“What are you crazies doing?” Dara laughs from the hallway.
As Rachel and I spin, I see Blake’s face peek around the corner.
“Girl fight!” He shouts, drawing the crowd into the kitchen. He whips out his iPhone and starts to film us, snickering.
My foot slips and somehow we topple over, arms flailing, and accidentally swipe the cake box off the counter. Rachel, the cake and I veer sideways, losing to gravity and landing in a heap.
“Shit!”
We’re a mess on the floor, covered in frosting. I reach out a finger and swipe some frosting from Rachel’s face, plopping it in my mouth.
“Mmmm,” I nod, approvingly. “Bon appetite.”
Rachel can’t handle it. We burst into hysterical laughter until we snort. Blake is shaking his head into his phone. “And…post. You are now immortalized on Facebook as the Carrot Cake Face Sisters. You’re welcome.”
It’s the best I’ve felt all day.
Chapter Two
After everyone has cleared out for the night I am folded over my laptop with a beer. I have three tabs open: my email for distraction, my bank account for motivation, and craigslist for hope. Rachel appears, leaning her chin on my shoulder.
“It’s late,” she rasps.
I take a swig of beer. “Just looking at jobs.”
“Don’t you think this site is a little sketch?”
“Meh,” I sigh, shrugging. “I’ve found lots of stuff this way. Your bed, for example.”
“Gross. I didn’t need to know that.” Rachel pulls a face and I laugh at her.
I scroll down the endless list of postings. “I just need to find something good. And fast.”
“Mom and Dad could probably help if—”
“No.” I cut my sister off. It’s a sore point, and we’ve had this conversation before. “I have to do this myself. Besides, I won’t always have Mom and Dad to catch me. Might as well figure it out now.”
“Alright, alright. Have it your way, artsy pants.” Rachel nods, her chin digging into my shoulder like a pointy masseuse. Suddenly she pounces at the screen, pointing. “Ooh, look at that one: ‘Personal and executive assistant—80k’? Eighty thousand dollars is a pretty good salary, no?”
“No, yeah, that’s really good. Crazy good. Maybe too good.” I click the link and speed-read the description. “‘80k plus full benefits, potential bonuses. Personal and executive assistant for CEO of major Multi-national Corporation. Flexibility, discretion, confidentiality, professionalism and creativity required, must have current passport and be willing to travel. Serious applications only.’”
Rachel and I glance at each other. Her mouth quirks into a grin.
“Well shoot,” she says, “You’re a serious, they want serious—match made in heaven.”
“It sounds too good to be true. I wonder why the pay’s so high?”
Rachel yawns and gives me a hug. “Some of the exec assistants at Stanley make 70, 75 grand. It’s not that weird for finance, depending on which multinational this guy runs.”
“Seems sketchy.”
“Does everything have to be shitty pay and shitty conditions?” Rachel yawns. “God, you don’t have to suffer to be an artist you know. I don’t know why you always have to make things so hard on yourself. You might actually like having a real person salary.”
“You have a point,” I groan. What would it be like to make real money, be a real person? All my time in New York City has been spent waiting tables, scrapping together gigs, and living the struggling artist cliché. I’m not going to lie; it’s getting old. “Ok, I’ll apply.”
I click the reply button on the job posting, attach my resume, press send, and exhale.
“Alright that’s one down,” I mutter, stretching my back over the chair. “How many applications will it take to get a job this time? Wanna make some bets?”
“Five bucks you get this one,” says Rachel, standing. “And I’m going to bed.”
“Wow, really? You’re supposed to be the party animal. Just let me brush my teeth before you shower.”
I stand and start to walk away from the computer when the sound of an email alert stops me. Curious, I turn to peer at the screen.
The address is one I don’t recognize, subject: “Interview: Personal and Executive Assistant job.”
“Rachel!” I shout, making her jump. “It’s the application! Oh my god, they responded right away! They responded right away!”
I force myself to stand still long enough to open the email. Rachel and I crowd together, hunched over the dim blue light of my laptop screen to read.
Ms. Clark,
After reviewing your materials, you have been selected to participate in the interview process. Congratulations. Please arrive at 2211 Wall Street at 9am tomorrow.
We look forward to meeting you and discussing the Personal and Executive Assistant position in further detail. Please arrive prepared and in business formal attire.
Amanda Johnson
Assistant Corporate Secretary
Skollz Corp.
2211 Wall Street
New York, New York 10005
Skollz Corp: change is the future.
“Skollz Corp,” I say, glancing at Rachel. “I’ve never heard of them, but apparently their secretaries answer emails at two in the morning.”
Rachel nods slowly. “They’re big, like Unilever big. One of those names that consumers usually don’t hear because they secretly own all the labels you’d recognize.”
“So, they’re an umbrella corporation?” I frown. “Ruthlessly sweeping the little guy under the rug, destroying rain forests and the free market to monopolize the world.”
Rachel laughs. “You’re such a hippy. They’re called conglomerates, not umbrella corporations.”
“I knew that.” I blink at the screen. “Yikes, 9am is really soon.”
“Well, guess you’re not sleeping tonight.” Rachel yawns, shuffling toward our shared bedroom.
“Yeah, guess not.” Nothing like a high stakes, tipsy Google search. I collapse in front of my laptop, grinning. “Let’s you and I get to know one another, Skollz Corp.”
Chapter Three
So many flagpoles line the courtyard that I could almost think I’m at the United Nations but no, this is it; the Skollz Corp headquarters, a sleek glass skyscraper housing the machine that makes the economy tick. After my all-night googling, I know more about this company than I ever wanted to. They have more international influence than the US President and more money than God. Craning my neck, I can’t even see the top of the skyscraper in the clouds.