Page 8 of Doesn't Count

I apply a couple coats of mascara, some blush for color, and brush through my hair to loosen my curls. I considered stepping it up a notch, but it just didn’t seem authentic and if I strived to be anything, it’s myself. The part where I struggle is deciding what to wear. I’ve always overthought my outfits, but it’s important to make a good impression. I need something that exudes confidence, capability, and professionalism. I’ve only met with Blane two other times. First, interviewing for my internship and second, interviewing for a permanent position with the Company.

I toss my blonde waves over my shoulders as I make my way to my roommate. Sam’s sprawled across the couch, her light brown hair in a knot on the top of her head, wearing a black crop top and her sweatpants rolled down on her sharp hips. Even a mess, she’s still beautiful.

“What do you think?” I ask, holding up a grey dress.

She shakes her head, “No. That screams 1990’s secretary.”

I roll my eyes, running back to my room, coming back with another outfit. She eyes it carefully, “Too bland.”

“Sam! I have to leave in ten minutes!” I growl.

“I’m just being honest.” She shrugs.

I panic, sifting through my closet. I yank my Taylor Swift T-shirt off a hanger, grab my black pencil skirt, with a three-quarter sleeve black blazer.

“This?” I hold the pieces up for Sam.

She looks, contemplating. “Yeah, that could work. It’s bold and screams I want Taylor Swift.”

With my roommate's approval, I slip the T-shirt over my head, careful not to ruin my makeup and shimmy my way into the pencil skirt. I wait to slip into the blazer, already sweating from nerves.

“Yep, that’s the one.” Sam reassures me.

“Thank you!” I hug her from her spot on the couch and rush for the door, shoving my feet into my converse.

“Good luck, Ash.” Sam calls to me before I can slam the door shut.

I shout my thanks, almost stumbling down the stairs of our apartment building. It’s only four blocks to the office, but the human traffic in this area is terrible. I hold my bag close to my body, my blazer hanging on my forearm, and bulldoze my way through the sea of swarming bodies. If you’ve lived in the city long enough, you also learn the art of J-walking. It’s like the human version of Frogger but with real cars, bikes, and people.

I make it into our suite at the same time I always do, 7:55, and slam my bag onto my desk. I need a few minutes to recover from my journey before I can slide my blazer on. The August heat is brutal.

I power up my laptop, eager to pull up my talking points formy meeting with Blane later today. I’ve already memorized them, but it’s hard to focus on anything else with my anxiety at an all-time high. I’m so hyper fixated on my computer, I barely notice the iced coffee placed on my desk.

“Ehem!”

Startled, I find Jake staring at me, bewildered.

“Oh my God, I didn’t even see you there!” I place my hand over my chest, feeling my heart thrash around.

“Whatchya reading?” He asks.

I pick up the coffee, taking a sip. “I’m reviewing my notes for later today. I need to get on this project.”

He nods, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you fail at anything. You got this.”

I smile, “Thanks. Oh, and thank you for the coffee.”

“You’re buying the next one.” He laughs, easing himself into his chair.

I grimace, realizing he’s bought me coffee the last four Fridays.

“I think I owe you more than just one.”

Jake dismisses me with a wave, his focus already deep into his emails for the day. Friday is the day of deadlines. Everything needs to be submitted before the end of the day, but I always submit a day early and use today to figure out my next piece.

The energy in the office is always chaotic on Fridays, everyone types away furiously, fixing those last-minute mistakes, adding conclusions, desperate to get their work in on time. I prefer not to rush on the last day of the workweek.

I can’t help but notice Justina walking through the doors, her heels clicking against the tiles. Even though we’re the same age, she looks almost ten years older. She’s at least a half a foot taller than me, dresses like she’s the most important person in the room, and reeks of dominance.

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