Stilettos & Scoundrels

  Chapter 2

  “Hi, Charles.” I greeted the doorman of my building, just off Michigan Avenue.

  Okay, admittedly, it was WAY off Michigan Avenue, but since it was within walking distance, if you liked long walks, of all the great shopping, I felt it was an accurate assessment. I resided in a old but beautiful condominium; a six–floor walk–up. I cursed the climb often, but tried to tell myself what great exercise I was getting. On a sunny day, I could see the skyline for miles, if I looked out the bathroom window at a right angle while perching precariously on the toilet seat. However, with real estate prices in Chicago, I knew I was lucky to have this.

  Charles smiled at me as I walked to the stairs. He was such a cute old man.

  I loved the energy of Chicago; it was always fast-paced and put me in great spirits. Walking into my building and seeing Charles, I almost forgot my current troubles. When I got out of college, I had bought this place. At the time, this section of town wasn’t cool, but rather a stomping ground for vagrants. But was in my price range. Over time, the place had caught on, and young professionals started moving in, which gave the building life and energy. It was a great place to come home to. My mother had a different opinion. She liked the city, to visit, but didn’t think the area I lived in was safe enough for her baby and constantly tried to talk me into moving home.

  I unlocked my door thinking about how to find a new job. The bills wouldn’t pay themselves, and I didn’t have a sugar daddy in my back pocket. Stepping into the foyer, I kicked off my shoes and dug my toes into the thick, cream, shag carpet as I hung my coat in the front closet.

  Since graduating from college I had toiled away at McLaughlin Industries, doing what I’d thought, for the last several years, was my dream job. I’d had visions of being a high–profile executive, with assistants at my every disposal. I saw myself on the covers of Fortune magazine and Business Week in a red power suit, maybe a Chanel. The article would describe me as someone who broke through the glass ceiling and could play with the big boys. I’d worked my way up to Senior Human Resource Manager, which was pretty good, considering that I had started out as someone’s assistant. It was a position I had enjoyed. Though looking at recent events, maybe I had been fooling myself. I just threw away years of hard work and job security and wasn’t very upset. Shouldn’t that be telling me something?

  My lofty visions of being the first female CEO of McLaughlin Industries had started to fade a while ago. I kept at it because it was still a lucrative job and because I didn’t know what else to do. I worked countless hours and put up with abuse from top management, mostly David, thinking it would get me to the next level—and for what? Frankly, I had focused on the same goal for so long, I wasn’t sure how to change it. I was stuck in a rut. I kept working hard, the way I had been raised to do, believing it was the right thing. But now that my job was history, surprisingly, it felt like a weight had been lifted. Even if I still wanted to be a top executive, I wasn’t going to sleep with anyone to get ahead.

  Unemployed or not, I was lucky. I wasn’t without options. One of my friends sold Mary Kay and had been after me for months to become a representative. She was trying to meet a quota to earn a car and kept telling me how easy it was to get women to buy things to make themselves look better. Another friend of mine was a restaurant manager and would probably take pity on me and give me a job. Though he knew perfectly well, I was a klutz and that having me as a server would lose him more customers than he’d gain. While both were interesting propositions, somehow I couldn’t see myself aspiring to drive a pink Cadillac or waiting tables.

  There was one opportunity though, my friend Trevor Jameson, who just happened to be the editor of a new online magazine called Our World, had told me about a job recently. To write a column for the human profile section of his magazine over drinks last week, asking me to keep my ears open for someone who might be looking for such a position.

  He told me that the column’s writer wasn’t coming back from maternity leave, and he needed someone right away. Secretly, I had been dying to take advantage of the opportunity, if only I didn’t have such a bad shopping habit that kept my credit cards maxed out. I would have told him on the spot I would take it. That should have been a big clue that I was unhappy at work. What Trevor had described had excited me more than anything at McLaughlin in a long time.

  Was that why I snapped today? Since last week, all I had been thinking about was Trevor’s job and how frustrated I was that I couldn’t take it. Maybe being fired was a sign. Maybe the forces were telling me I should take this opportunity.

  Let’s do this, I thought. Totally excited, I dialed Trevor’s number at work.

  “Hello, this is Trevor.”

  “Hey, Trevor. It’s Presley.”

  “Hey, girl! What’s up? Did you call to meet for lunch, because if so I am swamped today and don’t think I can swing it. I think I’m free tomorrow. Let me check.” I heard him rustling papers in his desk.

  “No, that’s not why I called. Remember last week at Muldoon’s when you mentioned the job opening you had for your human–interest column? Well, I wanted to see if that was still open.”

  There was a brief pause on the other end. “I filled it yesterday. Why?” he asked curiously.

  I gave a deep sigh. “Well, I happen to be unemployed and was thinking it might be a good fit for me.”

  “You?”

  I gave a laugh. “I know, crazy idea.”

  “Not crazy. Surprising, yes. If something else opens up, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks, Trevor.”

  “Drinks soon?”

  “Definitely.” I hung up and laid down on the couch wondering what my next move should be.