for trying to break the ice. I should have waited for her to ask me a question.
Instead of pointing a perfectly manicured finger at the door and telling me to stop wasting her time, she smiled andagreed before introducing herself. “Vera Balakirev, but don’t even attempt it. Just call me Vera.”
I nodded, not daring to speak again. She outlined what I’d be expected to do, pausing to ask questions after each responsibility was listed.
“I’ve done all those things,” I said. Who hadn’t made copies or scanned documents? I used to volunteer in my high school office to stay out of the way of the bullies, and was a wiz at laminating, too. “I’m pleased to take on any office chore. It’d be an honor to learn the inner workings of political lobbying.”
Vera asked me a slew of questions about politics, lobbying, and even campaigning, probably hoping to trip me up and reveal that I was just looking for an easy class credit. I think I actually impressed her by the time I was done with the interview and left feeling on top of the world.
Maybe, just maybe, things were coming together for me instead of unraveling at the seams.
I was so excited, that I called Brooke, since the office wasn’t too far from the boutique. I’d noticed a coffee shop down the block while I was airing out the bus smell from my new suit, and she agreed to take her break and meet me there. I was still busy texting her as I walked through the coffee shop door, and bumped into someone who was coming out. His drink splashed all over the front of his suit, which was probably designer, and it was more than my rent for a year combined. Black coffee dripped down his maroon and gray tie and slowly sank into his shirt.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I said, jumping to the nearest table to swipe a handful of napkins that I began to press against the sodden fabric of his once crisp, white shirt.
“It’s not a problem,” a deep, rumbling voice answered from far above me.
I stopped swabbing his lapels and looked up. He had to be close to a foot taller than me, and his eyes were the deepest blue I’d ever seen. Sandy blond hair swept over his brow, and he flicked it out of his eyes as he smiled at me.
“No, I- I wasn’t looking,” I stuttered, shocked, almost speechless by how handsome he was.
Straight, patrician nose, very slight stubble on his strong jaw, and those lips curling into a smile really made me weak. I realized I still had my hand pressed to his chest, the spilled coffee soaked through the napkins to my palm. All I felt was how incredibly hard his pecs were under that sleek suit. I jerked it away and tossed the napkins for fresh ones, trying again to salvage his shirt.
“It’s really fine,” he said, putting his hand over mine and just about short-circuiting my brain. “Nothing the dry cleaner can’t sort out.”
It must have been his smile, with a hint of mischief, or maybe it was those sparkling baby blues, but I blurted out that I was going to buy him another drink. “I insist,” I said.
