Chapter 54

The day of the interview, the whole office is buzzing with excitement. Even I’m caught up in the feel of it, despite my dread about having to work with Amber.

Things haven’t improved for me at work. Lila still makes me do research that she then takes all the credit for. Amber has been smug all week, rubbing in at every occasion that she was the one to secure Miles for the interview.

After that stimulating phone conversation and subsequent picture of Miles, I haven’t heard from him at all. I’m not overly concerned with that. We both have busy lives. I imagine I’ll hear from him again – at the very least, the next time he’s horny.

I also know I’m going to see him today. Maybe that’s why I pick my nicest outfit to wear: a polka-dot blouse with the top three buttons undone, a pair of form-fitting black pants, a set of black heels with a clasp around the ankle.

I try not to think too hard about why I chose this nice outfit. I guess I want to impress Miles somewhat. Though he’s made it clear that he doesn’t care what I wear, he’d still find me attractive, I want to show him that I am capable of being an attractive woman too.

“Did you put on mascara for this?” Amber asks as she swings by my desk.

I did, but I don’t really care to have her point it out. She’d be a hypocrite to make fun of me for it, when she’s wearing false eyelashes.

“You do know, you are never going to actually be in front of the camera?” Amber asks. Then she hitches her hand onto her shoulder and shoots me a vicious little smirk. “Don’t tell me the extra makeup is for Miles?”

It absolutely is, but that’s not her damn business.

“Of course not,” I say. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that Miles and I are barely even friends.”

“He’s not interested in you,” Amber says.

She’s said that before, many times. I’m almost immune, but not quite. The words still sting a little, right behind my ribcage. Probably because I think she’s right. Or, at least, she should be right.

Miles, an ultra-attractive and successful congressman, should have next to zero interest in the housewife he barely knows.

Yet he’s the one who asked me what I was wearing the other night. He’s the one who found me sexy in my nightgown. He’s the one who helped me see the sexiness in myself.

“I know that,” I say, when I realize Amber is expecting an answer.

“Good.” Amber tilts her head. “Come on. I said you were going to watch me, right? Learn something? Come with me to the studio and see what real journalism looks like.”

I don’t really want to learn journalism from Amber. She’s younger than me, sure, but she could be younger and still have things to teach me – if her offer to actually teach me is genuine. I

I’ve been out of the business for ten years. I can openly admit to not knowing anything. My skills are rusty at best.

But Amber has no intention in actually helping me succeed. Instead, this is one more mockery.

See how successful I am, Esther, compared to you, is what Amber might as well be saying.

Unfortunately, I can’t do anything about it. In this job, I am a newbie on probation and Amber is my senior. I have to more or less do what she says at work, at least if Lila gives the go ahead, which she has already done.

Amber starts walking, and I hurry out of my seat to follow her. It’s been a while since I’ve worn heels, so I’m somewhat wobbly on my feet for a few step.

The heels might have been a mistake.

I try to remember how to walk in these. Heel-toe, heel-toe.

I’m watching my feet as we walking through a door and down a corridor. We exit the other side into a studio and I finally lift my head.

Walls have been erected in front of a camera to give the illusion of a room. Within the false room, two comfortable high-back leather chairs have been arranged, mostly facing each other but also on an angle so the camera can see.

There are more cameras set up throughout the room, mostly facing the chair on the left. That must be the one that Miles is going to sit in.

“What do you think of the setup, Amber?” one of the set designers on staff asked as we walked onto the set itself.

“It could use more lighting,” Amber says.

The set designer turned to look, frowning slightly. “We’ll have lights on up front by the camera…”

“There should be some in the back too,” Amber says.’

I should hold my tongue. I’m here to observe, not to speak freely. But, more than I want Amber to fail, I want Miles and Harbinger News Company to succeed.

“Too much backlight would give you a halo on the screen,” I say, remembering my days at the college. We had our own little news network. Though I was more a writer than a crewman, I learned a thing or two just from being in the room.

Amber gives me a sharp look, but the set designer seems thoughtful.

“She’s right, Amber.”

Amber blanches slightly. “It’s fine. Keep it how it is then.”

The set designer nods and returns to work. Amber shifts toward me.

“Go fetch me a coffee, Esther. I’m thirsty.”

I suppose my role today in addition to being an observer is also to be an assistant. I want to fight back, but… what would be the point?

Amber already won. My job would soon be forfeit.

And I could use some coffee, too.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, and start to turn toward the back of the room where a small water and coffee station had been arranged.

I’m there, pouring coffee, when a hush falls over the whole room.

Beside me someone whispers to their co-worker. “He’s here.”

I don’t have to ask who.

Miles Hamilton. The man of the hour.

The doors to the studio burst open, and Miles struts in like a male fashion model. Impeccably dressed, he holds his head high as he walks.

“Where?” he asks the receptionist, who stays beside him, albeit a step or two behind. She watches him like she’s in awe of him. Honestly, same.

“Over here. This is the set,” the receptionist says and waves Miles toward the chairs. Amber takes a seat at one of them, the one meant for the interviewer.

Miles walks toward her, but then stops.

“Amber?” He seems surprised.

“They’ll have to take you in makeup first,” Amber says. “Then the techs will need to mic you up. After that, you can join me here and I’ll ask you questions. Miles, I’m so happy you agreed.” Amber is all smiles.

Miles starts to frown. “I don’t understand.”

Amber’s brow furrows. “Which part?”

“The part where you are the interviewer,” Miles replies.

He sweeps his gaze over the room. When his gaze catches on me, he calls. “Esther. What are you doing over there? Why aren’t you sitting in this chair?”