Page 4 of Cocky Jerk

I arch an eyebrow as I stare at the receptionist—the same chick who brought me to meet Soraya last week when I interviewed for the position. Wondering if I look worse than I thought, I turn and glance at my reflection in the mirrored elevators. Ok, so my hair is much wilder than it was the day we met but other than that, I don’t spot any significant changes. Turning back to her, I rest my helmet on top of the fancy counter that sits between us.

“We met last week,” I remind her, forcing a smile. “I’m Antonia DeLuca, Soraya Vendetta’s new intern—” she cuts me off.

“You’re over an hour late.”

“Well, yes, about that—”

“Penelope, I’m starting to get worried about my new intern. She was due into the office over an hour ago, can you give her a call to make sure—oh, there you are!”

Noticing me, Soraya steps out of her office. Her brows pinch together, and a look of concern washes over her features as she takes me in. When her eyes finally meet mine, she tucks a strand of her long straight hair behind her ear and I marvel over the royal blue ends. Not many people can pull off such a bold look, but Soraya nails it.

“You’re late,” she comments, crossing her arms over her chest. “I was beginning to think you decided not to take the position,” she adds, clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. A flash of silver peeks out, and my eyes narrow curiously.

“Is that a tongue ring?” I blurt, instantly regretting the question when I hear Penelope gasp.

Alright, so maybe that’s a little weird.

Feeling like a complete fool, I push a closed fist toward Soraya and try to make amends for the awkward question with a pound. “Kudos, girl. I pierced my tongue once as a big fuck you to my father. After twelve hours of drooling and not being able to talk, I ripped the thing out.”

Shit.

Realizing I just dropped the f-bomb, I drop my fist to my side and raise my other hand, smacking my open palm to my forehead.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “This has been the worst day ever,” I continue, peeling my hand away from my face. “My alarm clock didn’t go off as planned and then there was traffic, and this annoying cop who decided to make his monthly quota of tickets with me.” I reach into my leather jacket and pull out the ball of tickets as proof. “I sent you an edible fruit arrangement, did it arrive?”

“You sent me an edible arrangement?”

I nod.

“Strawberries, pineapple…all that jazz.” She stares at me blankly, and I swear Penelope mutters something that sounds oddly likekiss ass. Ignoring the receptionist, I continue, “Look, I really need this job. I swear if you give me a shot, you won’t regret it.”

It’s true, while I have no experience in this field or any field really, I’m prepared to work my ass off. Waiting for her to respond, I nervously close my hand around the ball of crumpled tickets.

Please don’t fire me.

Can you fire someone who hasn’t actually worked yet?

“Traffic is ridiculous at this time,” she finally says. “Where are you coming from?”

“Brooklyn.”

A small smile ticks the corners of her bright red lips.

“That’s where I’m from. Well, originally…” Her smile widens as she subconsciously thumbs the impressive rock on her left ring finger. “Now I live on the Upper West Side with my husband, Graham, and our two kids, Chloe and Lorenzo.”

“So, there’s hope,” I say.

She laughs.

“There’s always hope, girl,” she replies, pushing off the doorjamb. Her eyes move to Penelope. “Penelope, I’m going to show Antonia to her desk. Can you bring her the new hire forms and make sure she’s properly set up with an email account to field column questions?”

“Wait, so, I’m not fired?”

“Not today,” she says cheekily. “Come, I’ll show you to your desk.”

For the first time since I opened my eyes this morning, I breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe Soraya is right, maybe there’s hope to be found in every situation, even the ones that seem hopeless. She turns and starts for the row of cubicles, bypassing the office she appeared from. Penelope gives me a dirty look, but I don’t acknowledge it or her for that matter as I shove the ball of tickets back in my pocket and grab my helmet from the reception desk. This day just turned around and nothing is going to bring me down.

I follow Soraya, watching as her pin-straight hair sways with every step she takes. I’m curious to know if there is a specific reason as to why she dyes the ends blue and why just the ends, why not the whole head—I mean if anyone can pull it off, I’m sure it’s her. However, I don’t ask.

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