Chapter One
Tick, tock.
The audiobook narrator droned on through the lone earbud in my ear, but I couldn’t follow a single word as my heart pounded in my chest. I checked the ticking clock on the wall again, anxious for what was to come, and caught the unimpressed stare of the blonde sitting across from me. The ticket in my hand was wet from my sweaty palms, and I kept glancing down at it, lest I should forget the number I’d repeated in my head a minimum of twenty thousand times since my arrival. They would call my number when it was my turn, they’d told me, but that was all I knew.
I had no idea where I was, no idea why I was qualified to come there. The others waiting seemed much less nervous and much more qualified than I was. The room where we sat was gray and white with windows that ran from floor to ceiling, giving an impressive view of the Manhattan skyline. The people there were impressive, too. The woman who sat directly across from me was long-legged and beautiful, her hair cut short so it rested below her chin, the ends flipped under just enough that it seemed natural. She had looked at me a few times, her startling gray eyes drilling into me as if she, too, knew I didn’t belong. She was one of the many—much prettier, much more qualified than I was. She watched me as if I were a puzzle piece that was shoved too tightly in a place it would never fit.
“Number sixteen?” I jerked my head at the sound of my number being called, half-convinced I’d imagined it, then looked toward the door of one of the offices as it opened and an African American woman popped her head out. Each time the door had opened so far, eight times that I’d seen, it had been someone different greeting us. I wondered how many people they had crammed into the tiny office.
I stood and shoved the ticket in my pocket as the candidate I was replacing in the interview room walked past me. She was likely a few years older than me, with wispy copper hair and light freckles. Despite the crazed worry I felt, her face appeared calm. Confident. I wished I had an ounce of her peace.
Turning my attention to my next task, I smiled at the woman waiting for me. She was around my height, her black hair pulled back in a bun. She was beautiful, like the rest of the room of candidates, but her beauty was more intimidating than theirs. She’d already gotten the job. She wasn’t my competition. She was my judge.
“Hi there,” she said politely, ushering me into the room. Her smile grew as I held out my hand to shake hers in an awkward exchange as I walked through the door. “I’m Tanya.” She gestured toward the room behind me. When I turned around, I realized the office was much larger than I’d expected. In the center of the room, surrounded by white light from the large windows on every exterior wall, was a silver-edged glass table. It was long, taking up half the room, and behind it sat five other people. Each of them held a piece of paper—my resume, I assumed.
“Hi. I’m Autumn Sanderson,” I announced, making my way down the table as I shook their hands.
“Nice to meet you, Autumn. I’m Denise,” the first woman at the table said, her curly black hair a stark contrast to her green eyes.
“I’m Paul,” the man next to her said. He was tall, even sitting down, and wore a navy tie with green anchors on it. How was I ever going to remember their names?
“Evie,” the next woman said. With her light brown hair and simple features, she was the plainest of the group, which made me feel better for being so ordinary myself. Still, by most standards, she was breathtaking. They wore high-dollar suits and dresses. Clothes that cost more than I’d make at my old job in a year. I was positive they’d taken one look at my Target blazer and slacks and written me off. The rest of the interview was a formality.
“I’m James,” said the next man, his thick, dark hair sticking up as if he’d walked through a windstorm. Somehow, the wild hair only complemented his classically handsome face.
“I’m Starla,” the last girl said. She was another thin blonde, with hair a shade lighter than mine. They all smiled at me, and as Tanya took her seat, so did I.
“So,” Tanya said, looking over the paper she was holding, “Autumn, why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself.”
I tucked my shaking fists into my lap. I’d never been good at interviews. I didn’t do well with pressure, and I tended to overthink everything, a deadly combination in most social situations.
“I, um, well,” I grinned before clearing my throat, “I have an MBA in finance—” With a mountain of student loan debt. “I graduated from Northwestern University.” Barely. “And, well, I recently moved to New York, I love the city, and I’m excited about all that I can offer your company.”
Their warm expressions were reassuring as they jotted down a few notes in unison. When they looked back up, it was Navy Tie Guy who spoke next. I’d already forgotten his name. “An MBA is impressive. Tell us about your experience since graduating. Where have you worked? What brought you to New York?”
I’d dreaded these questions, though I expected they were coming. How was I supposed to tell them that, since graduating, I’d only worked as a waitress and part-time in my county’s library? That I’d made no use of my degree whatsoever? That we only left Chicago because my mom’s doctors were in New York, and she needed the very best. That my dad left us years ago and her aggressive cancer treatments had fallen squarely on my shoulders, financially and emotionally. Those weren’t the kinds of things you brought up in an interview, no matter how true they were.
I sucked in a breath and tried to keep my expression calm and composed, hoping I could work my way around the line of questioning with grace. “New York has always been a place I was interested in living. There’s something magical about this city, isn’t there? When I graduated, I continued working at the restaurant where I’d worked to put myself through college. I wanted to make sure that wherever I started my career was the place I’d want to end it. So, I guess I’ve been picky.” I smiled shyly, hoping they wouldn’t see through the lie. No one has called me. I thought I’d be choosing from multiple job offers by now, raking in over six figures, but I can’t even get a job as an assistant at a wealth management firm because I bomb all my interviews. “I always knew New York was an option, so I took a leap when nothing in Chicago stuck out to me. When I signed up with a staffing agency and they told me about this position, I was intrigued.” I was bluffing. It was a total politician’s answer. I’d applied to three other places since I arrived two weeks before, and this company was the first place to call me. In truth, I had no idea what I was even applying for. The agency who referred me couldn’t give me any information other than that my resume looked like a match. What I knew was that I couldn’t keep putting my creditors off. If the company made me an offer, I’d take it. Judging by their skeptical expressions, I was sure that wouldn’t be happening.
“And how would you describe yourself given three words?” asked the plain woman, giving me an encouraging nod.
I thought for a moment. I should’ve known that answer. “I’m dependable.” I held my finger up to show that was the first word, in case they couldn’t count. “Reliable. Hardworking.” Two more fingers. Three words, two that meant practically the same thing. I mentally face-palmed myself. What I’d told them: I could count, but I wasn’t able to think on my feet.