Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
I take a moment to take that in. Excitement courses through me. I love saving and I intend to save the second paycheck I get from the clinic. But this is not about money. This is about my career and the break that is finally within reach.
Amelia stands, picks up her folder, and tucks her hair, cut into a severe bob, behind her ear. I stand too. She looks me up and down, making me want to straighten my clothes even though I look perfectly fine with black pants and a pink blouse. Anything goes at the magazine. What matters is not how you look but what is between your ears.
“You need a new wardrobe,” she says. “The magazine will cover it.”
“Thanks,” I tell her.
I linger and let her leave the conference room first. Then I let out a whoop of celebration. I’m so happy, I feel as though I can fly. I can’t wait to get started but first, I fish out my phone to text my best friend Chris. I need to share the good news and I need someone to take me shopping. He’s a photographer and never passes up an opportunity to take pictures.
***
“I’m acquainted with one of the brothers,” Chris says later, leaning against a clothes rack in the department store. He wanted me to splurge and shop in a designer store but I had to make him see sense. Sure, the magazine was paying for it but I’m pretty sure they didn’t mean designer clothes for my new wardrobe. Chris is from a wealthy family and I’m not surprised that he’s acquainted with the Anderson family.
“I photographed the first brother’s wedding,” he says. “Alec is his name. Solid guy and a surgeon.” He pats at his spiky hair although there’s nothing wrong with it. The thing that Chris loves after his camera is his hair.
“And the other one, Jace?” I leaf through the clothes. A plain black pencil dress catches my eye and I sling it on my left arm to try on later. It will be perfect for those days when I don’t feel like going to a lot of trouble to dress up. I anticipate plenty of those days.
“I’ve seen him from a distance,” Chris says. “Serious dude, the kind that doesn’t take crap. Makes sense. He has run that clinic and done superbly well since his parents retired.”
I stop listening at “…the kind that doesn’t take any crap.” My insides shudder. This is becoming real and scary. The threat of being fired on my first day if very real. He’ll probably see through me as soon as we shake hands.
Chris stops talking when he realizes that I’m not listening. “What?”
I recount for him the conversation I had with my Amelia. She had meant it when she said that if I fucked up, my job would be on the line. I love my career but Amelia takes it to another level. She lives for that magazine. She wasn’t joking. I’m not exactly irreplaceable. Maybe in a few years, but right now I haven’t made a name for myself in the world of journalism. The way to do that is to carve out a niche for myself. I inhale deeply and remind myself that’s the reason why I’m going to The Anderson Clinic as an undercover reporter.
“If Jace Anderson is the boss from hell, what chance do I have?”
“Relax,” Chris says. “I didn’t say that he was the boss from hell. I only said that he was serious. But Liv, so are you. You’re the most focused person I know.”
It’s not exactly an achievement to be the most focused person that Chris knows. Out of all his friends, he’s probably the only one who takes his work seriously. Chris is a freelance photographer and quite a celebrity on social media. He’s got several million followers and he has a deal with a luxury bag brand.
His friends, people he has known all his life are from his circle, spoiled with wealthy parents and trust funds. When my friends meet Chris, the first question thing they want to know is where we met considering I was in and out of foster care all my life.
“Don’t worry about Amelia,” Chris continues. “Besides, you can always go freelance.”
I shudder and shoot him a look of horror. I admire freelancers. They can pick and choose their assignments and, not for the first time, I wish I was brave enough to do freelance work. My job is my security. It makes me feel safe the way a warm blanket feels wrapped around you on a cold, winter evening. I like knowing that every two weeks, on a predictable date, my paycheck will show up in my account. Money aside, I love having somewhere to go to every morning and having a structured day.