Bad Boy Rich

Inside the office sat a panel of three other women. A gorgeous young woman in the middle, the lady that called me in on her left, and another beautiful brunette on the right. Combined, they shattered any confidence I carried. Each one uniquely stunning in their own way.

“Sit down, Miss Milenov,” the older lady instructs in a less-than-impressed tone. “I’m Sonia Jones and I’m Emerson’s publicist.”

“Thank you.” I smile, politely. “Please, call me Milana.”

“Milana.” The woman in the middle repeats. She appears to be young, perhaps in her mid-twenties, dressed nicely in a denim blue off-the-shoulder blouse. I’m unable to see her body behind the table yet she looks fit; typical California girl with dark blond hair cut to her shoulders and flawless olive skin. “It’s a very pretty name. I’m Emerson Chase, I’m sure you know who I am.”

The name didn’t ring a bell, and all eyes stare at me with curiosity, waiting on my response. I didn’t watch TV, movies, or keep up with social media like Phoebe did. I assumed she was a model. The interviews that I had passed were formal, not once mentioning who this high-profile client was.

“I apologize for my ignorance, I’m not quite sure who you are. I don’t, um, get out much.”

The second it left my mouth, I regretted it instantly. I sounded dumb.

“You don’t know who Emerson is?” Sonia questions with slight mockery, scribbling something on her notepad and sliding it across to Emerson.

Again, I smile, hiding my nerves and sounding my words in my head to not sound like a bigger fool. “My life back home consisted of two things: work and family. I’m a hard w

orker, perhaps a workaholic. I take things seriously and wish I had time to relax but unfortunately—time just gets away from me.”

“Understandable.” Emerson smiles warmly, flashing her perfectly white teeth. “You sound like what I’m looking for, a hard worker.”

Sonia clears her throat, quick to interrupt. “Well, let’s get down to it then, shall we?”

She proceeds to ask me a string of questions, many that I could easily answer and some that were out of my comfort zone. Scenarios: how would I react and what would I do. They were odd, and judging by the type of questions, I concluded that Emerson Chase was a household name, just one that hadn’t made it to mine.

I could feel myself breaking out into a sweat, question after question with no end in sight. Sonia Jones was relentless—not allowing Emerson or the lady on the right to get a single word in.

“Hi, Milana.” The woman on the right, a stunning brunette wearing reading glasses, introduces herself as Charlotte Edwards: Emerson’s lawyer.

“I want to make you aware that this role deals with many confidential matters. If you were successful, you would need to sign a confidentiality agreement.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem, my previous role dealt with highly confidential legal matters, so I understand and have no intention of breaching my employer’s confidentiality.”

She smiles in response, jotting down some notes while I continue to sweat like crazy, riddled with nerves and praying that my deodorant worked the magic it said it would.

“Milana,” Emerson speaks, while reading my resume that sits on the woodgrain table in front of her. “This role would involve round-the-clock work including traveling. How does this sit with your personal life?”

“I don’t have one,” I answer honestly. “I moved here with my brother. I don’t have friends or acquaintances. I’m here to work.”

The three of them turn to look at each other, no facial expressions to indicate they were pleased with my answers.

“I’ll be honest, Miss Milenov, I’m not sure you truly understand the pressure of this role, after all, you only worked at a small law firm in Alaska.” Sonia pulls a face like Alaska was breeding lepers.

I’m gobsmacked at her arrogance, desperate to give her my two cents and walk away if it wasn’t for my low bank balance and the fact that Flynn and Mom needed me.

“I assure you,” I say, biting my tongue and straining my words. “Working for Mildred Mason was anything but small. If anyone understands pressure, it’s me. I worked two jobs to support my sick mother and would have gladly stayed in Alaska and taken on a third if she allowed me.”

“My dear,” she says, patronizing my ability, “Hollywood is not Alaska. I mean, you’re not exactly dressed for the role. Appearance is everything.”

I look down at my suit then gaze at theirs. So what if it wasn’t designer? I didn’t understand why that would influence their decision to hire me. I could do the job—that should be all that mattered.

“I can do the job,” I reiterate, though struggling to compose my words. “I wouldn’t have come out here if I didn’t think I could do the job.”

Sonia laughs, strategically placing the pen on the corner of her red, plump lips. “You’d get eaten alive.”

“Sonia,” Charlotte and Emerson mouth beneath their breaths, their face shadowed by disappointment.

“With all due respect, Ms. Jones, pressure is knowing that time is ticking and for every minute that passes, I have a mother that slowly forgets who I am.” I stand up with a wobble, leaning on the table for support. “Thank you for the opportunity, I’m sure you’ll find the right person sitting in reception.”