I’m bombarded with a thousand thoughts all at once, but I don’t have time to process anything about my first encounter with Bishop Castillo. Not while my father is dragging me into an elevator and pounding the button for the second floor.
As soon as the elevator doors close, my father loosens his grip on my arm and heaves out a sigh. Rubbing the tender skin of my elbow, I brace myself for whatever he’s about to say. It won’t be anything good.
“You pulled it together at the end, but seriously, Harlow? I called in a huge favor for this opportunity.” His brows are furrowed as he stares down his nose at me. It’s a look I’m all too familiar with.
“I don’t think it went that bad,” I hedge.
“I’m not even talking about the introduction, though that was a disaster too. What are you wearing? Are those Christmas presents on your shirt?” My father scowls at me, the frown twisting up his face making him look even more unpleasant than normal.
I look down at the cute blouse I’m wearing, then up at my dad’s disapproving glare. “It’s festive,” I reason.
“I told you to show up today in professional attire.”
“It’s silk.” What more does he want? This thing cost nearly two hundred dollars.
“It’s tacky.”
I bite my lips, partially to keep from yelling at him, and partially to keep myself from bursting into tears. I should be used to it by now. Twenty years of being the family disappointment should have given me thicker skin, but my father’s words still sting. Will I ever be good enough?
“Don’t waste this time,” he lectures as he straightens his tie. “After the holidays are over, we can discuss your future plans. You won’t be an assistant forever, of course, but this could be the first step in taking over the company.” He chuckles at his own joke, though we both know he’s only half kidding about his expectations for me.
It’s not enough for me to simply be an employee at an office. As the daughter of Allen Pierce, I should be running the company. Anything less would be embarrassing. He’s a world-renowned plastic surgeon, the top of his field with all the accolades to back it up. My mother is a model-turned-gym-owner, the epitome of boss-bitch-babe vibes on steroids. Even my older brother is a freaking high-profile defense attorney.
My goals are much more abstract than my family’s, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have them. I’d love to have a career in design or decorating, but more than that, I want to be content. At peace. I want to be loved. My parents and brother can’t comprehend such “low standards,” and thus have deemed me the black sheep of the family. My “lack of ambition” is apparently the most humiliating thing that could happen to my father.
“I’ll do my best,” I promise as the elevator comes to a stop on the second floor.
“You’re going to have to do better than that,” he says, shooting me a stern look. “I mean it, Harlow. Your mother and I need you to start showing some initiative in your life.”
I’m about to tell him for the hundredth time that I’ve applied to several art schools, but I already know what his response will be.That’s not a real school or a real job.
Instead of wasting my breath, I just nod my head. The doors open, and my dad points in the direction of the human resources department before he heads over to the office of one of his friends who works here too.
Straightening my back and squaring my shoulders, I take a deep breath, centering myself before walking into the HR office.
My dad may have his plans for my career, but I have my own ideas. I’m hoping I can knock the socks off of Bishop Castillo by being the best damn decorator-slash-assistant he’s ever had. Then he’ll give me a good reference, and I can apply to more art programs. The money I make here and the freelance design projects I have lined up will help me get through the first semester with or without my dad’s money.
It’s a long shot, I know, but I’m trying to make the most of my current situation. I just hope I’m not too distracted by my new boss to make a good impression.
CHAPTERTHREE
BISHOP
Sipping my morning espresso, I look across the office floor, still not used to the holiday explosion that happened last week when Harlow burst into my life.
I mistakenly assumed the box filled with garland and string lights was her only weapon for spreading Christmas joy. Turns out, that was only the beginning.
There are two Christmas trees decked out in ornaments, lights, and tinsel, topped with golden stars. Harlow even wrapped a stack of empty boxes and placed them under the trees to create the perfect holiday scene. Lights line the entire office, and sparkling silver and gold snowflakes hang from the ceiling.
To her credit, the colors are classy. Not the garish red and green usually associated with the holidays. Harlow went with gold, white, and silver, with a few accents of deep green here and there. She really thought of everything. Even the wrapping paper matches the theme.
Peering down at my watch, I see it’s nearly seven forty-five, which means the first of my employees will be trickling in soon. I typically get to the office around six every morning, which helps me get a head start on the day.
The routine of it all is comforting. It’s something that was sorely lacking in my childhood. Between my mother constantly getting evicted, bouncing around different shitty relationships, and forgetting she had a kid half the time, my life was anything but stable.
Finishing the last of my morning drink, I straighten my tie and fasten my cufflinks before securing the top button of my suit jacket. I have exactly one look–Navy blue Armani slim fit suit with Dior leather Oxfords. Eleven identical suits hang in my closet, along with eleven white dress shirts.
The predictability of my schedule and habits soothes me and reminds me I didn’t turn out like my mother. It took a lot of growing up and seizing the right opportunities, but I managed to break the cycle of poverty.