“You’re thinking that I don’t have enough experience for this position.”
I pulled a piece of bread from the basket and buttered it. I nodded, glancing down at the résumé she’d slid in front of me. “Wow,” I said. “Mind reader isn’t on your list of skills.” I paused. “Although I’ve told you that no fewer than a dozen times, so it’s not really a stretch.”
“Look, I know I haven’t had years and years of job experience, but I think that’s a positive. I have ideas. I can bring a fresh perspective. I can do things differently.” She paused, searching my face, as if deciding whether to forge ahead. “I can shake this position up like Greer did.”
No one, ever, in the history of the world, could do things like Greer did. My face must have changed, because she stumbled.
“I mean, no. Not like Greer did. I don’t mean I could replace her or anything like that. I just mean that she brought a fresh vision to McCann Media, and I have a new perspective that I could bring, too.”
She was clearly flustered, and I almost felt sorry for her. The waiter came to the table, and I ordered a bottle of wine, something I rarely did at a meeting. I felt the smile come back to my face naturally. I had forgiven her already.
She put her hands to her face and said, “I’m mortified. God. This is not how I thought this was going to go.”
I shook my head. “It’s going fine,” I said softly. “No one will ever be Greer, but, unfortunately, we all have to move on.”
It was like the words were coming from somewhere else. The phrase rolled around in my head: We all have to move on. I almost wanted to stand up on the chair and shout, WE ALL HAVE TO MOVE ON. I hadn’t moved on an inch in the past three years. Not a centimeter. Everyone and their brother had told me that. But Lindsay’s faux pas—plus, I had to admit, Mason’s unexpected wisdom—had made me see it.
We both ordered the catch of the day, and we talked about Lindsey’s ideas. Her face changed when she talked about McCann Media. “Greer is the reason I went to journalism school,” she said. “I followed her career for years. I reread her books every six months. I admired her, not just as a journalist, but as a woman, more than words can say. She inspired me so much.”
“She inspired me, too.” In everything. I sat across the table and looked at this person whose charm must have gotten her a lot of what she wanted in life. It was going to work for her again. I took a sip of wine and said, “You know what, Lindsey? I might regret this, but I’m going to give you the job.”
She looked shocked.
“Greer would have liked you,” I said. “I don’t know how I know that, but I do. If she were sitting here beside me, she would say, Look, Park, yeah, her résumé isn’t the best one we’ve seen, but she’s smart and she has passion. And sometimes that’s enough. And so I’m going to give you a three-month trial. But I want to be wowed, Lindsey.” I wrote a number on a sugar packet and slid it across the table. “If you make it past the three months, this will go up.”
She nodded. “Wow. Just, wow. Thank you for taking a chance on me. I know I have a lot to learn, but I promise I will learn fast. And I will transform your digital media for a new generation. I swear I will.”
I believed her. I paid the check and walked Lindsey to her car.
She turned and grinned at me, saying, “See you on Monday, boss.”
As I smiled and shook her hand, I realized this lunch had been the first time in four months that I’d been immersed in work, the first time in four months I’d gone more than an hour without thinking about Amelia.
Amelia
THE GREAT UNKNOWN
NEW YORK WAS MY FAVORITE place. I couldn’t imagine how, why, and again, how I hadn’t realized how fabulous it was a long time ago. The restaurants, the theater, the people, the job… I mean, yes, going from managing editor to reporter had felt like a step backward. But I was only thirty-five, for heaven’s sake. I had plenty of time to prove myself at a new publication and work my way back up the ladder. I ignored the fact that doing so had taken me twelve years at Clematis.
I was sharing a small but bright two-bedroom with Martin, who had decided he needed a fresh start, too, and, in true BFF fashion, had joined me in my life change. My secret nest egg was funding the venture, but, even still, Martin was footing more than half of the bills. I had protested, but he had insisted. And, much to my surprise, I had given in. He was right. None of the places I could actually afford were suitable for our swanky new start.
As the captain of all things fabulous, Martin was connected to the coolest people. He was the reason I was having so much fun, the reason I didn’t feel lonely. And he was the reason I was going on this damn date tonight.
“Please, Amelia, please,” he had begged. “Do this for me. I promised Harris a smoking-hot date to the premiere.” Harris was Martin’s boss at the PR firm where he was now working, the sister company of his Palm Beach firm. The job was part of the reason that he knew all the fabulous people. The other part was that his soft hair and megawatt smile simply attracted everyone to him like moths to a flame. He was handsome and generous, and he had the best stories—which were at least thirty percent true.
Like the one he was telling now in the back of the car while Harris and I smiled shyly at each other. I thought it was sweet that Harris could smile shyly because he was forty-two, graying right around his temples, and a total fox in the most gorgeous custom suit I had ever seen. My heart actually started pounding when he stepped out of the car, took my hand, and introduced himself.
“And the craziest part about the entire thing,” Martin was saying, “is that after she confessed that she was pregnant with her lover’s baby, after he killed himself on their kitchen floor, her husband still wants her back.”
Harris smiled at me and said, “No!” I could tell he’d hired Martin ten percent because he was brilliant and ninety percent because he was the most damn entertaining person in the world.
“Yes! Can you believe it?”
Harris squeezed my elbow and said, “I can’t. Can you, Amelia?”
I grinned at him. Was he flirting with me? I liked it. I liked him. Right away. Martin had been right. “Why would he do that?” I asked.
“He wanted to keep his family together.”
It was the first time in an hour I had thought of Parker and the family—albeit the unconventional one—that we had almost had. It still stung. But it stung a little less as Harris took my hand and helped me out of the car in front of the Paris Theater. The producer of this advance screening was the firm’s client, and I was happy to be there to support him. I readjusted the fitted black dress I was wearing and was glad I had gone with the stiletto boots, because Harris was tall. Tall tall.
Inside the theater, we were handed Moscow mules and cute, retro boxes of popcorn. I put my hand inside the crook of Harris’s arm when he offered it to me. “I think you’re really going to like this film,” he whispered in my ear. Now I was positive he was flirting with me. Was this really so shocking? Was I that out of practice?
The movie wasn’t really my kind of thing. A sort of action-adventure film with a lot of boat racing and some stolen diamonds and some sex scenes that were, quite frankly, a little raunchy and very uncomfortable, especially while you were sitting beside a boy you kind of liked. Okay, yeah. I knew Harris wasn’t a boy. But when you’re in the movies and you can’t concentrate because you’re wondering if he might try to put his arm around you or hold your hand, he’s a boy and you’re a girl. In a lot of ways, life never moves beyond seventh grade.