I apply my makeup a little more professionally in preparation of my job interview. After a lot of freaking out and a long, restless night, I decided on a little black dress and pumps.

This is my first real job in forever, and I can't afford to mess this shit up.

Maybe the first step would be to stop referring to it as 'this shit.'

My mobile buzzes on the bed and I dash to retrieve it.

Edward:

I dnt get it, bt ok.

gud luck. luv u.

thank you for getting me this job

I make my way out. I will clean my room. One day.

Getting a job interview has become so difficult nowadays, let alone a job offer, that I feel like if I drive too slowly, I will wake up to find that this is all a dream. It's okay. 75 is the same as 70.

I'll just drive at 65 miles per hour on the way back.

Traffic starts piling once I enter the CBD. Skyscrapers tower over me, and I get perspective on just how small I am. The people sharing the road with me - completely focussed on their own business - makes me realise just what a small detail to the earth I am.

How can a tiny detail build anything worthwhile?

Being stuck in traffic sucks, but it reminds me that I'm doing something - finally! In about an hour, I make it to my destination, and I park on the spot closest to the entrance so I don't have to walk too far when I have to leave - especially if I screw things up and need to cry.

After stealing a final look in the mirror and pushing a few strands back into place, I grab my purse and step out. Standing before me is an endless, towering pillar consisting of glass. Unlike the other buildings I've passed as I made my way here, the façade doesn't intimidate me much. What intimidates me is the knowledge that my fate lies just behind those glass walls.

Glass is such a fragile material, and at this exact moment, it holds my future. A single slip up, and the contents are on the floor and can't be picked up.

Failing means yer playin!

Taking a deep breath, I shake off all thoughts of self-doubt: I deserve this. I make my way to the entrance, and I'm surprised that it's not as busy as I'd thought it would be. I'd imagined that everyone would be stumbling around with stacks of papers, one would drop theirs and I'd help them pick it up, everyone likes me, and I get the job.

But it's not like that. At all.

The reception is mostly vacant, with only the middle-aged receptionist behind a circular, dark brown desk with a marble top talking to a middle-aged man in a crisp suit, his hair shiny with hair gel. And then there's one lady with her head buried in an iPad walking hurriedly to a passage.

Well, I guess she won't be dropping any stacks of papers.

The receptionist hushes her mate as I start approaching and she purses her lips - probably to stop herself from laughing.

I probably look like a clown right now.

"Hi," I manage to squeak when I make it to the desk.

"Hi," she responds sweetly.

"I'm Elisabeth Brown. I got offered a Public Relations job here?"

Relax Edgar! They already like you.

"Oh! We've been expecting you. Please take a seat at the couch over there and someone will get to you quickly."

I take a seat and take in my surroundings: oversized steel pillars hold the walls up, going all the way to the heavens. Black polished concrete covers the floors and glimmers in reflection of the sunlight pouring through the walls. There is a certain coolness inside which shouldn't be possible as we're essentially in a large magnifying glass. The space is almost under-utilised with only the receptionist's desk, this couch and coffee table and a few potted plants.

It's almost cold, really.

Almost as though going through the motions, I pull my mobile out and scroll through Instagram. It's the usual: Edward subliminally showing off his wealth by posing in front of his expensive furniture, Raven's dark poetry and a few bands announcing they're going on tour.

My mobile rings. Anger runs through my blood as I see the name 'Sophie' written across my screen. Ignore.

"Miss Brown?" A strong, male voice. I nod. There's not much to him: he's obviously a security guard. His lightly freckled face looks slightly sunburnt. "Follow me."

He turns his back to me and leads me to the elevator taking me to Mr. Wright's office

It's weird that I want to get to his office and get everything over and done with but, as the elevator whisks me further up, I feel my stomach tighten as I hope the elevator gets stuck for five minutes so I can buy myself some more time to process everything. When I was in the lobby, I had the internet to keep me company. Now I have no such luxury. Now I have to feel and think and be conscious.

It's all too much.

The doors open a bit too quickly and we're met by another reception desk. The guy says nothing as he walks past it and leads me down the long stretch, past the identical doors, past the wooden tables with flowers and a few photos of the team on their walls.

This is livelier. Why isn't the reception like this?

The long, black carpet absorbs the clank of my heels and protects me from slipping on the granite floor.

Lively and expensive. I can see how Edward is friends with the manager.

We meet a large, double door at the end of the corridor and the guy knocks there. He then pops his head in to inform the person inside of my presence.

"Please tell her to wait there," a deep voice comes from inside the office, and I hear the rustling of papers. "I won't be a minute."

"Yes, sir." He pops out and carefully pulls the door closed - a bit too carefully if I'm being frank. "Mister Wright will see you in a minute."

I have ears, dumbass.

I thank him and he strides down the corridor to the elevator while shaking his head and muttering something that sounds like 'Thankless bint.'

I guess I said the bad part out loud as well.

"Tell Jessica and Oliver that Miss Brown is here." It's the deep voice again.

Intentionally hushed voices make their way to my ears; and, for some reason, I can't help the feeling of unease that takes over me. It's like I'm not supposed to be here; I'm not supposed to be hearing the whispers I'm hearing.

But I am. I can hear them. I can hear the giggling.

The door is pulled open and out walks a young woman. She can't be older than me. In fact, I don't think she's even twenty!

She awkwardly walks down the corridor as I stare at her, my mouth almost gaping at the shock that she may be seeing Oscar - The Press's forty-nine-year-old owner.

What just happened?

Before I know it, the young lady appears again with a man in a crisp suit and a woman in a black trouser suit. It looks like something Yves Saint Laurent made. Their quick paces make me consider the possibility that they could be Chelsea F.C. reserves.

The man - Oliver - shakes my hand as soon as they reach me and asks if Mr. Wright has seen me. The woman waltzes inside the office without even acknowledging me and sits next to Oscar with a toss of her magnificent head.

"No," I respond, and he invites me in. We walk a fair distance before we reach Oscar's desk. Oak cabinets stand against the walls, holding golden trophies and a few team photos in them. The granite floor flows into the office, but where the clanking of my shoes was absorbed by the carpet in the corridor, here they are loud and produce an echo as the largely empty space around me tries to absorb the sound.

It looks like an intimidation tactic to me.

We exchange greetings and Oscar introduces me to the two occupants: Oliver Smith - The Press's Human Resources Head - and Jessica - The Press's lawyer. Oscar has one of those faces that look familiar but are still extremely striking. Although he'll be fifty in a year, he doesn't look a day over thirty-five. His skin is unblemished and flawless, his nose looks slightly too big, but it doesn't take away from his beauty. The hump on his throat is a shot of testosterone I always thought I didn't need, but on Oscar, it looks like something every man should have.

Maybe the young girl thought he was twenty-two?

His blue eyes, wide set eyebrows and even wider set jaws are weirdly reminiscent of Alejandro's face.

Maybe she thought he was Alejandro.

I feel the bile rise in my throat as I think of the way this guy is misusing his power - as I think of the fact that Edward is friends with this fucker.

He smiles.

He has the kind of smile that would make any girl want him to slowly pull their underwear off with his teeth - pearly whites; thin, pink lips; cheeks that reach for the sky. That's another thing he has in common with Alejandro.

Well, he doesn't fool me.

I'm offered a job as a junior publicist. We go over important things like what my duties will be, my salary, benefits, and such. As much as I try with all my might to listen, my eyes keep drifting to Jessica, who apparently doesn't speak. Is she mute? Is she paid to be a doll? Her eyes are intently trained on me, her face tight. Maybe she doesn't like me much? Maybe she just doesn't like women in general? She looks like she doesn't like women. Well, I don't think I like her either, so she should go.

Oscar proceeds to tell me what the working environment and organisational culture is like, and that he thinks I'll like everyone in this 'laid-back' place.

Well, we're not off to the best of starts so far.

"All our employees have unlimited vacation. Of course, we're hoping you won't take a single day off." He smiles. He really loves smiling, doesn't he? "I'm joking. Our office culture actually forces you to take at least three weeks of vacation; just make sure you don't take in at a busy time."

"I have the paperwork all drawn up," Jessica says finally, and I bite my bottom lip to hide my laughter. She speaks! "All you have to do is sign at the bottom of every page. Everything we just discussed is in here, so you don't need to worry about anything else."

Taking the contract from Jessica, I feel a thousand emotions course through me at once: excitement, anxiety, hope, disbelief. They fill my brain and jostle for space, sending my thought process into a whirlwind. Signing the bits that Jessica had indicated does very little to lay them all to rest. If anything, it increases the scope of everything I feel: are you telling me that just for taking a few photos for them, they saw it fit to give me a Public Relations job?

Well, Edward did pull a few strings; but doesn't that just reflect the simple fact that I probably am not here entirely by merit?

Oscar extends his hand for a handshake. His hand is gigantic, and there's a little black dot between his thumb and forefinger. Everything about him is perfect.

Except for his morals.

Okay, I've just met the man, so I probably know nothing of his morals; but I'm not sure I want to know anything else about him. He fucks his employees - at least the ones who are probably still teenagers, anyway.

"Work starts tomorrow, eight-thirty." His voice is deep and husky, with an almost exaggerated Mancunian accent. "Be here at eight o'clock so I can introduce you to your senior."

I thank him and exit with Oliver while he and Jessica linger inside. My heart pounds as I sink into a state of disbelief - all of my hopes, all of my dreams - moving so fast that they look blurred. And, for the first time in my life, I feel like I might be able catch up to them.

After apologising to the guard for being - as he had said it - a 'thankless bint,' I walk back to my car. I stare at the building, almost expecting for someone to come out and tell me they've made a mistake and they shouldn't have given me the job. I eye it for a good minute; and once I'm certain that everything that's just happened wasn't a dream (or a mistake), I pull my mobile out and dial Edward.

"How'd it go?" he asks excitedly.

"I think there's only one way that could've went. You literally got the job for me," I snap. I don't know where that came from.

"Okay. What's wrong?"

Sometimes I forget just how much he knows me.

"This Oscar guy... he's dating a teenager."

"Oh, right. That. He's also fucking their lawyer and some young twink. He's really more serious with the twink, but the only person that knows that they're doing a three-way is the teenage assistant girl. I need you to not get in trouble and don't say anything. Is that clear, Edgar?"

I'll say it again: sometimes I forget just how much he knows me.

"Fine. And I'm really grateful that you got me the job. I'm sorry for sounding like I wasn't."

"It's okay."

I nod even though he can't see me. "So, Sophie called."

Pause. "What'd she want?"

"I don't know. I didn't answer."

"Yeah. She can go fuck herself, right?"

Edward and I both have mommy issues. Well, his relationship with both his parents went to the dogs after he told them that he was gay; and I stopped seeing my mom as a goddess after she sent my dad to prison where he committed suicide six months after he was taken in after being the target of some gang inside.

I was seven at the time.

And that kind of disillusionment about your parents is hard for anyone that's not a teenager to deal with.

"Anyways, I just wanted to say thank you, really."

"Don't mention it. Talk later?"

"Talk later."

As luck would have it, immediately after I hang my call with Edward, I get one from Raven.

"Have you cooled off?" she asks as soon as I answer.

Right! I never apologised for going off at her last time! That has got to be one of the most embarrassing things I've done this year.

"I'm sorry for going off at you. I was just scared I'd lost all my work," I explain.

"It's fine. I understand. Did you manage to get your camera fixed?"

"No. I'll have to buy another one."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Sometimes, I don't know what I'm doing with Raven. We have nothing in common. I think I'm just staying with her so it doesn't seem like I'm taking Edward's side in their fight.

If we're being honest, I don't think she ever gave Edward his money back; but if I told her that, it would seem like I'm picking Edward's side.

"Yeah. Hey, there's a call coming through," I lie. "Can I call you back?"

"Of course!" She knows I'm lying. "See you around, then?"

"Cool."

I should probably be a bit nicer to her. I mean, I did flip out on her just two nights back. Maybe I should've told her that I got the job? I'll tell her as time goes on.

I guess I'll be working with celebrities now - with their huge egos and performative niceness.

I wonder if this means I'll get to work with Alejandro now.

What are the odds, right?