Page 38 of Ten Christmases Without You
Emmy wasn’t doing a good job of learning to live life on her own terms. She was painfully aware that she was about to find out how resourceful she could be, however, when she didn’t have enough money for groceries. The difference was that her mother had an unattainable personality trait that made her successful, which Emmy wasn’t so sure she possessed.
Whether she had her mother’s talent or not, she needed to start job hunting. And soon. She got up, wiped her tears, and pulled out her computer. Then, she got a pad of paper and a pen and began searching job sites, looking for positions.
She jotted down a few possibilities and then opened a new document to build her resumé.
She stared at the empty document.
Mom, what would you do?
Her heating hummed in the silence. Nothing came to her. If only her mom could guide her.
Frustrated, she avoided the task by doing something else. With her mind still on her mom, Emmy decided to search for Mitchell Augustine again. She typed in his name, along with the search term “designer,” to see if she could find the same person from her last query. Sure enough, he popped up, along with a slew of articles. She clicked one of them that touted an exclusive about his childhood and scanned the article.
Apparently, he was filthy rich growing up. His great-great-grandfather was an early investor in the Spindletop oil discovery in Texas. He took the money he’d earned and invested it in cattle ranching. His grandsons got into real estate, partnering in luxury real estate venturesthat led to personal relationships with investors. It was Mitchell Augustine’s relationship with designers across the globe that lit a fire and began his career in design.
So if he was a designer, why would he hire Emmy’s mother to design a dress for his wife? Oh! It was a wedding dress. He couldn’t see the bride. Did that mean her mom had designed a dress for the wife of an uber-wealthy man? Her mother had serious chops if another designer chose her for the task.
Emmy read on.
Today, the Augustines owned a compound of sprawling estates along the coast of Rhode Island, where a young Mitchell had attended elite private schools and excelled at equestrian sports. He was the black sheep of his family, abandoning his heritage in business for the arts, something his father greatly disapproved of originally.
Emmy clicked another link.
His work profile came up. Then, she noticed he had a personal website. She clicked it and bit her lip, her gaze landing on the “Contact” link at the top of the page. Her fingertip hovered over the mouse and, in a moment of spontaneity, she clicked it. A form popped up on her screen. Should she reach out to him? What would she ask him?
She filled in her name and email address, and then typed the following message as it came to her:
Hello Mr. Augustine,
I’m the daughter of Anne Fairchild. I found your name on one of her illustrations, and I wanted to reach out to see if you knew her well. I’d love to hear back from you.
All the best,
Emmy Brewer
Just then, her phone pinged with a text, startling her. Her heart skipped when she saw it was Charlie.
How did the chat with your boss go?
Emmy set the phone onto the table, folded her arms, and dropped her forehead onto them. What in the world would she say?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
As her work colleagues filed into the conference room the next day, Emmy peered down at the unanswered text from Charlie. She clicked off her phone, dropped it into her bag, and smoothed down her sleek black dress. She’d chosen the dress this morning hoping it would give her the appearance of confidence. It was the most glamorous thing she owned, apart from the Garnet & Petticoat dress Charlie had gotten her. She’d over-rehearsed for the meeting, poring over all her notes late into the night. Emmy didn’t want to admit that she hoped she’d wow Vivienne so much that the woman would offer to have her back with a step up.
She hadn’t just pulled the information she needed for the Media Landscape and Opportunities briefing off the shared drive, but spent all night researching. And she’d memorized every line of what she planned to say. If she was going to go out this way, she’d go out with a bang. She was also hoping to impress people at work so much that they wouldn’t be able to help themselves when her name was brought up in conversation.
They’d all say,Did you see Emmy’s presentation? Why didn’t Vivienne ever let her run the meetings?
Emmy tapped her computer. The screen behind her shone with her first slide.
The room quieted down.
“As you know, the purpose of today’s Media Landscape and Opportunities briefing is to update you all on the latest trends in media and to explore potential PR opportunities.”
She’d only gotten the first sentence out before Vivienne came in and sat at the back of the room. She never sat in on these meetings. Was she that worried Emmy would mess up? Emmy’s nerves were high, so she attempted to channel her mom’s effortless presence. But since this was all an act, her delivery felt robotic.
She clicked her next slide. “In terms of our four main client types, I’ve listed new contacts to target.” With each tap on the mouse, one of the four client sections illuminated, all her research populating the screen.
