Well, that’s depressing. She’s the damn editor of British Vogue. I can’t compete with that shit. It took me three whole years to get a crappy job at Miles Media. I wash my hands and fix my hair in the mirror. Not that it matters anyway, I guess.
I have a boyfriend, and Jameson Miles is nothing to me. I storm back to my desk with a fire in my belly. I won’t even see him. I fall into my seat.
“How was the tour?” Aaron asks.
“Yeah, good.” I smile as I open my email.
“Did you go up to the top levels?”
“Uh-huh.” I begin to glance through my five thousand emails that arrived in the two hours since I left. Jeez, there’s a lot of news around here.
“What about the offices?” Aaron replies. “They’re something else, right? All that white marble.”
I roll my lips as I try to act casual. “Uh-huh.”
“I didn’t get to see the management offices when I started,” Molly says. “He wasn’t taking visitors that day.”
I glance over at her.
“I went into his office, but he wasn’t there,” Aaron chimes in.
“Who? Jameson, you mean?” I pretend to be uninterested in this conversation.
“Yeah, did you see him at all?”
“Yep.” I open an email. “I met him.” I fucked his brains out too.
“Was he a rude pig?” Molly frowns. “Everyone is so scared of him.”
“No, he seemed fine. I was in his office, and he seemed okay.”
“You were in his office while he was there?” Aaron frowns.
“Uh-huh.” I keep typing. Please stop talking about him.
“What are you guys doing tonight?” Molly asks. “The kids are with their dad, and I could do with pizza and beer. Screw the diet and the gym.”
“Yeah, I’m in,” Aaron replies.
“Really?” I smile. I can’t believe they are asking me out on my first day.
“Yeah, why not? Do you have anything else going on?” Molly asks.
“Well, seeing as you two are the only people I know in New York, what else could I possibly have going on?” I shrug happily.
“Pizza and beer it is,” Molly replies as she continues typing.
I begin to scroll back through my email list, and the name Jameson Miles pops up as a sender.
What?
I glance around guiltily and click to open it. It’s probably a welcome email sent to everyone.
Emily,
You are required in my office at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow for a private meeting.
Go through security and tell them you are coming to see me. They will buzz you up to my floor.
Jameson Miles
CEO Miles Media
New York
“What the hell?” I whisper.
“What?” Molly asks.
“Nothing,” I stammer as I minimize my screen. Shit. What does he want? Just play dumb.
I write back.
Dear Mr. Miles,
Would you like me to bring my team?
Emily
I tap my pen on the desk and look around nervously as I wait for his reply.
Emily,
No.
I do not want to see your team, nor do I want you to tell anybody about our scheduled meeting.
This particular meeting is of a private nature.
Jameson Miles
Miles Media
New York
My eyes widen. Oh my God . . . private nature? What the hell does that mean?
I pinch the bridge of my nose. I need pizza and beer too. Hurry up, five o’clock.
The bar is noisy and a hive of activity, and I can hardly wipe the goofy grin from my face as I look around at all the people who have just come from work. I’m sitting at a bench table with Molly and Aaron in a sports bar, and I’m feeling oh so New York.
It’s a Monday night, and I’m out and about with what feels like a million cool people.
“All I’m saying,” Molly says as she chews her pizza, “is that if you didn’t see him all weekend, and he has no problem with that, there’s an issue.”
“Maybe he was just busy,” Aaron scoffs.
“Maybe he’s just lame,” Molly huffs.
We’re discussing Aaron’s new boyfriend, and for some reason, I feel comfortable enough to make Aaron feel better about his situation because mine is worse. “Well, get this.” I finish my mouthful. “You want to hear lame? I’m dating a guy I’ve crushed on since I was thirteen years old. A football star who was only interested in me after he injured himself. We had a few great months together, but then he dove into some kind of life crisis.” I sip my beer. “He doesn’t know what he wants to do outside of football. He’s unemployed with no prospects. He lives in his parents’ garage and just recently wrote his car off.” I shake my head in disgust and pull my phone out of my bag. “He wouldn’t move here with me because he doesn’t like busy cities. He didn’t call me this morning to wish me luck, and it’s now”—I glance at my watch—“nine forty p.m., and he hasn’t even bothered to call to see how my first day went.”