“You really think so?”
Grasping everything that she had just told me was proving to be difficult. Mothers aren’t supposed to tell their daughters such things—not even when it’s true. Half of me was intrigued. The other half wanted to forget her entire confession.
But Ethel was on a roll, nodding solemnly.
“I really do think so, sweetheart. Go find your destiny.”
“I guess it’s time to apply then. The page is already pulled up on my laptop,” I said with a small smile. “Thanks, Mom.”
A sexual rampage wasn’t exactly on my shortlist of possibilities, but living a more exciting life was. At least it wouldn’t hurt to apply for the position.
“Yes! Go! And good luck!” chirped my mom.
After our conversation, I researched everything possible about being a good personal assistant. At first, the job was just a placeholder. The pay would be incredible. There would be a lot of new people to meet. Yet, after talking to my mother, the job wasn’t just something to do while I worked on my writings. I craved it.
Having sex with the band wasn’t part of the plan. It wasn’t even in the realm of possibility frankly. After all, they were too attractive for someone like me, rock stars to my plump, dowdy self.
But maybe I’d meet some hot rock and roll fans during the tour. Tattooed dream boys would surround me each and every day, chanting Hard Fought’s lyrics. That wouldn’t be so bad.
Actually, I would rather enjoy it.
But nerves got the best of me when meeting with Hard Fought’s manager. I hadn’t had a job interview since the age of fifteen, and that was just to flip burgers. Plus, Burger Joint turned me down for reasons unknown. Go figure. How much skill does it take to flip patties?
So it was quite a surprise when I got a call back for the personal assistant job. A fast food joint didn’t even want me. Why would Hard Fought be any different?
Just as I expected, it was the job interview from hell.
Helena Reece was intimidating to say the least. As soon as I saw her in person, it was clear why she was a manager.
Middle-aged with brown hair scraped back from a face that was both extraordinarily beautiful and extraordinarily scary, the woman was a hard-ass. She made me feel like I was about to be cut in two. With a fierce look and soul-piercing eyes, Helena Reece was the epitome of management material.
As for me, I was in my best dress. It was a birthday gift—floral and feminine. When looking in the mirror, I felt beautiful. That is, until Helena stared me down. Suddenly, my confidence evaporated.
Her strong gaze reminded me of the time that I tried out for the cheerleading squad in the ninth grade. It was a nightmare that was painful to relive.
“I think you’re too big even for the bottom of the pyramid,” Amanda Hartwell had smirked all those years ago. “Lose ninety pounds and try again next year.”
The memories rushed back, painful and heart-wrenching. I waited for Helena to say something, half-expecting the worst. Something along the lines of:
“There was a slim girl that I interviewed just before you that might be more to the band’s taste.”
Because after leaving high school, I hoped that the bullying would be over. But the chances of that were slim. People are people, from age three to thirty.
So I’ve tried to adapt, letting the comments roll off my back. Being thick and curvy had its downsides, but I knew how to dress. Admittedly, the floral dress was a little tight. It seemed appropriate enough, though. I wore it on a lunch date with my mother, who thought it was absolutely adorable on me. To be fair, she had to think that. I’m her daughter, after all.
By contrast, Helena Reece looked me up and down with crisp, no-nonsense eyes of jade. I felt like a cheap piece of meat, mostly because it seemed like she was even checking out my tits and my ass. That couldn’t be it, though. She did not seem like the unprofessional type.
Two minutes passed.
Wow, this was awkward.
The woman said nothing. Instead, the clean-cut manager simply kept looking over me like a prize filly up for sale. It was uncomfortable. Strange even. What woman does this to another woman?
Then, after at least another five painful minutes, she sniffed at me and said, “You’ll do.”
I almost passed out.
That’s all?
“What? You don’t have any questions for me?” I asked her, still too shocked to keep my mouth shut.
Helena drew in a deep breath. Her patience was being tested. “Fine...” She looked down at the application in front of her. “...Kate. Tell me some key things about yourself and why you’d be a good fit for Hard Fought.”
It was a question that I had prepared for.
“Well, first of all, my attention to detail is impeccable. I had spectacular grades all throughout high school, graduating as salutatorian. College plans are to come later on, but if this works out, Hard Fought will have my full attention.”