“I’m sorry, but you’re in the wrong location.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, see here…” He sets the paper down on this counter and shows me the address, which honestly means nothing to me. “You’re about a twenty-minute subway ride away.”
“But the driver brought me here, and I don’t even know where here is. I just arrived from Los Angeles, and he was waiting for me and…” Panic starts to set in. What if the driver was at the airport for another Benjamin Miller? I mean, it’s entirely possible. I do have a common name and mistakes happen, right?
While I’m in a full-blown freak-out, a woman approaches the desk and talks to one of the men sitting there. “Hi, I’m here to see Margie Smith with Omni, Inc.”
“Wait, is Omni in this building?” I ask the man helping me. He nods and types something into the computer, and instantly he’s grinning.
“Benjamin Miller, an intern with Margaret Smith?”
“Yes!” I glance to the gal next to me. “Thank you. You just saved my life.” She smiles but says nothing. She’s handed a badge and quickly disappears through the metal detector by the security gates. “Well, I’m thankful she said something.”
“Me too, because I was starting to feel real sorry for ya.” He places my badge on the counter. “This is temporary until Omni issues you a permanent one. Take any of the elevators on the right-hand side.”
“Thank you.”
“Welcome to New York, Mr. Miller.”
Towing my luggage behind me, I scan my badge and wait for the plastic windows to slide open so I can pass through. I’m sweating bullets right now, and my heart is beating unbelievably fast. For a second, I almost turned around and went back to the airport, giving in to my fear that I don’t belong here, but it’s stupid to feel that way. Omni’s team chose me. I’m meant to be here.
The elevator ride is very short, but when I step off the elevator and turn toward the window, I see the tops of buildings. I walk over and look down and feel my throat drop. I don’t know how high up I am now, but the cars on the street look like those little ones I used to play with when I was a kid.
Behind me, the glass front wall of Omni, Inc., is there, waiting for me. I press the button on the keypad and wait.
“May I help you?”
“I’m Ben Miller—” It’s all I can get out before the door buzzes, and I’m able to step in, and that’s when it hits me. The smell of success is all around. Five or six people are waiting on the leather sofas, and off to the right, staff are milling about. To the left, offices are overlooking the same view that I’ve just looked out over.
“Ben?” The woman behind the desk motions me forward.
“Hi, yes. I’m Ben.”
“I’m Heather, you’re early, but please follow me.” I do as she says, following her down the hall. I’m not dressed appropriately for being here today and am wondering if I missed an email or something. I don’t remember anyone saying I had to report for work today. “Didn’t feel comfortable leaving your luggage at your apartment?” Heather remarks. I look down at my suitcase and shake my head.
“The driver brought me straight here.”
Heather sighs. “Of course he did. You can put your stuff here.” She stops at a cubicle with three and a half gray fabric walls, a desk with some drawers, a computer, a phone, desk chair and a cabinet. “This will be your workstation.”
I step in and set my stuff on the desk. As much as I’d love to sit at the computer and spin in the chair, Heather is waiting. I follow her down the hall, trying to pay attention, but the view is almost too much to pass up. I have a feeling I’m going to spend hours looking out the window and admiring the city from above.
“Margie, I have a wayward intern for you.”
I half smile at Heather as I pass by. I don’t like being labeled as a wayward thought. I’ve never missed an important date in my life, and I’m not about to start. I know my mind has been elsewhere, but I’m focused on this job.
“Mrs. Smith, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for this opportunity.”
“You too, Benjamin.”
“Please, call me Ben,” I say. I stand in her office, probably looking like a frightened schoolboy. I can’t help but wonder what her view looks like, but walking behind her desk to look seems rather unprofessional.
“Would you like to have a seat?”
“Sure.” I sit down in one of the chairs facing her desk. My hands grip the wooden armrests, and right now, I feel like I’m in the principal’s office, about to get the scolding of my life.
“How was the flight from Los Angeles?”