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I trudge past her, still holding tightly to my left shoe. I finally shimmy my foot into it once I’m at the elevator. I push the call button twice. Once to send it sailing back up here as soon as Mr. Big Jerk gets off in the lobby, and a second time while pretending I’m poking him in the eye.
If Mrs. Sweeney didn’t have her eagle eyes on me, I’d be partaking in a round of boxing with the air at the moment to ease all of the pent-up frustration I feel.
She ventures out of her apartment far enough to give me a view of her lilac tracksuit and matching sneakers. It pairs perfectly with the gray curls on her head.
Mrs. Sweeney’s fashion sense is on point.
When I’m eighty-nine, I hope I look as fabulous as she does.
She gives me a look from head to toe, pushing her wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose. “That outfit you’re wearing screams professional woman looking for a full-time, high-paying job with benefits and room for advancement, Calliope.”
That’s saying a lot.
I chose a black pencil skirt and plain white blouse because it’s what every female executive at Mirnan Mortgage wears. I did a deep dive on their social media pages last night to get a feel for the company.
It’s not my dream job, but bartending won’t fulfill all of my financial goals.
That’s my current gig since I lost my junior marketing position with a party supplies company when a competitor bought them out.
I’ve worked at the bar on and off for the past three years since I turned twenty-one. When I found myself without a job last month, the bar’s owner offered me two extra shifts per week. I’m grateful, but I have a degree in marketing that I want to put to use.
Mrs. Sweeney skims a hand across her left cheek. “Fix your hair there.”
I’ll take the critique because I know she wants the best for me. I push a few strands of my dark brown hair behind my ear. “How’s that?”
“You’re a beautiful blue-eyed girl.” She sighs. “You remind me of myself sixty-five years ago.”
Just as I’m about to comment that she’s as stunning now as she was in the black and white photographs she has shown me, the elevator dings to signal its arrival on our floor.
“Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need luck,” she says matter-of-factly. “You have experience and ambition. You’re one of the smartest women in this city.”
“From your lips to Mr. Mirnan’s ears.” I laugh.
As soon as the elevator doors slide open, I step into the car and turn to face her. “I’ll see you later, Mrs. Sweeney.”
“Knock them dead, Calliope.”
Chapter Two
Callie
Mrs. Sweeney issome sort of sorceress, or bad luck is trailing me like a lost puppy.
I stand on the sidewalk outside the Greenwich Village office of Mirnan Mortgage and watch as a body in a bag is wheeled past me on a stretcher.
Mrs. Sweeney told me to knock them dead, and that’s what happened.
Technically, I didn’t knock Mr. Mirnan dead. I didn’t even see him. When I arrived for my interview, an ambulance and police cars were already here.
The receptionist I had spoken to yesterday when I booked my interview was sobbing as she sat on the curb.
It seems Mr. Mirnan was having breakfast when he keeled over onto his desk.
By the time the EMTs arrived, he was already gone.
“The job isn’t available anymore,” the sad-eyed receptionist calls out to me. “Mr. Mirnan always said when he dies, the company goes with him.”
