Page 38 of Infamous Heart

“Next time we meet, I want you looking the role of a Revelations employee. We have standards and taking riffraff off the street isn’t in our nature. Consider a suit, maybe a shave, and then I won’t be distracted looking at your work.”

I snatched my portfolio from his desk. I had seen a dozen employees walking toward his office, and I kicked myself for not noticing the dress code. If that wasn’t enough, I felt as if I had squandered my first impression and now, I worked at a deficit. It would take something seriously impressive to pull myself out of this hole.

A part of me died as I nodded my head.

“Thank you.”

“I see something special in you, Mr. Smith,” he said. “Perhaps rough around the edges, but we can remake you into the best version of yourself.”

With a wave, he signaled the meeting had come to an end. I didn’t even warrant a farewell. He simply turned to a stack of papers while I saw myself out. The feelings of insecurity crept in, and I could see my chance to prove myself slipping. Every time I thought I’d freed myself of the self-doubt, made a step forward in cementing my success, I tumbled from the ladder to start over again.

I’d joke about it, but it hurt.

* * *

I scoured the offices and cubicles on the walk to the elevator to see if I could spot Sebastian. After the tongue-lashing from Damien, I could use a friendly face. With the uneasy feeling brewing in my chest, a hug would do wonders.

Everybody dressed as snappy as Damien. From the designers in their concept meeting to the sales staff on the phones, they looked as if they shopped at the same store. I don’t think I owned anything half as nice. While it might seem overkill to have a strict dress code, I had to complement their attention to the branding of Revelations. I’d never be able to see somebody in a black dress shirt and dark red tie and not think they worked here.

I reached the elevator without spotting Sebastian. I checked my phone to see if he might have texted me a “good luck” or “you’ve got this.” My confidence had imploded, whittled away with one dig after another. The lack of communication piled on top of the sense of inadequacy. It was illogical, but the heart didn’t tend to think of the world in terms of logic.

Pushing the button, I watched as the digital readout signaled the elevator speeding upward. To my right, hidden just outside my peripheral vision, a woman waited patiently for the doors to open.

I turned and gave her a slight smile. Her jet-black hair had been pulled back into a carefully crafted bun. She returned a smile, the one where a woman is being polite but secretly deciding if I was going to be one ofthosemen.

The elevator opened, and I stepped to the side.

“After you.”

“Thank you.” She stepped on the elevator and gave me the once over. “You’re not one of ours?”

“Interviewing with Mr. Vex. I’m after one of the design positions for the magazine.”

“A word of advice. Mr. Vex is particular about his employees. You’re going to need to fix this,” she motioned to all of me, “if you hope to impress him.” She didn’t have to elaborate. Damien had been abundantly clear.

“Thanks.” It’s the polite thing to say, but the last thing I needed was another person drilling into my appearance. If I could have any superpower right now, it’d be to turn myself invisible and dart away unseen.

“How did you hear about the position?” The doors hung open for a second longer before shutting.

“Sebastian Taylor.”

“Oh,” she gave me the up and down before adding, “Ohhh.”

I hadn’t talked to Sebastian about workplace etiquette. For all I knew, he wasn’t out at work, and I didn’t want to place him in an awkward position with his co-workers. But obviously, she knew him well enough to know that he had a type and I fit.

“Yeah, I met him while working at the Beacon.”

“I see.” She rested her hands in front of her, one over the other. The position made her chest even more pronounced. I couldn’t imagine being a woman in a ruthless industry, but if she chose to weaponize her sex, then more power to her.

“I’ve known Sebastian for years.” Her tone had shifted. The statement had an edge of condescension to it. If this conversation was about to be like all the others today, I braced myself for daggers.

“He’s a good guy. He clawed his way out of Southlands and made something of himself.”

A compliment? I hadn’t been prepared for—

“He’s a valuable asset to Revelations. His creativity is part of what keeps this magazine afloat and he’s proven his worth. I don’t mean to judge…” Of course, she did. Nobody ever prefaces a flattering statement. It only happens when they’re about to tear through you. “But you’re playing out of your league. Sebastian, Revelations, this is for the best.”

I did the only logical thing.

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