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Tamara holds up a hand. “Stop. I can tell by the deer-in-the-headlights expression on your face that you haven’t a clue as to what I’m talking about. Why did you apply for a job you’re not qualified for?”
The pressure of the last three weeks reaches its limit and percolates from me. Before I can stop myself, I jump up from the chair. “Recently, my husband died, purposely leaving me with almost nothing to live on or a place to live. I’ve applied for a lot of jobs, all of them needing qualifications and experience. But guess what? That man never let me out of the house to study or work. Oh, unless it was to host his dinner parties. He said I was good at that, which it surprised me he actually gave me a compliment. Now I’m free to do whatever I want, but no one will hire me. Unless I wash freaking dishes, but that won’t pay my rent.” I gasp at my outburst and cover my mouth with my hand. “I didn’t mean to say all of that. I don’t normally spill out my life story to strangers.” God, she must think I’ve lost my mind. I pick up my bag next to my chair. “I’m so sorry I’ve wasted your time.” I rush toward the door.
“Wait,” Tamara calls, and I turn back around. She rises from her chair, and her vintage 50s style black and white polka dotted dress swirls around her legs. The colors in her sleeve tattoo on her left arm pops against her caramel-colored skin tone. The dress is quirky and fun. Not like the serious black pencil skirt and blue blouse I bought from a thrift shop. “Your husband never allowed you to work?”
My shoulders sag. It’s degrading and embarrassing. “It’s true, unfortunately. Even when I begged him to let me continue studying. I love fashion. Being here has only reminded me how much I miss it.”
“How long were you married?”
“Nine years.” I wait for Tamara to ask why I’d stayed married so long, but she just stares at me, tapping a finger to her chin.
Tamara sits back down and gestures for me to do the same. “I can’t give you the job you applied for. Unfortunately, we do need someone experienced. But we have a PA for one of our managers who needs help. It’s only temporary—about two months. You’ll be running around for her, making coffees, delivering files, that sort of thing. Are you interested?”
“I lied on my resume. Why would you offer me a job?” I’m shocked she’d even offer.
“Because I witnessed my mother in a similar situation. No one deserves to be treated that way. I get a good vibe from you. My gut is never wrong.” Tamara smiles. “Will you take it?”
Will I take it? Tears prick the backs of my eyes. Finally, someone is giving me a chance. “Yes. Thank you so much. I’m so grateful for the job. When do I start?”
“You can start right now.”
“Now?”
“Is that a problem? The temp agency I usually use has no one available until late next week. You’d be doing me a huge favor.”
The sooner I start work, the sooner I’ll make money. “Today is perfect.”
Tamara claps her hands. “Great. Welcome to Alessi Fashion. I’ll have a contract ready for you to sign shortly, until then, I’ll introduce you to Bianca, the PA. She’s already complaining about having to make coffee for the managers this morning.” She rolls her eyes and walks behind her desk, opens a drawer, and pulls something out. She hands me a business card. “I don’t want to stick my nose into your personal life—” I look at the card. It’s for a therapist. My eyes flick up to Tamara. “If you need anyone to talk to about what you’ve been through, call the number on that card.”
“I can’t afford this.” A therapist iswayout of my budget. This job will hopefully pay next month’s rent. I’ll be lucky if there’s any left over for food. I try to hand the card back.
Tamara doesn’t take it. “She’s my sister. Tell her I’ve sent you. She’ll look after you. That’s if you want to, of course. No pressure.”
Now that Derek is gone, all is okay in my world, right? I can do what I want. Wear what I want. Go where I want. Eat what I want. I think back to the many times I’ve placed towels on the rail immaculately. Scrutinized what I’m wearing and how I styled my hair. When I colored my hair from blonde—the color Derek preferred—to brown, I broke out in a sweat. It was silly. Derek wasn’t around, and yet going against his wishes made me sick to my stomach. I’ve had to purposely try and do the opposite of what Derek wanted to pull myself out of his toxic pattern. It was like flipping him the bird and also hard to break the cycle. Maybe I do need to talk to someone.
“Thank you. I’ll think about it.” I slip the card into my bag.
I follow Tamara from the office. We head down a long hallway. Hung on the walls are pictures of gorgeous gowns from the Alessi label worn by Hollywood superstars and even royalty.
Tamara stops in front of a frosted door, gives a quick tap on the glass, and enters the room. A woman with long, black, sleek hair and delicate features stands by the window. She glances up from the folder in her hands. Perfectly shaped brows crease above sky blue eyes. Tall and slender, this woman should be wearing an Alessi gown and walking on a catwalk, not be stuck in an office.
“Bianca, this is Harper. She’s here to help you with all the run-around stuff you don’t have time for while you’re in town.”
Bianca snaps the folder she’s reading shut, struts to the desk and tosses it on the table in my direction. “Great. Take that to accounting then get me an almond milk latte.” Her gaze travels from my blouse to the tips of my black heels. Her nose wrinkles. “You’ll need to improve your wardrobe if you want to work here.”
I glance at my feet and back up. I know my choice in clothing isn’t the greatest, but it was the best I could do with the money I scraped together. My shoulders curl inwardly at having someone point it out.
“Harper looks fine.” Tamara snatches the folder off the desk. “I’ll show you where accounting is.”
My face burns with embarrassment as I follow Tamara from the room.
“Ignore Bianca. She has the face of an angel and the sharp tongue of the devil. There’s nothing wrong with your outfit,” she says as I fiddle with the waistband of my skirt.
“Bianca’s right. This is a fashion house. I can’t show up to work wearing thrift store clothes.” I sigh. “I can’t afford anything designer. Maybe this job isn’t for me after all.” If only I could get access to the boutique-sized, walk-in closet at Derek’s house to collect some of the pieces he bought me, but it’s not possible.
Tamara waves her hand. “You won’t need to buy anything. We have tons of clothing in storage that will never be worn.”
“I can’t take—”
