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Farrah

I’m on my way to my seventh job interview this week, and I just realized there’s a sucker stuck to my pencil skirt.

Things were goinggreat.

And by that, I meant, I needed to take three antacids just to keep my lunch down before I had a complete meltdown. Kind of like the tantrum my five-year-old had this morning because I couldn’t find her sparkle dress so she could wear it for the fifteenth day in a row.

I pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine, then licked my thumb to try and get rid of the sugar spot on my black skirt. Now it was wet and shiny, but hopefully the interviewer wouldn’t notice.

Getting out my phone, I dialed my best friend Mia’s number. After a couple of rings, she answered, and I could hear the echo of the bathroom she always answered my calls from during the workday.

“This was a terrible idea,” I said. “I appreciate you getting me the interview, but maybe I should back out. I don’t want to embarrass you. I’m not even sure I’m qualified for this. I’ve had like three part-time interior design jobs in the last ten years, and I’m not even sure—”

“Farrah,” Mia whispered, cutting me off. “I wouldn’t have recommended you to my boss if I didn’t think you could do it. I love you, but I’d kind of like to keep my job.”

The sound that came past my lips was somewhere near an anxious laugh.

“You did an amazing job on my parents’ new house. It helped their downsizing so much. This is on a different scale, but I know you can do it. You just have to come in and be your fabulous self.”

I tried to listen to her words instead of hyperventilating. “Right. Right.” I still wasn’t convinced.

“Tell me you’re here,” Mia said. “He hates when people are late.”

“I just pulled up,” I said. “Wait. He? As in the interviewer?”

“As in my boss.”

My jaw dropped. “Gage Griffenis interviewing me? Doesn’t he have billionaire things to do?”

Mia giggled. “Technically, he’s always doing billionaire things. And after the last three bad candidates HR sent through, he decided to handle the process himself.”

Gage Griffen. Owner of Griffen Industries. The youngest billionaire in Texas. Theonlyself-made billionaire in the country. Mia’s demanding boss with expectations higher than the Rocky Mountains. “Okay, now I’m really panicking.”

“You’ll be great,” she said. “And your parents are watching the munchkins, right? You can let go of your worries and just focus in on this.”

“Levi’s watching them.” I cringed. My oldest may have been fourteen, but sometimes I thought his eight-year-old brother was more mature. “Dad had a doctor’s appointment and Mom had to cover at their coffee shop, so I was on my own today. But Levi can handle it... I hope.”

Mia was quiet for a moment, and we’d been friends long enough for me to know she was not saying was she was thinking. “Farrah, I know you. You can figure out anything for your family,” she finally said. “You can do this. Take a few deep breaths and come in. I gotta get back to the desk.”

She hung up, leaving me alone in my minivan. I glanced around the car, wishing I felt less like a soccer mom and more like a professional. It would help if the car didn’t smell like Levi’s sweaty gym bag.

I took a few deep breaths anyway, like Mia suggested, and got out of the car, determined to make the most of this.

Then I heard metal on metal.

My heart sank and I cringed, realizing I’d just door-dinged one of the fancy cars in the parking lot. A Tesla.

“Shit. Shit shit shit,” I muttered to myself as I licked my thumb and tried to rub off the streak of white paint. It wasn’t budging.

I couldn’t afford to fix this kind of car.

But I couldn’t leave it either. That wouldn’t be right.

I reached into my van, finding a scrap piece of paper from the sketchbook Andrew, my middle child, kept in the car and scribbled down a quick apology with my phone number. Hopefully the owner would just let it go. But judging by the swath of white paint on their otherwise flawless and perfectly clean black door, I highly doubted it.

Let it go,I sang to myself quietly, still unable to get that song out of my head. I needed to be my most poised and polished self for this meeting. Even if there was still a sucker stain on my skirt.