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“I assure you,” I say, biting my tongue and straining my words. “Working for Mildred Mason was anything but small. If anyone understands pressure, it’s me. I worked two jobs to support my sick mother and would have gladly stayed in Alaska and taken on a third if she allowed me.”
“My dear…” she says, patronizing my ability, “… Hollywood is not Alaska. I mean, you’re not exactly dressed for the role. Appearance is everything.”
I look down at my suit then gaze at theirs. So what if it isn’t designer? I don’t understand why that would influence their decision to hire me. I can do the job, that should be all that matters.
“I can do the job,” I reiterate, though struggling to compose my words. “I wouldn’t have come out here if I didn’t think I could do the job.”
Sonia laughs, strategically placing the pen on the corner of her red, plump lips. “You’ll get eaten alive.”
“Sonia,” Charlotte and Emerson mouth beneath their breaths, their face shadowed by disappointment.
“With all due respect, Ms. Jones, pressure is knowing that time is ticking, and for every minute that passes, I have a mother who slowly forgets who I am.” I stand up with a wobble, leaning on the table for support. “Thank you for the opportunity. I’m sure you’ll find the right person sitting in reception.”
My smile is forced, my confidence completely shattered with emotions running high as I walk fast, out of the room, toward the elevator with my tears held back. How dare she think I’m incapable and don’t understand the meaning of pressure. My anger, combined with the lack of sleep, pushes my sanity over the edge. As soon as the doors open into the lobby, and my face is met with the scorching sun, I burst into tears in front of random strangers who make no effort to console me, simply staring at me like I’m some kind of fool.
Back home, I curl up into a ball on the sofa, nursing the chamomile tea in my hand. The mug I hand-carried from back home, made by Mama during one of her pottery classes. Cradling it in my hand brings me closer to her. I want so much to pick up the phone and call her, but the humiliation of today is too much.
Flynn left a note that he’s out. Desperate to find a piece of home, I call Liam and tell him what’s happening, needing to hear a familiar voice.
“They just don’t know you, Milly. It’ll work out. I’m sure there’s another job waiting that will see you for who you truly are. I really hate that you feel this way.”
“You should have seen her, she acted as if I was a five-year-old applying for the job. I’ve never felt so humiliated. California is different…”
“It’s not home.”
I miss him so much. The smell of his skin when he sweats in the workshop. The way his hair falls over his eyes—much to my annoyance—only for me to sweep it away. Four days and this is the longest we have been apart.
“I want to come back home,” I cry openly into the speaker, tasting my tears as they fall to my lips. “I miss you, I miss Phoebe… and Mama.”
Liam remains quiet, allowing me to express my emotions in ways he has never heard from me before. After several minutes of listing all the things I miss about home, I quieten down, enough for him to finally get a word in.
“Have you spoken to your mom?”
“Not yet. I was going to call her after I got the job. God, how stupid was I to think I was good enough.”
“Hey, don’t you dare for a second think you’re not good enough. What makes them better, huh? Just because they have money doesn’t make you less worthy. They’re not us. They’re not bred to understand what working hard means.”
I suppose he has a point. I’m just too upset to rationalize with my depressed self. We somehow move onto his work, updating me on what’s happening back home. I miss the boys in the workshop, their antics, and the way they sing country music loudly as they tinker on the cars.
Just as we’re about to say goodbye to each other, I hear the beep of another call coming through.
“Sorry, Liam, I’ve got another call. Can I call you back tonight?”
“Always.” I hear his smile before I say goodbye and answer the other call.
“Milana?” The voice is familiar. “It’s Emerson.”
Shit. I straighten my posture and respond with a chirpy tone. “Hi, Emerson.”
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No, just talking to an old friend.”
“Great. First, I’m sorry for Sonia being so rude today. She’s a great publicist and ruthless when it comes to the media, but sucks at being a human.”
I smile with relief. Emerson doesn’t come across like Sonia. It’s good to know I’m not the only one who thinks she’s rude.
“I wanted to offer you the job. If you’ll take it, of course.”
