Page 18 of Jerk

What friends?

And that knot in my stomach twists.

"I'm sorry, Hannah,” Ember says. “You’re right, I didn’t have your back. To be honest, I didn't expect you to show up. Give me a heads up next time, and I promise I’ll be by your side.”

"Well, that’s more than Chloe, Marisol, or Zurie can say,” I sigh. “Wait, Ember?" I can’t believe I’m asking her this, but at this point, I need backup. “Do you want to be part of the Posse?” It’s hard not to wince when I ask, as if she can see me.

A pause, then a loud laugh takes over. Enough for me to turn down the volume. “Respectfully, no. I don’t think I have the wardrobe to keep up, but that’s a kind offer.”

My shoulders fall. “It's just... I thought my posse would have my back. They’re meant to be my friends.” Pulling into a parking space in front of a modern glass building, I put my car in parkand check my makeup in the mirror. "But they've been such a bummer."

“I can still be your friend without being part of your posse.”

“You sure about that?” I remember the way she looked at me when I snapped at Mac. She’s loyal to him. Not me. Everyone in The Hill is loyal to whoever gets them ahead.

“Would a friend call to check in on you when your face is plastered all over social media in tattered Versace?”

“So you do know your brands.”

“Believe it or not, I’m still dating Malcolm McKinsley.”

A smile tickles my face, but it vanishes when I rememberwhymy dress was tattered. My cheeks heat, thinking about the way he handled me. The way he stared at me. The way he made me turn to complete mush. Fucking embarrassing. Standing in a fire with the enemy shouldn’t have turned me on. Ryung Rowen shouldn’t have made me feel that way.

"Break a leg, Hannah.” Ember pulls me out of my thoughts. "You got this." She sends me more luck before ending the call, but I won’t need it.

I’m built for this world.

Stepping out of my car in my Prada sling-backs, I make my way to the entrance and do my best to push all the feels from last night aside. “I own this. I own this town. And I own this internship.”

Once through the concrete and gold lobby, I ride the elevator to the top floor. To Nam Atelier, my dream. Lifting my head high, all the drama from last night rolls off my shoulders as I stare at one of Michelle’s designs framed on the elevator wall. It's a spin on a wedding dress, using red and gold instead of the traditional white. I’ve waited for this moment since I was a kid. Landing this internship as a Junior will be iconic.

I’miconic.

Ding!

The elevator chimes. The doors open.

My jaw tightens.

It’s hard to think about the future when something’s blocking your path. Make that someone.

“Marisol?” The name is quick out of my mouth, confusion and disbelief coming with it.

Marisol looks more and more like me every day. Instead of champagne pink, her almost identical suit is a powder blue. Hers is much less fitted to her stick-thin frame thanks to a certain pharmaceutical trend. Marisol smirks as she stands right next to Michelle Nam, my future boss.

This doesn’t look good.

My eyes move to the phone in Marisol’s hand, the screen tilted to Michelle. And when Michelle looks up, it’s not the look I dreamed of. I’m not sure what to address first. Marisol’s presence or Michelle’s death glare.

“I didn’t realize this was a group interview.” I choose to address them both, my hand gripping tight on my bag. “I understood the position was only open to the most qualified.”

“It is,” Michelle says. She looks amazing for her age, even as she scowls at me, her makeup minimal. “And from the looks of it, I was mistaken about who meets those qualifications. Nam Atelier is more than fabric. It’s a lifestyle. I’m looking for someone to match our integrity, our elegance. Ourpoise.”

“Then what’s Marisol doing here?”

“Marisol is here showing initiative and care for the brand.” Michelle takes Marisol’s phone and aims it at me.

Oh, fuck.