Chapter One

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"Kiara, what are you doing?" I asked as she threw shirt after shirt, skirt after skirt, on my bed.

"I'm trying to find clothes that match and aren't all black!" She told me as she held up a pink pencil skirt. "Is this mine?"

"We live in the same apartment, half your wardrobe is in mine, and half of mine is in yours." I told her and she nodded as she held th skirt up to my hips. "I'm not wearing pink."

"You're so difficult!" She huffed and I shrugged. "You're not wearing all black, you'll scare the boss away and you'll never get the job."

"Black is classy and professional-"

"Black skinny jeans, a black rock n roll t-shirt, and boots is not the way to go." She told me and I crossed my arms. "You can't go in slacks either! The professional world is sexist, men wear trousers and women wear skirts with heels!"

"Maybe this job isn't for me-"

"Come on, it's high paying and a great way to get into the business industry without a college diploma." She told me and I rubbed my temples.

"An assistant?"

"Not just any assistant, Shawn Mendes's assistant. He's the biggest name in music Monica." She told me and I looked at her.

"Then why dress up? He's just a musician-"

"Who's record label is one of the most well-known and most successful one. Seven times platinum and he's had three albums only. Let's not mention, he's barely in his mid-twenties." She told me and I nodded.

"That doesn't make me feel the need to dress up. It just makes me nervous." I told her as I sat on my bed.

I felt something poking my thigh and I looked, seeing a hanger attached to one of my grey pencil skirts. "You're genius." Kiara said, picking the skirt up. "Go blow dry your hair! I have a perfect outfit and, I'm fixing your makeup so don't even think about it."

"Fine." I said and stood up, removing the towel from my head as my brown hair fell down my shoulders. The nappy, wet locks dampened my tank top and dripped on to the tile floor of my bathroom.

Just great.


"Okay, no slouching, no mumbling, and minimal eye contact." I repeated quietly to myself over and over again as I fixed my black button up so it was straight.

"I'm sorry." I said as I bumped shoulders with someone who was rushing to give coffee to someone else. I took a deep breath and went up to the counter, seeing a lady with a headset.

"No. Ma'am you have the wrong number. Mendes Enterprises are not associated with that television show. Try Syco." She said and nodded. "Yes ma'am, I am aware. You have the wrong number. Would you like the number for Syco?" She asked and I tapped my fingernails against the counter.

"I can help you over here." Someone else said and I walked up to him. "What brings you here today? Dropping off a demo?" He asked and I shook my head.

"I have an interview with with Mr. Mendes. My name is Monica Ramirez, the meeting is schedules for two minutes from now." I told him, chewing on the inside of my cheek as he typed on a computer.

"Ah, Ms. Ramirez, please follow me." He told me, grabbing a clipboard. I nodded and followed him through the hallways, feeling a bit out of place.

These people were so much more experienced than me, so much more mature, most likely caught in their early to late twenties. I, on the other hand, have never been any kind of assistant and am fresh out of high school, barely even eighteen.

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