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He doesn’t turn around as he says, “Em doesn’t want you miserable. Said you deserve to work with people that aren’t assholes.”
I watch Dante continue to walk into the parking lot. As he gets into the limo waiting for him, he gives me a wave. The limo pulls away, and I look down at the business card. It doesn’t say Aspire. It’s just his name and information. No company.
“What the hell am I supposed to do about that?” I mutter.
Slipping the business card into my purse, I try to focus on the interview. A cab is waiting for me, and when I sit down in it, I just close my eyes. Why is everything trying to get me to think about the things I’ve put in my rearview? I’m supposed to be moving forward, not looking behind me.
The hollowness calls to me, begging me to give in.
***
Herman and Schuster is an entire floor within the Metropolitan building. Unlike Aspire, I can see all the employees working in tiny cubicles spread across the floor. Most of them are on the phone or the computer, quietly doing their own work.
There are rows of offices on one side, but they’re all filled with people. It’s such a different vibe than Aspire. Instead of working in high energy teams, everyone is just working on their own things.
I tell the receptionist that I’m here for my interview, and she asks me to take a seat.
As soon as I sit down, my purse buzzes. Not like a text message or even a series of text messages.
I try to ignore the buzzing, but it doesn’t stop. Minutes pass, and I can’t ignore it any longer. Digging into my purse, I pull the phone out.
Seventy-two notifications. Another one. Another one. They’re coming in almost every second. All of them from ChitChat. I know I should ignore them, but never, even with my best video ever, have I had this many notifications.
Then I start getting text messages. From my mom. From Tessa. From everyone I know. Even from Maya Hall.
Dozens upon dozens of notifications, and the ChitChat ones continue to tick. My curiosity is too much, and I’m about to click over to the notifications, but then I hear an older man call my name. I look up and see that it’s Gerald Herman, the CEO of Herman and Schuster.
Without a second thought, I turn my phone all the way off so that it doesn’t keep buzzing in my purse throughout the interview.
“Mr. Herman,” I say as I stand up and put my hand out. He’s a handsome man for someone in their late sixties. Deep wrinkles line his face and the hair on his head, while still very thick, is completely white. He’s well-dressed with plenty of poise, but unlike the owners of Aspire, he stands so professional that he looks stiff. Like there’s not an ounce of happy in him. If I’d lost my skirt in the elevator today, he certainly wouldn’t have hired me.
It's a good thing I’m not the terrified girl I was a month ago.
He gives me a smile as he shakes my hand. “Ms. Carter, I have heard so much about you. You’re all the buzz in the advertising world.”
How is that even possible? I’ve only ever done one campaign, and it wasn’t directly attached to my name.
“I hope it’s only good things.”
“Without a doubt. Come to my office, and we’ll talk about the position that we have available.”
He leads me through the office, and other than a gentle murmur of people whispering into phones, it’s nearly silent. There are no cackles of laughter or shoes kicking against desks as people try to solve problems. There are no heated disagreements, and there are definitely no cheers.
It feels lifeless compared to Aspire. Yet, as I walk, nearly everyone looks up from what they’re doing and stares at me. More than a few of them squint or cock their head like they recognize me from somewhere. It’s more than a little strange, but I brush it off. Maybe they’re all excited about expanding into ChitChat marketing. I know everyone at Aspire was.
Mr. Herman points out one of the few empty offices and says, “That’s the office that comes with the position. Let me show you the view of Central Park.”
Not very many people can say that they have a thirty-seventh floor office overlooking Central Park. It’s a gorgeous view, but as I look out the window, my attention is drawn to one of the massive electronic billboards.
My face is plastered across it with words underneath, but it flashes away to some soda advertisement a half-second later. At least, I think it was my face. But why would it be there? Who would use my face as an ad?
“Since you’ll be spending fifty hours or more a week here, you should know that it’s perfectly fine if you want to bring some knick-knacks to decorate with and make it feel more at home.”
Before I can see the ad come back on the billboard, Mr. Herman turns to leave the office. I stare another second to see if it comes back, but the soda ad transitions to a shoe brand.
Mr. Herman doesn’t even pause long enough to realize I wasn’t following him. I hurry after him, and he’s already talking.
“…the goal. Social media, and especially ChitChat, has proven especially difficult to crack into. That’s where you would come in. Your Bronze Goddess campaign is making waves with its unusual style and sheer numbers.
