A Girl's Guide to Being Jilted | ✓

00 | Prologue

There's always one monumental mistake that every bad thing in a person's life can be traced back to.

For me, it was really hard to blame one single mistake because my entire life was a big, steaming pile of mistakes. But, trust me, you do not want to hear about that.

The one at the top of the list was answering the ad for an assistant at Wheeler Publishing.

I know what you're thinking and no. The job wasn't what sent my entire life to hell. Oh no.

The downhill drive into unrelenting self-pity and bone-crushing shame started as any good melodrama would. With a man.

I met him on a sunny March day.

Two days prior I'd managed to unceremoniously get myself fired from my job as a hotel receptionist. Apparently, a person has to be more than five feet away before you comment on her gaudy jewelry. Who knew?

One of my girlfriends from college - yeah I mean you Kayla, thanks a bunch. For nothing! - had mentioned an opening at Wheeler that would be just up my alley as long as I kept all potentially offensive comments to myself.

In desperate need of cash, I'd applied as an assistant to one of the editors, Antonio Vasolini.

Boy, would that come back to bite me.

I had wanted that job so badly that I went out and spent the last few dollars I had on all new clothes for it - again with Kayla. I'm beginning to see a pattern here. I needed to be memorable and get the job because all my hopes hinged on it. I was showering in my elderly neighbors apartment because my water got shut off, been eating cereal so long I could tell the difference between a purple Froot Loop and a green one and I was one 'I promise I'll get you your rent money tomorrow' away from being completely homeless.

On the day of the interview, I'd carefully picked my most modest black dress and put my hair up.

My body was jittery with nerves as I prayed with every fibre of my being to be hired.

I had no idea how long I sat in the reception of the exquisitely designed building waiting before I was let into Mr Vasolini's office, but it felt like hours.

I was replying a 'good luck' text from my dad with a smile when a woman with exceptionally golden hair walked out of the office that had Mr Vasolini's name embossed on it and tossed me a smug smile I was pretty sure could not have said anything other than 'beat that you little sucker'.

Taking it as my cue, I stuffed my phone into my bag and stood up.

With an extra spring in my step brought on by my heart rapidly pumping blood through my body, I reached the door before it finally closed and caught the last few words of the man on the inside.

". . . of these unqualified bimbos do I have left?"

The door snapped shut at that moment preventing me from hearing the answer of whoever he was talking to.

I froze in my spot, my previously overactive heart with me.

It wasn't like I was unqualified, in fact, one could say I was overqualified what with graduating cum laude from Dartmouth College with a degree in Software Engineering, so that wasn't the part that concerned me.

It was the part where he concluded I was just like everyone he'd seen without even giving me a chance.

I knew that was going to screw up my chances for sure.

Before I could even think of turning around and leaving, the receptionist who'd told me to take a seat when I walked in earlier came out and - after recovering from her shock at seeing me already at the door - ushered me in.

Wiping my clammy palms on my dress, I obeyed.

As I entered I had no idea what special brand of pain the insanely attractive man sitting behind the desk would bring to me.

I managed to stutter my way through the entire interview because by God his brilliant blue eyes contrasted so sharply with his black beard and efficiently distracted me.

His voice sounded so smooth and warm that my insides turned to mush.

He affected me in such a way that if I wasn't hoping on the money I would've wished to never get the job because working so closely with someone so hot would bring out some unprofessional behavior that would surely get me fired. Again.

For reasons that still elude me, I got the job. It was a bittersweet feeling reading the email.

The day I started working as an assistant to one of Wheeler Publishing's best editors I swore to myself that no matter how handsome I found Antonio Vasolini I was not going to do or say anything unbecoming to him or anyone else.

Since I became a member of the working class by helping in the local Subway back in my hometown in Ernest, Detroit when I turned 18, I'd held approximately 23 jobs, none of which ended particularly pleasantly. I planned on holding this particular one for more than three weeks - my longest ever at a job.

With the extra money, I was able to live at least a little comfortably. Well, as comfortably as one could in a shitty New York apartment.

Antonio was a strict but fair boss and I enjoyed working in publishing.

Fast forward to a Monday morning in May, I was still working the job I'd gotten two months prior and even managed to make a few friends. Debra, another editor, Hanna, a very chirpy fellow assistant and Nika, a strange Russian working in the design department that I'd struck an unlikely friendship with

That fateful Monday I received news that changed my life completely.

I was at my desk when a strange number called. Picking it, I found it was a nurse.

As it turned out my father, Louis Ashley Webster had a heart attack that claimed his life.

My dad was the only person that supported me. He never for once doubted my ability even though I got fired from job after job.

It hurt extra because I had postponed our weekly Friday night movie to go out drinking with my friends, thinking - as one usually does - that I could make it up to him.

Cracking under the pressure of guilt and grief, I cried for the first time in the office and on the way to the hospital to see his body.

Funeral arrangements were made and he was buried a week later at our favorite spot without my mother in attendance.

Antonio was strangely supportive during this difficult time and with my friends from the office and with a lot of help from him I was able to attain some semblance of normalcy.

Even though I knew it was a bad idea, I continued to get closer to Antonio. We started dating and soon I left my shitty New York apartment to live with him.

A month and a half after my father's death I was completely and utterly in love with Antonio and I thought he was in love with me too.

Sometime in August, I got an all-expenses-paid trip to Disneyland - a place I'd wanted to go to ever since I could remember.

Antonio surprised me with a public proposal, you know, those with choreography and lots of flowers.

I said yes, of course, because there was absolutely nothing in the world that could make me happier.

That was seven long months ago.

There. Now you're all caught up.