The Worst

Chapter 63

Charlie’s POV

Yeah so when I said it’d be hard, I never imagined all the blood, sweat and tears I’d have to put into making a portfolio and a resume,  preparing myself for something I never thought would happen to me in a thousand years. Of course, I could not have done anything without the help of Cal. He’s been absolutely amazing throughout the entire process of preparation, and I literally owe him my life. 

I did my pre-interview over the phone yesterday and it went fairly smoothly; I mean, I guess it went well enough to land an interview in person.

The countless number of sleepless nights spent in the apartment and on campus in the art wing all add up to this.

Today’s my interview. Like; my actual in-person interview. Me.

And as much as I tried to convince Zayn otherwise, he insisted on buying me an outfit for the big day, claiming I deserve even more than ‘one measly fucking outfit, but this’ll have to do for now.’ And he even insisted we get something from Michael Kors to wear, though I thought that was a bit corny. But he claims it’ll be a nice touch. It’s a really classy pants outfit; off white high-waisted flared slacks and a cream colored sequined crop top, that’s just the right amount of sexy and sophisticated. He really is a doll in his own special way.

Anyway, I’m currently pacing the living room, trying so hard not to bite my newly French-manicured fingernails.  OhmyGodOhmyGod, I could throw up. And I haven’t even gotten there yet.

Zayn grabs me by my arms, effectively stopping my pacing. “Christ, you’re making me nervous. Now relax, you’ve got this,” he says.

I take a deep breath. “Right. Right. I’ve got this. I can do it. You, Charlotte Mallory Dunn, can do this,” I point to myself.

Zayn just chuckles, wrapping his arms around me and kissing my cheek. “Come on, basket case. We’ve got to go if you want to be early.”

//

Zayn drops me off in front of the Michael Kors headquarters.

It doesn’t fully hit me until I’m standing on the sidewalk in front of the building, left with the promise that I’ll do great (and a ‘good luck, babe. You’ve got this. You know I would stay but I have an exam. But call me when you’re done.’) How he thinks he’s gonna take an exam when he has the baby with him is beyond me, but he didn’t seem worried about it. So I won’t add one more thing to worry about to my plate.

And holy shit, it’s happening. I pull my phone out of my clutch to check the time for the thirtieth time just as Zayn pulls off. It’s 1:14 and my interview starts at 1:30 sharp. I’ve got half a mind to turn around and run, but I’ve made it way too far. Plus, all the preparation has made me want this more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my whole entire life.

Walking into the building with my portfolio in hand, I’m faced with nothing but grace and elegance-two things it seems I’ve always lacked in life. The irony, really. But standing in the middle of it, I no longer feel like the awkward soul, but like I could possibly belong here. Maybe it’s the fancy outfit talking, but regardless, I need this confidence and mindset going into this thing.

Go to reception, give the person my name, tell them who I’m here to see, sit and wait to be called in, she said. Okay, simple enough.

Whatever you do…Do. Not. Ramble. “H-hi, I’m Charlie-uh, Charlotte Dunn. And I’m here to see Ms. Laura Birch. I have an interview today at 1:30.”

Or stutter. Right.

The young man sitting behind the desk looks up, appearing not much older than me. His reddish-brown hair is combed up and pushed slightly off to the side, his light green eyes shaped by thin black frames. I’m only able to see the tip of his green and blue checkered tie that rests perfectly against a crisp white button up, (well that, and a name plate that reads Bryson), due to the size of the desk. Bryson, I guess, briefly glances over my outfit, giving me a slight smile. “You can have a seat, Charlie. I’ll let her know you’re here.”