thousand staff based in New York alone. My fascination with journalism started in the eighth grade when I witnessed a car accident on my way home from school one day. Because I was the only witness, I had to give a statement to the police, and then when it turned out that the car was stolen, the local paper came and interviewed me. I felt like a rock star that day, and the shine never dulled. I’ve been to college to study journalism and done internships with the best companies in the United States. But it was Miles Media that I had my heart set on. Their stories are a cut above the rest; no other media company would do. I’ve applied for every position that has come up for three years and only recently got a callback. And even then, I went to six interviews before I was offered the job, and God, just don’t let me screw this up.
I take out my security card and put the lanyard around my neck, and I glance down at my phone.
No missed calls. Robbie didn’t even call me to wish me luck. Ugh, men.
I make my way to reception. The security guard at the front desk accepts my identification, and I am given a code to work the elevator. My heart is beating so fast as I get into the elevator with all the beautiful posh-looking people, and I push the button for the fortieth floor. I glance over at myself in the mirrored doors. I’m wearing a black pencil skirt that hangs to midcalf, sheer black stockings with patent leather high heels, and a cream long-sleeved silk blouse. I wanted to look professional and elegant. I’m not sure if I pulled it off, but here’s hoping. I pull my hand through my thick dark ponytail as the elevator flies higher and higher. I take a side glance at the others in the elevator. The men are all in expensive suits, and the women are ultraprofessional and wearing full faces of makeup.
Damn it, I should have worn bright lipstick. I’ll buy one on my lunch break. The doors open on the fortieth floor, and I stride out as if I don’t have a fear in the world.
Faking confidence is my superpower, and today I’m totally faking it till I make it.
Or at least die trying.
“Hello.” I smile at the kind-looking woman standing by reception. “I’m Emily Foster. I’m starting today.”
She smiles broadly. “Hello, Emily, my name is Frances, and I am one of the floor managers.” She steps over to me and shakes my hand. “Lovely to meet you.”
Well, she seems nice.
“Come through, and I’ll show you to your desk.” She walks off, and I peer into the huge office space. The tables are grouped into lots of four or six with partitions separating them from the others. “As you know, each floor of this building is a different arm of the company,” she says as she walks. “We have internationals and magazines from floor twenty down. Floors thirty to forty are news and current affairs, and above forty are television and cable.”
I nod nervously.
“The two top levels of the building are senior management only, and your security card won’t get you up there. It’s customary for new employees to be taken on a guided tour of the building, and Lindsey from human resources will come and get you at two o’clock this afternoon.”
“Okay, great.” I smile as I feel my confidence seep out into the carpet. God, this is all so professional.
“Most people start on level four and work their way up the building, so congratulations for starting on level forty. That in itself is amazing.” She smiles broadly.
“Thank you,” I reply nervously.
She leads me over to a group of four desks by the window and pulls out a chair. “This is your desk.”
“Oh.” I feel the blood drain from my face. I’ve totally bitten off more than I can chew here. I fall into my seat as panic begins to rise in my stomach.
“Hello,” a man says as he sits in the seat beside me. “I’m Aaron.” He reaches over and shakes my hand with a broad smile. “You must be Emily.”
“Hi, Aaron,” I whisper, feeling totally inadequate.
“I’ll leave you in Aaron’s safe hands.” Frances smiles.
“Thank you.”
“Have a great day.” She returns to reception.
And I stare at the computer on my desk as my heart begins to beat violently.
“Are you excited?” Aaron asks.
“Oh my God, I’m petrified,” I whisper