To The Rude Guy in Apartment Five - J. S. Cooper Page 0,6
blinked and looked confused for a few seconds. “Oh, do you blog about fashion on the side?”
“On the side?” I was confused. “On the side of what?”
“On the side of your consumer credit code blogging.”
“Consumer credit code?” I stared at him blankly. What the hell was the consumer credit code?
“You know how to advise readers on PFDs and dispute letters, correct?”
I bit my lip. Was he speaking another language? I just stood there, not saying anything and I could see from the look on his face that it was dawning on him that I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Pay for delete letters to credit cards and collection agencies?” He sighed. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
“No …” I mumbled, wondering if I was on the verge of getting fired already.
“I said this company was a secret, but I had no idea they would send me two worthless people,” he huffed and ran his hand through his hair. “So let me get this right, you know nothing about personal finance, the credit card industry, or collection agencies?”
“I know that it’s better to have a credit card with a low APR and rewards,” I offered hopefully. “Oh, and that it’s better to pay your balance off in full every month.”
“That’s the extent of your knowledge?”
“Yes.” I nodded.
“Are you even a writer?” He looked suspicious.
“Yes, I’ve been blogging for five years,” I said. “I thought this job was for fashion blogging. That’s what the employment agency said.” I stared at him accusingly. “I wouldn’t have applied to a job about banking.”
“Blogging on what sites?” He looked at his watch. “Any national—”
“No,” I said before he could finish. “I have my own blog. A personal blog.”
“A personal blog?”
“It’s called Dear World ...” My voice trailed off. How in the hell was I going to make my blog sound professional? I was hardly about to tell my new boss that I dished about hot sex, lack of sex, losing weight, how I knew I’d gained 20 pounds because my jeans wouldn’t make it past my thighs, my favorite top was so tight I couldn’t breathe, and the cute dress I’d gotten at J. Crew on sale now fit like a short top. Yeah, there was no way I was going to tell him that.
Jane suddenly spoke up. “Magnolia is what is known as an influencer,” she said.
“People listen to what she has to say, no matter what she has to say.”
If I could have hugged her right then and there, I would have.
“Is that right?” Tate’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at Jane. It seemed to me that his gaze rested on her lips a little longer than necessary, but before I could think about it, he looked back at me and continued. “So you’re saying that you can research and learn about the topics I need you to write about? And you can bring millennials to our app and website?”
“Absolutely,” I lied. I was as much an influencer as my parents’ dog, Duke, was. I had about twenty people that read my blog frequently, and I had less than a hundred followers on Instagram, but I wasn’t going to say that. “I love researching.” Only a half-lie. I did enjoy researching different makeups and clothes. “And I’ve been complimented on my writing.” By my fifth-grade teacher and my mom. “I think once I learn more about the company ...” I let my voice trail off. “It’s all been so secret.”
“Sorry, it’s all been very private.” He nodded. “That’s how it is in the startup world. Is this the first startup you’ve worked for?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “I’ve only been in San Francisco for about two months.”
“Where did you move from?” He glanced at his watch.
“New York City.”
“Hm, okay.” He nodded. “Jane, what’s going on with the other employees? Why is everyone else late? They were meant to be here ten minutes ago.”
“I don’t know, Mr. Howard,” she said sweetly. “If you’ll recall, I only started yesterday. I don’t know what’s going on.”
“I told you to call me Tate, Ms. Garcia.” He frowned. “Or is it Mrs. Garcia?”
“You can call me Jane,” she replied. Then she shocked me by adding, “And what’s my role to be, Mr. Howard? Receptionist, marketer, or private dancer for special occasions?”
My jaw dropped at her words and I made a mental note to ask her what that comment was all about.
“I told you that was a mistake, Jane.” Tate pressed his lips together and