Status: newp
Top Floor
part three™
I sit on the floor, staring at my phone. If I do call, the worst that can happen is that they’ll say no. That’s what I’m expecting anyways. So then why bother? Maybe I want to spear myself the humiliation of trying. My thumb presses the numbers from the card. The phone begins to ring and I hold my breath, as if I’m readying to get hit by a car.
“Pierce Corporation New York Headquarters, how may I help you today?” an enchanting female voice speaks up.
“Uh, uh,” I mumble, “I-I’m calling for… uh, a position—I’d like to apply for a position as an assistant,” I say, which came out more like a question.
The woman on the other end takes a second to make sense of my mumbles. I hear keyboards being typed on and other phones ringing in the background.
“Is your name Maeve?” she asks me.
I knit my brows together, “Um, yeah.”
I wonder how she knows my name.
“Her voice becomes less perky and more monotone.
“Oh. Yes, the CEO is expecting you. Just confirm your address. He’s going to send you your apparel and a driver to pick you up.”
I grimace at the suddenness.
“What? B-but why?”
“The car will pick you up at 9:30. When you walk into the Pierce building, take the elevator to the top floor. That’s the CEO’s office,” she informs me swiftly.
Within minutes, I’m delivered a black vinyl garment bag and a shoebox. This must be a big deal, because the delivery guy isn’t wearing a jumpsuit. He’s wearing a black suit and tie. I look at the time and realize that it’s already 9 o'clock. I rush in and out the shower. I put on the white long sleeve cropped top and the fitted black leather skirt. Thankfully it comes down to my knees. Even though the black pointy toe pumps fit my feet, I can barely walk in them. I don’t own any makeup other than my cheap coral lip-gloss. I swipe it over my lips until they can’t get any shinier.
Then I hear a short honk. I look out the window and see a midnight Cadillac on the curb. I scrunch my nose at this excessiveness. I watch as the driver walks out of the driver seat and opens the car door, waiting for me I guess. I scramble to find one of my old resume lying around in a pile of paper. It’s a little crumpled at the corners, but it will have to do. I haste through the door and down the stairwell. I walk up the suited driver.
“Um, hello,” I approach.
He simply nods for me to get in. I do and my hands sweat all over again.
“Pierce Corporation New York Headquarters, how may I help you today?” an enchanting female voice speaks up.
“Uh, uh,” I mumble, “I-I’m calling for… uh, a position—I’d like to apply for a position as an assistant,” I say, which came out more like a question.
The woman on the other end takes a second to make sense of my mumbles. I hear keyboards being typed on and other phones ringing in the background.
“Is your name Maeve?” she asks me.
I knit my brows together, “Um, yeah.”
I wonder how she knows my name.
“Her voice becomes less perky and more monotone.
“Oh. Yes, the CEO is expecting you. Just confirm your address. He’s going to send you your apparel and a driver to pick you up.”
I grimace at the suddenness.
“What? B-but why?”
“The car will pick you up at 9:30. When you walk into the Pierce building, take the elevator to the top floor. That’s the CEO’s office,” she informs me swiftly.
Within minutes, I’m delivered a black vinyl garment bag and a shoebox. This must be a big deal, because the delivery guy isn’t wearing a jumpsuit. He’s wearing a black suit and tie. I look at the time and realize that it’s already 9 o'clock. I rush in and out the shower. I put on the white long sleeve cropped top and the fitted black leather skirt. Thankfully it comes down to my knees. Even though the black pointy toe pumps fit my feet, I can barely walk in them. I don’t own any makeup other than my cheap coral lip-gloss. I swipe it over my lips until they can’t get any shinier.
Then I hear a short honk. I look out the window and see a midnight Cadillac on the curb. I scrunch my nose at this excessiveness. I watch as the driver walks out of the driver seat and opens the car door, waiting for me I guess. I scramble to find one of my old resume lying around in a pile of paper. It’s a little crumpled at the corners, but it will have to do. I haste through the door and down the stairwell. I walk up the suited driver.
“Um, hello,” I approach.
He simply nods for me to get in. I do and my hands sweat all over again.