Page 1

Chapter 1
January 2023
Lila
The lift smells of fresh paint and the lingering trace of someone’s expensive perfume suspended in the still, empty air. I shift my tote bag higher on my shoulder, hoping it doesn’t ruffle my brand new Zara blazer – a purchase that decimated the last of my savings account along with the new heels, but felt necessary for today.
My reflection stares back at me from the mirrored doors - wide brown eyes lined with nervous optimism, light brown hair carefully curled into ‘effortless’ waves and arranged just so, make-up smoothed to a flawless finish with lashes extended, and lips highlighted with a bright pink gloss that says: ‘fun, vibrant, and full of creative ideas’.
A knot twists in my stomach as I look at her - the girl in the reflection. She looks the part.Shelooks like a Social Media Manager who belongs in the corporate world. She’s not just a twenty-three-year-old girl who’s been floating the past year since finishing uni, doing freelance gigs from a tiny shared flat the size of a shoebox.
This is real. Proper job. Proper building. Proper marketing firm.
The lift dings at the fourth floor and I take a deep breath.
Time to be the girl in the reflection. The girl I promised them I was in my interview: confident, creative, full of ‘big ideas.’ The girl who belongs here.
The doors slide open. I lift my chin, square my shoulders, and step out in my new Zara heels that are surprisinglynotpinching my feet.You’ve got this,I tell myself.
The office stretching out in front of me is everything I imagined a modern marketing firm would be – bright pops of colour, oversized posters of old adverts on the walls, small clusters of desks arranged in an open workspace dotted with a few casual sofas, and large, leafy Monstera plants adding bright bursts of green. To my right, a row of glass-walled meeting rooms lines the corridor, sleek and polished.
Just as I’m wondering where I’m supposed to go, as there doesn’t appear to be an obvious reception desk, a burst of laughter catches my attention.
“That is absolutely foul,” a girl around my age says, her voice light with laughter as she looks at something on the iPad in her hands. “Wecannotpost that!”
I can’t help but note how beautiful she is, with warm brown skin and long braids falling past her shoulders.
Beside her, a sandy-haired guy leans in, just as attractive, grinning with clear amusement. “But imagine the comments,” he adds. “It would go viral in seconds!”
They’re both dressed with the casual confidence of people comfortable in their environment – she in high-waisted black jeans and a vintage band tee knotted at the waist, showing just the tiniest sliver of skin at her midriff, and he in navy chinos and a simple light-blue button down, the top buttons casually undone.
I’m suddenly hyper-aware of my blazer, the stiff collar of my white shirt and tight fit of the pencil skirt, as though I’ve arrived at a new school without knowing it was non-uniform day.
I clear my throat, taking a step towards them. “Excuse me, I’m looking for –”
They both look up simultaneously and I’m met with matching expressions of delighted curiosity.
“Oh my God, you must be Lila!” the girl smiles, practically throwing the iPad at her colleague as she bounces toward me, flicking her long braids over her shoulder. She pulls me into a hug before I can respond, the scent of her floral perfume enveloping me.
When she steps back, her smile is infectious. “We’ve been dying to meet you. I’m Angela, by the way. And this is Carter.”
The guy extends his hand with a dramatic flair. “Multimedia specialist and gatekeeper of what Angela here is allowed to say on the Internet.”
Carter’s grip is warm and firm and I notice his eyes – a warm hazel – giving me a quick once-over before his smile widens appreciatively. Under different circumstances, I might have felt uncomfortable, but there’s something so genuinely friendly about him that I find myself smiling back.
His sandy blonde hair is artfully tousled, and his smile reveals perfect teeth that speak of good genes or excellent orthodontic work. His skin is tanned and he has a playful gleam in his eye.
“Love the blazer,” he says. “Very ‘I’m here to save your social media strategy and look fabulous doing it.’”
I laugh, tugging the hem of my blazer down just a bit.
“Is it too much?”
Angela waves dismissively. “God, no. You look amazing. We just don’t bother anymore,” she says. “Trust me, after your first month, you’ll be showing up in hoodies too.”
I smile, internally cringing at the thought of wearing a hoodie into such a stylish office. No thanks. But maybe I will have to tone it down just a bit.
“Come, we’ll show you where your desk is,” Angela says as they turn and start walking through the open workspace, coming to a stop near a set of three desks arranged in a cluster towards the back of the room, two desks facing each other and one at a right angle to them.