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The three women waiting in the reception area snicker, each of them impeccable in designer dresses and four-inch heels. Between the three of them, there’s so much silicone that my eyes have no choice but to look. My small chest, though natural, looks flatter than ever.
Inside the office sits a panel of three other women—a gorgeous young woman in the middle, the lady who called me in on her left, and another beautiful brunette on the right. Combined, they shatter any confidence I carry. Each one uniquely stunning in her own way.
“Sit down, Miss Milenov,” the older lady instructs in a less-than-impressed tone. “I’m Sonia Jones, and I’m Emerson’s publicist.”
“Thank you.” I smile, politely. “Please, call me Milana.”
“Milana,” the woman in the middle repeats. She appears to be young, perhaps in her mid-twenties, dressed nicely in a denim blue off-the-shoulder blouse. I’m unable to see her body behind the table, yet she looks fit, typical California girl with dark blonde hair cut to her shoulders and flawless olive skin. “It’s a very pretty name. I’m Emerson Chase. I’m sure you know who I am.”
The name doesn’t ring a bell, and all eyes stare at me with curiosity, waiting on my response. I don’t watch television, movies, or keep up with social media like Phoebe does. I assume she’s a model. The interviews that I had passed were formal, not once mentioning who this high-profile client is.
“I apologize for my ignorance, I’m not quite sure who you are. I don’t, um… get out much.”
The second it left my mouth, I regretted it instantly. I sound dumb.
“You don’t know who Emerson is?” Sonia questions with slight mockery, scribbling something on her notepad and sliding it across to Emerson.
Again, I smile, hiding my nerves and sounding my words in my head so as not to sound like a bigger fool. “My life back home consists of two things… work and family. I’m a hard worker, perhaps a workaholic. I take things seriously and wish I had time to relax, but unfortunately, time just gets away from me.”
“Understandable.” Emerson smiles warmly, flashing her perfectly white teeth. “You sound like what I’m looking for, a hard worker.”
Sonia clears her throat, quick to interrupt. “Well, let’s get down to it then, shall we?”
She proceeds to ask me a string of questions, many that I can easily answer and some that are out of my comfort zone. Scenarios like how will I react and what will I do. They are odd and judging by the type of questions, I conclude that Emerson Chase is a household name, just one that hasn’t made it to mine.
I could feel myself breaking out into a sweat, question after question with no end in sight. Sonia Jones is relentless, not allowing Emerson or the lady on the right to get a single word in.
“Hi, Milana.” The woman on the right, a stunning brunette wearing reading glasses, introduces herself as Charlotte Edwards, Emerson’s lawyer.
“I want to make you aware that this role deals with many confidential matters. If you were successful, you would need to sign a confidentiality agreement.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem, my previous role dealt with highly confidential legal matters, so I understand and have no intention of breaching my employer’s confidentiality.”
She smiles in response, jotting down some notes while I continue to sweat like crazy, riddled with nerves and praying that my deodorant works the magic it says it will.
“Milana,” Emerson speaks while reading my resume that sits on the woodgrain table in front of her. “This role will involve round-the-clock work, including traveling. How does this sit with your personal life?”
“I don’t have one,” I answer honestly. “I moved here with my brother. I don’t have friends or acquaintances. I’m here to work.”
The three of them turn to look at each other, no facial expressions to indicate they are pleased with my answers.
“I’ll be honest, Miss Milenov, I’m not sure you truly understand the pressure of this role. After all, you only worked at a small law firm in Alaska.” Sonia pulls a face like Alaska was breeding lepers.
I’m gobsmacked at her arrogance, desperate to give her my two cents and walk away if it weren’t for my low bank balance and the fact that Flynn and Mom need me.
“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
