Chapter 3: First Day

I was never one to cry over a guy, not even one I barely knew. But somehow, I found myself weeping on Marcella's lap curled up like a teenage girl on a bad school night. I wasn't even sure why I was crying. What was it about this guy that made it hurt so much? Maybe it was the promise of what could have been between us.

We would've looked good together, and it would've been a dream come true to land an amazing job, and the man of my dreams at the same time. Why did I even care so much? I'm Leah Garcia, I NEVER cry over men, and I definitely wouldn't start now.

With that resolve, I got up from Marcella's lap, eager to put this all behind me.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her hands on my back.

"We have to go shopping. Right now."

"What?"

"We don't have anything to wear to work on Monday."

"Leah, it's Friday night. Where could we possibly find anything decent to wear?"

"Macy's would be open."

"Leah, we have the whole weekend to find something to wear to work. We don't have to do it tonight."

"Please, Marcy," I pleaded. "I need this."

She sighed, knowing that I hardly said those words.

"Fine, let's see what we can find at Macy's."

I threw my hands around my best friend and we got ready to leave.

***

With the perfect outfit, Friday night was permanently behind me, and I felt like I was ready to take on the world. The black dress Marcella had chosen for me worked wonders for my body, giving me a mix of professional and sexy. It stopped directly below my knee, showed a bit of cleavage, but not too much that it became desperate.

On Monday morning, I strutted into the building of Epic Buzz, designer bag in hand, ready to impress my boss and team members if I had one. I wasn't sure if a Media Relations Writer would belong in a team.

I found my way to Miranda Scott's office, the Editor-in-chief of the magazine. I walked into my new boss office, and saw her sitting behind her desk in a two-print oversized jumpsuit.

Ugh, she obviously doesn't have a sense of style, I thought.

She looked up at me slowly, her eyes moving in disgust. "I wasn't aware they had hired someone else to do my job."

"What?"

She pointed at my dress. "Too much."

I flinched, that was not the impression I was going for. "I-I'm sorry, I wanted to look professional."

"You don't have to do that until you become a permanent staff member. That would be determined by your overall performance after your first year here," she stopped to look at me. "You're not off to a good start," she said and started walking away.

I followed after her, confused. We walked past a sea of employees, picking up calls, tapping away at their keyboards. The smell of magazine paper filled the air, making my blood pump. I don't care what she says, this is where I belong.

We stopped at an empty desk at the far end of the hall; it looked deserted and I secretly hoped it wasn't my desk. I watched in horror as she placed the documents she was holding on the desk and said,

"This is your corner. Your pieces are exclusive and require as much privacy as possible; that's why you're here. But you can ask Tracy and Kevin over there if you need anything." She pointed at the two desks in front of mine. The blonde girl I assumed to be Tracy perused through files on her desk. The dark-haired boy beside her yelled enthusiastically over the phone, obviously speaking to a source.

I turned back to Miranda hoping for more directions, but she was no longer there. Great.

I picked up the files she left me skeptically, wondering what to do with them. Wasn't I supposed to get some sort of orientation? Training? What was my role here? I read the documents, which contained information about a fashion brand's new clothing line. I guess I had to write a press release for this? Should I ask Tracy and Kevin?

Well, she did say I could ask for help, but she also said my job was private. So, how do I know what to share and what not to share? I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. It was my first day and I already hated it here. I could feel my palms sweating, my plans to impress slowly slipping from my hold.

"Are you okay?" someone asked behind me.

"What?" I turned to find Tracy standing behind me, staring at me.

"You look like you're about to have a seizure."

I brushed my forehead and realized I was indeed sweating.

"I'm just overwhelmed, nothing serious," I said.

She smiled at me brightly, "You need help, don't you?"

"Oh, G*d, yes," I say, grateful for the offer.

"What's the problem?"

Everything, I wanted to say. But instead, I said, "I don't know what to do."

She smiled again, flashing her white teeth at me. "You're working under Miranda, right?"

"Yes."

She looked at me with sympathy in her eyes. I guess she knew what that meant.

Tracy patted my back in encouragement. "You have nothing to worry about. Just show her why they hired you. She's trying to rattle you; see how you work under pressure."

"I guess she wasn't happy about your outfit either?" Kevin chimed in. I didn't know when he appeared at Tracy's side, but I didn't mind it. "Don't worry, she'll get over it. You don't really have to try to impress anybody. Read the files she gave you and remember why she hired you."

That shouldn't be difficult; the only problem was I wasn't sure why she hired me in the first place. I mentally went through my interview, looking for clues. If she was really trying to rattle me, then she had succeeded.

I stared at the files in front of me and took a deep breath in. I've got this. This is my dream job and I'm going to prove to Miranda what's-her-face that I deserve to be here.

I picked up my computer, and got to work.

***

After two long hours of research, two hours of writing, and one hour of editing, I marched over to Miranda's office with the press release in hand, ready to show her that she was wrong to ever test me.

I dropped it proudly on her desk, and waited for her to pick it up. I watched as she scanned it, waiting for any sign of satisfaction with my work, but there was nothing. No nod, not even a smile; just dead, cold eyes.

"Give this to Mike in the Editor's office," she said without looking up at me.

I gasped in shock; she didn't even read the whole thing. How was she sure it was good enough for publishing?

"Right now?" I asked, hoping she would take a second look at it and say something to me.

"Is there a problem?"

"No… it's just, you didn't read the whole thing."

"That's the Editor's job. Now if you would excuse me, I have to do MY job." She finally looked up at me, but it was a death stare.

I quickly exited her office before she turned me to stone with her evil eyes. I took a left turn into the Editor's office. Now, who exactly is Mike? I thought as I rounded up on three Mike-looking men in the office. They all had the same Henley shirts and denim on, all had brown hair.

Suddenly, one of them looked up, brown eyes locking with mine. That's Mike, I thought.

I walked up to him confidently satisfied that I had solved the riddle.

"Are you Mike?" I asked.

He looked at me with obvious interest. "Leah, right?"

I nodded.

"Is that the piece for …" he trailed off, pointing at the printed paper in my hand.

"How did you know?"

"Miranda told me you were coming," he said.

I stared at him confused. "Well, do I just leave this here?"

"You can just mail it to me, we do the final print after editing."

"Oh," I said, feeling a bit stupid.

"It's alright," he assured me. "I did worse on my first day. Trust me, you're doing great."

"You worked under Miranda too?"

"Couldn't you tell by the superior energy I have?"

"Oh, trust me, you're radiating it."

He threw his head back in laughter, his Adam apple bobbing with the rhythm of his laughter. Mike looked at me mischievously, picked up yellow post-it notes and started writing on it.

I watched him curiously, his muscles flexing as he wrote, the hair on his arm peeking out from under his shirt. He handed me the note, his fingers grazing mine subtly.

"You can forward the press release to me here," he said to me.

The moment I got to my desk; I sent him the piece. I stared at my computer blankly, waiting for a confirmation from Mike, or another assignment from Miranda when a mail came in.

It was nice to meet you, Leah; it read.

Seems like I've gotten hottie number 2.