Party Girl (9 page)

“Will you walk Paige back out to the lounge? I’ll be there momentarily.”

“Of course,” I say, walking forward, “if you’ll just follow me, Ms. Blakely.”

Paige starts waddling through the office with a smile plastered on her face, but as she turns I can see that her eyes are watery. She’s the cutest little thing I’ve ever seen, in her brightly colored maxi dress and her wedge sandals and her big, bouncy blonde hair. She’s short like me, so the added weight is even more noticeable, but she’s still gorgeous and glowing. Screw those A-holes for making fun of her! Before I can think better of it, I say what I’m thinking.

“Ms. Blakely, please excuse my language, but they’re both total assholes. You look fantastic.”

She sniffs and looks up at me. “It’s OK. It’s nothin’ I haven’t heard before.” She sniffs again.

“No.” I’m shaking my head. “It’s not OK. They’re idiots. They couldn’t find their butt if they had both hands in their back pockets.” I scowl.

“My mama always says that.” Paige smiles her first real smile as we reach the lounge.

“Mine too.” I smile back.

“Where are you from?” she asks as she lowers herself slowly onto a sofa.

“West Texas.”

“Half my family’s from Texas.” She smiles sweetly. “Where ‘bouts?”

And just like that both of our accents are going in full force.

“Odessa?”

“Of course I know Odessa! My granny’s from Midland. When I was younger we used to head into Odessa for this great barbecue place I loved.”

“The Pit?” I ask with a smile.

“The Pit! Lord, I haven’t been there in ages but I loved that place!” She absently rubs her belly with one hand.

Mama’s gonna die when I tell her Paige Blakely knows The Pit!!

“Actually, that’s my mama and daddy’s place.”

She actually moans in response. “I’m so jealous! One of my pregnancy fantasies is having unlimited access to brisket!” She giggles.

Before I can agree I hear Selah behind me.

“Paige, just one more minute and we’ll head down. Brinkley, a word?”

How long has she been standing there? I turn and follow her back behind the wall that separates reception from the rest of the office. At the far end of the room I can see Quade and McKenna packing up their desks. Oh no! She really has fired them! What does this mean for me?

“You’re good with people.” Selah says it like an accusation. I look up into her face, still strained in anger, and just nod.

She lowers her voice, presumably so Paige can’t overhear. “Quade and McKenna were my entire support team, and they’re gone. I don’t allow anyone to insult my clientele, and they should know better.”

I think of all the times I’ve listened to her insult her clientele . . . I guess it’s only OK if none of them catch you doing it. I nod again.

She gives me a quick head-to-toe perusal, and then her eyes narrow.

“I don’t have the time or the inclination to spend the height of the holiday-party season finding and training a new assistant. I need you to start immediately.”

I think I stare at her for a full ten seconds before I find my voice to respond.

“I’m sorry, what?” I ask in shock.

“The job . . . as my assistant . . . It’s what you’re working towards, right?” If possible, she’s even more annoyed. She looks down at the phone in her hand and starts to search through its contents.

“Yes ma’am. I mean, of course. I just—”

“You can either do this job or you can’t, which is it?” she snaps.

It’s exactly the same question McKenna asked when he taught me to use the phone. I wonder now if Selah asked him the same question once.

I can’t believe any of this is happening. This morning I was excited about the prospect of watching
The Bachelorette
tonight on TV, and now Selah’s offering me a job it should have taken years for me to acquire. She looks up from her phone, and I don’t have time to debate it any longer. I decided when I came here that Selah was a means to an end, and she’s offering me a chance to get to that end far faster than I could have anticipated. I muster every ounce of confidence I’ve acquired in my twenty-three years and look her dead in the eye.

I am strong. I am smart. I am courageous.

“I can.”

“Good.” She stares at me a beat longer, then looks back to her phone. “I’ve told McKenna to leave the handbook out and any pertinent notes available for you. They should be gone within the quarter hour. I’m off with Paige for lunch, but I’ll be back by four. Tell Taylor I want the revised rental order on my desk by then, and make sure it’s printed out. I don’t like looking at those line items on a screen.”

And then she’s gone.

I turn slowly on my heel and see Miko staring, her eyes twice as big as they normally are. Before I can even get to her, Quade and McKenna come out of the small office with their stuff, looking annoyed but confident. Neither of them acknowledges anyone; it’s as if their colleagues are somehow responsible for all of this. They start to pass me and, as usual, I’m not smart enough to keep my mouth shut.

“I’m sorry, guys, I—”

McKenna stops mid-step and glares at me, his angry face daring me to say another word. Then he resumes walking and they both carry on, refusing to look at me. How embarrassing for them! I wonder what they’ll do now . . . What kind of reference would Selah give them? I don’t even have time to contemplate it because I can hear Selah’s phone buzzing, and I’m apparently the person who answers that now. I hurry past the room that’s come to a standstill with all of this drama, past Miko’s confused expression, and into the little office that’s now all mine. I sit down at McKenna’s desk and put in the earpiece as I punch the button for line one.

“Selah Smith’s office?” I chirp, but the caller has already hung up. I look down at the white desk and see a thick black binder with the title “SSE Assistant Handbook,” and right next to it is a bright Post-it. I realize it’s the note Selah asked him to write, the one with any pertinent information I should have. McKenna’s serial-killer handwriting is scribbled furiously across the top.

You won’t last the week, Texas.

Well . . . At least this time he got the state right.

While Selah is at her lunch meeting I do my level best to memorize the assistant binder. It’s something like fifty-two pages, single spaced, and mostly includes info about how to properly format an e-mail and answer the phone, but it’s a lifeline and I’m clinging to it with both hands.

The phone is quiet through most of the afternoon, and while I’m thankful for the reprieve, there’s something ominous about the silence. I’m guessing that the rumor of the Volturi’s untimely demise has quickly made the rounds throughout the event industry and that none of the vendors want to risk speaking with Selah when there’s already blood in the water.

“Brinkley, my office.” Selah’s clipped tone whips into my little room, and my head snaps up. She’s already passed by, not bothering to confirm that I’ve heard her, just confident that her request will be met. I hurry to follow her with a notepad at the ready.

I walk just inside the door of her office and pause, waiting for her next command.

“Close the door and take a seat,” she says without looking up from the screen of her cell phone.

I do as I’m told.

Selah angrily jabs a few buttons on the phone and then puts it down on the desk. Her eyes narrow on me like a hawk.

“I don’t have time for this!” she barks.

“I’m sorry—should I come back later?” I’m confused.

“I’ve had Quade for almost two years and McKenna for half that; I don’t know how I’m expected to continue at this level without proper support.” Her tone is accusatory. As if
I’m
the one who has done something wrong. I just stare at her and try not to show how nervous I am.

When I don’t reply she plows ahead.

“Whatever you don’t know, you need to figure out.”

I have
zero
idea what she’s talking about but, as McKenna has taught me to do, I nod anyway. Selah pointedly glares down at the notebook in my hands. Since it’s clear she wants me to make a note, I write:

1. Figure out whatever I don’t know!???

“Next, the all-hands meeting is tomorrow morning. I shouldn’t have to remind you of this, but that’s your responsibility now.”

I continue to write notes, but my stomach just drops out. I’m supposed to run a meeting? Like, a
real
one? The last meeting I led was back in Girl Scouts.

“Also, Margo e-mailed last week about some brunch or something she wants to do. We’ll need to talk to Jin about the pulls she’s done for that. Production should have three proposals going out today; confirm their delivery. I have drinks tonight with the team from Haiku, but I’m exhausted, this day is for shit, I need to reschedule. Make an appointment with the acupuncturist—my shoulders are too tense—and switch my Pilates back to Friday.” She keeps listing things in rapid fire, and I scribble furiously without comment.

Thirty minutes later I’m dismissed, and it takes everything in me not to sag with relief. I hope that I’ve filled up five pages of notes because I’m new at this, and not because this is typical for a random Selah weekday.

I’m just barely at the door when Selah calls out again.

“And Brinkley?”

I turn around with the pageant-contestant smile on my face.

“This . . .” She points her index finger at my hair and then sweeps it around to encompass my face, “is ridiculous. The aesthetic here is chic, not cheap. You’re a representation of my brand now, and as such I expect you to look presentable.”

I will not cry. I will not cry.

I won’t cry, but I don’t trust myself to speak. I simply nod and turn to leave the room.

I walk back into the little office without looking at anyone else. Once inside I sit down with my back to the door and fight to see the computer screen through the tears in my eyes. When I hear Selah’s door open I quickly dab at the tears with my sleeve and pray to God that none of my mascara is running.

“Brinkley, I’m headed out. I won’t be back today, but I’m available on e-mail.”

I swivel around to speak to her, but she’s already walked off. I’m still staring at the empty doorway when Miko bursts through it and closes it quickly behind her.

“What. The. Hell.”

“I’m her new assistant?” I meant that as a statement.

“And that’s what you want?” she asks, serious.

“Yeah—Yes. That’s what I’ve always wanted. I just thought it would come when I was actually prepared to do the job. I haven’t really done any of this yet.” Defeated, I wave my hands desperately around the small office and then let them plop into my lap. “And I have all these notes from her, but I don’t know who half the people are or what she’s talking about.” I grab hold of my notepad and wave it at Miko spastically. The defeat I felt just minutes ago is slowly turning into panic. “I mean, I can figure out just about anything, and I can usually handle whatever anyone wants to throw my way, but I’m so far out of my league with her. I’ll never catch up, and if I can’t figure it out she’s not going to let me stay, and I—”

“OK. Hold on!” Miko looks at me sternly, waits to make sure I am, in fact, holding on, and then abruptly leaves the office. She walks back through the door forty seconds later and puts something into my hands.

“First, eat this. It’ll help,” she says.

I blink down at my hands.

“Fig Newtons?” I look up at her, dismayed.

“It’s the only sugar I have at my desk. I wasn’t anticipating a crisis today, or I’d be better prepared. Just eat it. I’ll be right back.”

She leaves and I look back down at the little package of cookies. Well, it can’t hurt.

I’m on the second cookie when Miko comes back with Holt in tow. I don’t really know Holt well. She mostly works on PR and marketing for SSE, so I haven’t interacted with her much. She’s a really pretty blonde, but she seems perpetually annoyed . . . Right now is no exception. Miko pulls the angry Barbie through the office door and then closes it behind them.

“Brinkley, this is Holt. Holt’s going to be super helpful and answer any questions you have about this new job of yours.” Miko eyeballs her companion, silently daring her to disagree.

My eyes fly to my new savior.

“Oh my gosh! Really? What can you tell me?” I squeak.

“Everything.” Holt sounds exasperated, but she takes Quade’s old seat.

“How do you know so much?” I ask, curious.

“I’m the one who wrote that.” Holt points to the manual on my desk and my eyes bug out.

“You were Selah’s assistant?”

“The very first,” she says, and I can’t tell if the bitterness in her voice is from having to talk to me or the memory of what it meant to blaze that particular trail.

Oh man, this is so awesome! I had no idea any former assistants still worked here. Maybe I’m not going to get fired after all!

“And you don’t mind helping me out?”

Holt eyes Miko speculatively and then finally says, “Actually, yes, I have about a thousand other things to do, and as I pointed out to Jin, no one taught
me
how to do this job. I just figured it out!”

“And as Jin pointed out to you,” Miko says, sounding patronizing, “that was back when this company was much smaller and the job description not nearly so intense.”

Holt opens her mouth to argue further, but Miko holds her hand up.

“I also pointed out to Holt that were she unable to assist you with this, it might be difficult for my design team to keep working on all the marketing materials that continue to make her look so good at her job. Isn’t that right, Holt?” Miko asks with mock sweetness.

Holt allows herself a thirty-second death stare, but she must really need Miko’s help because she turns to me with a bland expression.

“Let’s start with personal assistant work. That’s what’s gonna make you want to slit your wrists the most, so you may as well know what you’re in for.”

I look at Miko and then back at Holt. Apparently, she’s not joking. I grab the notepad off my desk and spin back around.