Chapter 5: Good Luck. You'll Need It.

The town car pulls out of my apartment parking lot and cuts through traffic onto one of the busiest roads in our town. Ashley and I chose this place not only because the rent was cheap but because it was a quick jaunt to both of our schools. Each of us had one road and one turn to take. It made getting to work today super easy. Not like I could get lost.

"Why did Mr. Valiant send you to pick me up this morning?" I ask the driver after we've gone five minutes without speaking and he doesn't turn on any music.

His eyes make contact in the rearview mirror. "He doesn't like his assistants to be late. Mr. Valiant is very particular about schedules."

Obviously. I settle back in the seat, staring out the window as the houses filter by on either side of the road. I've never understood why rich people build giant houses feet from busy roads, but I guess when real estate is tight, you do what you must.

Like send your brand-new assistant a car service. I can't decide if it's a thoughtful gesture or if he's decided I'm a helpless woman who needed help finding an office building I drove myself to for the interview. Did he decide I'm too stupid to get my ass to work on time? I was seventeen minutes early for my interview. What would his driver have done if I hadn't come out of the house when I did? How early was he sitting out there waiting for me? Is this because I had trouble with the stupid conference room door? It's not my fault. They should label doors with a little sign. How hard is that?

I'm new in the business workforce, only having a few short internships before, but I don't believe a driver is a standard business practice. It makes my case of nerves heavier as I question what I'm about to get myself into with this new job. Valiant Industries is unlike anywhere I've ever worked. He owns stakes in everything from technology and real estate to even a production plant in Detroit producing a longer-lasting corn crop. This corporate office handles his publicity. It's huge. He's secretive about his methods, and besides what I could dig up on the internet and a case study or two in college, I don't know a ton about my new boss. Vincent doesn't party, and he doesn't do girlfriends. He literally lives at work, occupying the entire top two floors of his building, but other that than no one reports much on the man himself.

I spend the drive to work riling myself up over what I've agreed to and then talking myself down only to repeat the process. It's only a couple of months. I can do anything for that long, especially when my reward will be my dream job.

The black town car blocks traffic as it pulls to a stop in front of the building, but the driver doesn't care. He leaves the car and jumps out, opening my door at the same time I do. I don't want to leave everyone stuck behind us. Let's not start my first job downtown by pissing people off on the first day.

Shirley, the gray-haired woman who sat in on my interview yesterday, meets me at the front door with two pencils sticking out of the high bun she wears on top of her head. She looks frazzled and I check my watch to see if the drive took longer than expected. It's only eight twenty-five.

"There you are. I worried you'd be late," she says, holding the door open for me as I walk past. "Make sure you wear this on your person at all times. You need it to get into many doors in the building. It has coded access for Mr. Valiant's floors, but I'll revoke those privileges once you move to marketing."

She ushers me into an elevator and hits the button for the eighteenth floor. I hear two loud buzzes and she pulls on the white employee ID she wrapped over my neck. The back of my ID scans against the barcode attached to the elevator and then with another single buzz the doors close and we begin our ascent.

"Where did you get the picture?" I ask while flopping the ID card over in my hand and examining the picture laminated to the front. It's the same one I took two years ago when I received a card as a new college student. I'd spent the summer on the shores of Lake Michigan with Ashley and sported a bright red sunburn for my efforts—one last constant reminder I didn't need about my inability to tan.

Shirley looks down at my tag in question. "We received your student files from the university before your interview," she says as if it's no big deal.

Is that legal? Exactly what did my file say that they pass out to business owners before interviews? And why ask me to bring a copy of my transcript, which costs fifteen dollars, if they were going to use it anyway?

Fifteen dollars is three and a half meals when you're on my budget.

The elevator door opens and Shirley steps out, me behind her with her hand gripped around my upper arm. This time we exit the elevator from the opposite side. I didn't even notice it opened from both ends yesterday.

"Mr. Valiant isn't in yet. Make sure you always call him Mr. Valiant. He doesn't allow first names when talking to or about him. This is your computer." Her hands sashay to point out the obvious monitor on top of a long wooden desk. "I'll be back later this afternoon to have you fill out the employee paperwork, but for now you sit here and wait for Mr. Valiant. He'll give you further instructions as the morning progresses."

I walk to the other side of the desk and toss my briefcase and purse on the floor under the little opening. When I look up again, Shirley is almost back to the elevator. Apparently, she's finished with my introduction to the workforce.

She lifts her head and gives me a quick smile while holding the elevator door open. "Good luck, Ms. Marshal."

I fill in the words "you'll need it" for her as she steps onto the elevator and leaves me alone.