then as I debated this. It was Lizzy Sypes, my best friend. “Hey, what’s up?” Lizzie asked.
“Hey, I’m in a rush to get to that interview.”
“Ah, so how’s that going?” she asked not taking the hint.
“Not very well. I’ve spent the past hour trying to put together the perfect outfit.”
“Yeah, that is not ideal. You look fine, I’m sure. Stop thinking so much about this.”
“You know what this means,” I said. “You know what I’m up against. If I don’t do well in this internship, they will give it to someone else and my shot is ruined.”
“You place way too much emphasis on having a career,” she said. “You need to breathe. It’s just a job. Relax.”
I sighed. “It isn’t that simple. And yes, I do place a lot of emphasis on it. This is my life.”
“No, it’s your potential to get rich, but who wants to be rich? You realize if all this works out then you are going to be working like a hundred hours a week for the rest of your life. That’s what it takes to be rich in corporate world. It’s insane.”
“I guess we all aren’t following the passion over money,” I said.
“Yep. You said it. I’m happy with my life as it is. I see no reason at all to put all that work and stress myself. There are far greater things to do.”
“Ok,” I said. “To each their own. Look, this is very important to me. I’m running late. Can I talk to you later?”
“Yeah, but first you should send me a pic of what you are wearing. I’ll tell you what I think.”
I sighed. “Ok.” I took a quick picture and I sent it to her.
She took a moment to evaluate. “Damn, girl. You look fine. You got the cleavage going, and the legs… wow… I have never seen you look so hot. I’ve never switched teams before, but you make me think about it.”
I blushed and giggled. “Thanks. But do you think it’s too much? You said cleavage. Am I really showing too much cleavage?”
“No. I think it is just enough to get Caplan all hot and bothered. That is the point, right?”
“No. It is not the point. The point is to look professional—ah hell. I don’t have time. I have to go. I should have left fifteen minutes ago.”
“Ok. Love you. Hope you do great.”
“Thanks.”
I finished the call and headed out the door to my Chevy Impala. The car was ten years old, had way too many miles on it, and was really going to die at any moment. But I couldn’t bear to give it up. I felt like we’d been through a lot together.
I started the engine and headed away from my apartment building. The drive to Caplan Industries was about fifteen minutes depending on traffic. And of course, the traffic was far more extreme than usual. I hated living in Los Angeles sometimes. There were far too many cars on the road at any given time. You were always stuck in some sort of traffic jam. Maybe we would eventually all take up walking like New Yorkers. Then we could get rid of the disgusting smog. It was so grimy and nasty looking overhead blocking that beautiful sunshine half the time.
I turned on the radio hoping a fun song might calm me down, but I was really so nervous that nothing was going to help me at this point. I would be fine once I was there in the meeting with Tony Caplan. Do I call him Tony? Mr. Caplan? What was the etiquette at that company? Fuck.
I was fiddling with the knob on my Sirius XM trying to find a good station when I remembered I was driving, and I should probably be looking in front of me. I jerked my head up just in time to see a car slamming on his brakes right in front of me. I followed suit and then I felt a light bump on the back of my bumper.
Shit.
I’d been hit.
I parked the car and got out to look. I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I saw there was no damage at all to either car. The car behind me was merely resting on my bumper a little bit. It was just a little tap. I smiled and praised the Heavens, but the driver of the other car was not so happy.
He got out and began screaming at me. He was about six feet four and towered over