Virgin Lips

32. Your regular career woman

NOTE: I started this book before my break from writing, so it's set in 2018

NOTE 2: In this chapter there is a crossover that may spoil one of my stories for you, if you wish to avoid that, on my wall you find a reading order

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32. Your regular career woman

"Hello, may I help you?"

I swallowed. I couldn't have her repeat the question a third time, she'd call security thinking I'm just another nut job come to spy on her employer. "H-Hi ..." You can do this, you can, Joanna, you can.

The woman at the reception nodded, albeit annoyed. "Are you here for a reason?"

"Yes, I ..." Come on. I swallowed my anxiety, and spoke clearly: "I'm here for the interview."

The receptionist sent me an exhausted look, clearly thinking my IQ was way less than what she's used to in this marvelous building. My cheeks did redden, but I had a small needle hidden in my pocket, meant to stab me every time I thought I should give up. "What interview?" The woman asked in a sigh.

"Uh ..."

"This building hosts the offices of one of the biggest companies in the country, Ms. Brooks, there are job interviews every day for different positions. You need to be more specific." The receptionist spat, clearly sick of me.

Gulping down my fears again, after having stabbed my thigh with the needle for the 12th time in 5 minutes, I nodded. "The publishing house. I ... I am here for the interview as ... editor." I don't know whether she looked at me with bewilderment mixed with mockery, as I thought she did, but I'd have probably deserved it. However, all she did was press a button on her phone, and start talking to someone about interviews, giving my name.

Being dressed decently – black pants, white shirt, black jacket, very business-like, even perfect makeup thanks to Valerie as usual – didn't take away the feeling of being in the wrong place.

What was someone like me doing all the way to Manhattan, seeking an interview in one of the most exclusive buildings? I said I would still try to get my things moving for my future, but I should have started way smaller than this.

"You can go up." The receptionist said in a flat tone. "27th floor, you'll find someone greeting you to escort you to her office."

Swallowing my saliva for the umpteenth time, I nodded. She pointed me to an elevator, and I headed there. All the way up, I kept thinking I should just run away.

Stabbing myself over and over again with the needle served to nothing: the closer I got to my floor, the more I felt like a fraud and a fool. I have little to no experience as editor. It's true that this is a fairly new publishing house, but the name of the company it belongs to ...

"Good morning." A guy in his early twenties greeted. He was dressed somewhat informal – jeans and shirt – but still looked highly professional.

"Hi."

"Are you're here to see Ms. Benedetti?"

I nodded without a word, and he gestured for me to follow him, which I did quietly. It was a pretty large place, but not many people around. The job offer did say it was a freshly founded publishing house: they literally started a couple of months ago.

That's why I went for it, thinking maybe they wouldn't be as picky as others would, but then I googled the address ... I don't read magazines and I don't watch TV other than movies and shows, so it took me a bit of research to understand who would I be dealing with.