“Never,” Ruth said. “Maybe this is some kind of mid-life crisis.”
“The woman is sixty-nine,” Gola reminded her.
“If anyone can live to 140-ish and still be fabulous, it’s Dalessandra,” Ruth insisted.
“I gotta go,” Gola said, juggling the coffees. “But maybe we can do lunch today? You can give me all the deets on how you met Dalessandra.”
“There aren’t many details. Her dinner date got me fired.”
Gola and Ruth exchanged another look.
“Dinner date?” Ruth whispered gleefully.
“My extension is on the company list. I’m the only Gola.”
“Call me too,” Ruth said. “I need to know about the dinner date!”
Lunch buddies. Okay. This wasn’t so bad.
“Sounds good.”
Gola backed through a second set of glass doors, and I breathed a sigh of relief when the coffee survived.
“Let me just call back to Dalessandra’s office to let them know you’re here,” Ruth said, picking up the phone.
I watched a grim-looking woman in a dove gray suit walk up to my bus stop buddy. He rose and beamed at her. She frowned at him.
“Follow me,” I heard her say without enthusiasm.
My buddy gave me a thumbs-up with one hand and clutched his brown bag lunch to his chest with the other.
“Please let the mail room be friendly,” I whispered.
“Ally? Dalessandra is ready for you,” Ruth said, hanging up the phone. “You’re just going to go through those doors and follow the hallway all the way around. It’s the last office on the left, and you’ll see two terrified assistants sitting out front.”
Oh, goodie.
“Thanks, Ruth.”
“Good luck! I’ll see you at lunch.”
If I survived that long.
I found the office—and the two assistants, only one of whom looked terrified—without needing to ask for directions. Which was good because everyone I passed in the hallway looked like they were running off to war. There was an urgency that permeated the entire floor. People seemed on edge.
Or I was overanalyzing everything, and this was a typical office environment. Label was a big business, and that meant a lot of money, power, and influence. Also, probably a high instance of stomach ulcers.
“Hi. I’m Ally,” I said, startling the closest assistant into nearly falling out of his chair. He caught himself but sent a pen cup flying.
He clutched at his chest. “Holy macaroni.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Johan,” the second assistant complained. “You knew the front desk was sending someone back here.” She stood while the Jumpy McJumperson scrambled to pick up his pens.
“I’m Gina,” she said. “You can come with me.”
She led the way into the glass-walled inner sanctum behind her.
Dalessandra Russo stood behind a sleek worktable with bowed metal legs in a blue so deep it was almost black. The walls were papered in some exquisite fern and leaf pattern in soft creams and greens. Silver framed photos of the woman in question with celebrities and other important-looking people were hung in a pattern too pleasing to the eye to be accidental.
She and a thin, bespectacled man were studying something on her desk.
Dalessandra looked up over delicate reading glasses. Her dress was an ivory and sterling knit wrap dress with long sleeves that played off her gray hair. Her necklace was what someone more educated in fashion would probably call a statement piece, a thick gold bar with tiny gemstones sprinkled over it.
If I wore something like that, I’d chip a tooth hitting myself in the face the first time I bent over.
“Ally. So happy you could join us today,” she said.
“I’m happy to be here,” I said warily.
I was still waiting for the “I’ve changed my mind” conversation.
“Ally—what is your last name?” she asked.
That got the attention of the man beside her. He looked up, puzzled.
“Morales,” I said.
“Ally Morales, meet our production manager, Linus Feldman.”
Linus gave me the once-over, and I knew he was wondering what the chick in the thrift store skirt was doing in Dalessandra Russo’s office.
“Hi,” I said.
Linus was short, slight, black, and—from the heights his cute, furry eyebrows climbed—a teensy bit on the judgmental side.
I couldn’t fault him. I had no idea what I was doing here either.
“Hello.” He drew out the word like he was waiting for an explanation.
“Ally is joining our admin pool,” Dalessandra said.
Whew. Okay. There really was a job after all.
Linus looked relieved by that explanation too.
“Best of luck to you,” he said, briskly stacking the papers. “I’ll get these over to the editorial team.”
“Thank you, Linus. Please close the door on your way out,” Dalessandra said, sinking into the chair behind her desk.
She gestured at one of the ivory armchairs opposite her.
Linus’s eyebrows were nearing his hairline again when he did as he was told. The look he shot me as he closed the glass doors was more “beware” than “good luck.”
I sat, gluing my knees together. It had been a while since I’d donned a skirt. I felt like I was mid-crash course relearning how to sit like an adult.
“So, Ally,” Dalessandra said, interlacing her fingers. “Welcome to Label.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Why am I here?”
She didn’t laugh, but her smile was warm.
“That is why,” she said, pointing at me.
My hair? My charming confusion? Maybe I reminded her of a long-lost best friend from summer camp?
“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”
She did laugh then, and I could hear the assistants’ chairs outside spinning in our direction.
“I’m hiring you for our admin pool. You’ll have new administrative tasks every day. You might help with research or fact-checking. You might be called upon to take notes in meetings or run scheduling on a specific project. You could liaise with a designer’s team to help coordinate photo shoots. You may fill in for personal assistants or you may be asked to organize catering, pick-up coffee, et cetera.”
“Okay.” That sounded reasonably doable.
“But.” She let the word hang in the air between us.
I waited for the very luxurious stiletto that was about to impale me from above.
“I’m interested to know what you noticed about our offices so far,” she said.
“You mean in the three minutes I’ve been here?”
“Yes.”
Great. There was already a test. I knew there was an answer she was looking for. I just didn’t know what it was.
“Everyone seems…” I trailed off, not sure how honest I should be.
“Say it,” she said.
“Terrified. Like deer in headlights.”
She sighed and tapped her pen on her desk. “We recently went through a… difficult transition.”
“Mmm,” I said, not ready to admit that I’d internet stalked her and her company.
“In the transition, we removed, lost, and replaced several key employees. The ones we removed were no longer the right… fit,” she decided, “for our values. They had become liabilities of sorts. Unfortunately, we also lost several valuable team members.”