Page 23 of Glitched Play

And every word out of her mouth feels like another confirmation that this is happening.

By the time she says, “We'd like you to start Monday,” excitement collides headfirst with reality.

Monday. As in four days from now.

Sweat starts shining on my skin. How can I do this? My apartment is here, not to mention I should give a two weeks’ notice to my current employer.

Austin is two hours away and somehow I'm supposed to relocate, resign, pack, move, and become a functioning employee in less than a week.

I close my eyes.

"You're panicking," she says with a hint of humor in her voice.

"I'm evaluating."

Dara laughs. "That's just panicking with spreadsheets."

The embarrassing part is she's not wrong.

“Maci, you won’t be sorry and Mr. O’Ryan has added an addendum to your contract that you’ll receive two years’ salary if we were ever to terminate your employment, unless you commit fraud or something.” The last few words separated by laughter.

My eyes widen and I look over my shoulder at the boring bald guys in the conference room. “So, I should just quit?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, but I’ll need the addendum signed before I do.”

“Mr. O’Ryan thought you would say that. I’m sending it to your email now. See you Monday?” she asks.

“I’ll be there.”

Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I take a deep breath and march into the conference room. My heart might explode. I’m so happy.

“What are the smiles for Maci?”

I stammer, “Umm… umm… oh what the hell. Synatrix Global just offered me a job as their Creative Strategist. Can you believe it?”

I’m bouncing on my toes, and as they stare at me, I notice the frowns. They’re not happy. I’m a middle child and hate confrontation.

My boss twists his lip. “We expect you to finish this project.”

“I’m sorry. They need me to start on Monday and Synatrix is where I want to be. Not because this isn’t a great place, but it’s the expansion of gaming outside someone’s house. I’ll clean out my desk and forward all information related to projects. Feel free to call me. I don’t want to leave you hanging.”

“We won’t be able to give you a reference.” The head honcho chimes in.

“I know. Thank you for the opportunity but this is something I can’t pass up.”

The excitement lasts almost three hours. That's how long it takes before the reality of what I've agreed to settles over me.

By the time I get home, it looks like a tornado hit my living room but left the roof on. Boxes and storage bins everywhere.

I've packed exactly six things and somehow managed to create twice as much mess. Clothes are piled on my bed. My gaming setup is halfway disconnected. The contents of my kitchen currently look like they exploded across the living room.

I stand in the middle of the chaos with a roll of tape in one hand and wonder if I was quick too accept my dream job. Not that I don’t want it—I do, so much it’s terrifying.

For years I've told myself I was being practical. Stay close to home. Keep the stable job. Build the sensible career. Every decision made perfect sense on paper.

The problem is none of those choices ever made me excited to get out of bed in the morning.