My smile is forced; my confidence completely shattered with emotions running high as I walk fast, out of the room, towards the elevator with my tears held back. How dare she think I was incapable and didn’t understand the meaning of pressure! My anger, combined with the lack of sleep, pushes my sanity over the edge. As soon as the doors open into the lobby and my face is met with the scorching sun, I burst into tears in front of random strangers that made no effort to console me, staring at me like some fool.
Back home, I curl up into a ball on the sofa, nursing the chamomile tea in my hand. The mug—I hand-carried from back home—made by mom during one of her pottery classes. Cradling it in my hand brought me closer to her. I wanted so much to pick up the phone and call her, but the humiliation of today was too much.
Flynn left a note that he was out, and desperate to find a piece of home, I call Liam, needing to hear a familiar voice.
“They just don’t know you, Milly. It’ll work out. I’m sure there’s another job waiting that will see you for who you truly are. I really hate that you feel this way.”
“You should have seen her, she acted as if I was a five-year-old applying for the job. I’ve never felt so humiliated. California is different…”
“It’s not home.”
I missed him so much. The smell of his skin when he sweated in the workshop. The way his hair fell over his eyes—much to my annoyance—only for me to sweep it away. Four days and this was the longest we had been apart.
“I want to go back home.” I cry openly into the speaker, tasting my tears as they fall to my lips. “I miss you, I miss Phoebe…and Mom.”
Liam remained quiet, allowing me to express my emotions in ways he had never heard from me before. After several minutes of listing all the things I missed about home, I quieted down, enough for him to finally get a word in.
“Have you spoken to your mom?”
“Not yet. I was going to call her after I got the job. God, how stupid was I to think I was good enough.”
“Hey, don’t you dare for a second think you’re not good enough. What makes them better, huh? Just because they have money doesn’t make you less worthy. They’re not us. They’re not bred to understand what working hard means.”
I suppose he had a point. I was just too upset to rationalize with my depressed self. We somehow move onto his work, updating me on what was happening back home. I missed the boys in the workshop, their antics and the way they sung country music loudly as they tinkered on the cars.
Just as we were about to say goodbye to each other, I hear the beep of another call coming through.
“Sorry Liam, I’ve got another call, can I call you back tonight?”
“Always.” I hear his smile before I say goodbye and answer the other call.
“Milana?” The voice is familiar. “It’s Emerson.”
Shit. I straighten my posture and respond with a chirpy tone. “Hi Emerson.”
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No, just talking to an old friend.”
“Great. First, I’m sorry for Sonia being so rude today. She’s a great publicist and ruthless when it comes to the media but sucks at being a human.”
I smile with relief. Emerson didn’t come across like Sonia. It was good to know I wasn’t the only one who thought she was rude.
“I wanted to offer you the job, if you’ll take it, of course.”
I almost jump on the sofa—Tom Cruise style. “Are you sure? I mean, I am a hard worker and I can easily work under pressure. I promise, I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t. Are you free to catch up for a coffee this afternoon? We can go through the details of the job and the expectations.”
She tells me her address and I scribble it down eagerly. We agree to meet at four o’clock, and when we both end the call, I jump onto the sofa and hug the piece of paper, grinning to myself.
I would show Sonia Jones that I could do the job.
It became my mission.
I grab my cell off the sofa and dial Mom’s number, eager to tell her the good news and hear her voice.
Maybe, just maybe, this would work out.