After embellishing her resume, Valerie-a single mom-lands a job as an administrative assistant to the hottest, most entitled and obnoxious man she's ever met: Preston Cartwright, the CFO of the prestigious Cartwright & Sons Enterprises.
Several yea...
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I meet Barbara, the human resource representative, in the lobby of Cartwright & Sons Enterprises. She is waiting for me by the front desk, and I see the way she glances at the clock on the wall. I know it shows that it is 8:03 a.m. She purses her lips together but doesn't say anything about the fact that I'm three minutes late.
I consider apologizing, but before I get a chance, she forces a smile, and I don't know if I should be thankful or scared. And it's three minutes on my first day. They should give new employees some kind of leniency to find their way.
"Good morning, Barbara," I greet her instead of mentioning anything about the time.
"Good morning, Ms. Vaughn," she responds coldly, and I wonder if I should have called her by her last name. Maybe that's the custom at Cartwright & Sons Enterprises. It is an affluent and well-known real estate company, and I haven't exactly worked for a company like that before.
"Follow me," Barbara says and turns on her stiletto heels. Her perfectly styled bob doesn't even move as she swing as around, and her heels click rapidly on the marble floor. She is probably a few years older than me, but she looks and acts a hell of a lot more put together than I ever will.
I hoist my bag higher on my shoulder and follow her. She nods her head to the people we meet, but she doesn't stop to chat or introduce me. I get some curious looks and smile back while I try my best to look more confident than I feel.
Barbara leads me to her modern office and gestures for me to sit in the uncomfortable-looking seat across from her white and chrome desk. So I do, and it's as uncomfortable as it looks.
She goes through the details of what is expected of me as the new administrative assistant to the C-titles in the company. I've already received most of the information and studied it thoroughly, so I'm not surprised by anything she's telling me. It's the questioning look in her eyes that gets to me. Like she's wondering if I'll be able to handle the work despite her having a copy of my resume on the desk in front of her, and me having gone through several interviews at the temp agency to get this job.
It's intimidating and I think that's the entire purpose of her doing it. Like she's giving me one last chance to back out before she gets me a work badge and sends me up to the C-suite to meet the management of the company I'm supposed to be working for.
I swallow hard but keep the eye contact. It's not like I have no idea what I'm doing. Have I embellished my resume? Yes, but I have a college degree and several years of experience working in an office setting. Granted, none as affluent as this, and it's been a few years since I held a steady job—at least, one that did not include waiting tables—but I should be able to answer the phone and keep an organized schedule. I juggle my own chaotic life on a daily basis.
"Great," she says and gets to her feet. "Let's go."
I follow her like an obedient puppy, and we get my employee identification completed and finish all the required HR tasks. It takes over an hour, and then Barbara takes me to the elevator. I watch the numbers tick by until we reach the 13th floor—the top floor where all the executive offices are. We're greeted by a metal sign posted on a plain black wall that says C Suites.
