by JA Huss
I am not out to scam these people. It’s normal research. Anyone who wanted a particular job bad enough would do everything I did yesterday.
Which was stalk every BBB employee who had a featured page on their corporate website.
The girl in the mirror glances at the hallway behind the bathroom door. Filling up two boxes filled with color-coded folders all neatly labeled and alphabetized for each upper-management employee, board member, and partner is slightly—no, let’s be honest here—completely overkill.
And it definitely looks like I’m preparing for a scam.
But I don’t care.
I want this job. My heart knows that I belong at Bright Berry Beach Cosmetics.
Is it a high aim?
Not really.
I’m sure most woman would scoff at my newfound determination to nab this job. It’s just an independent sales company. A place people with no options end up.
But that’s OK. Let them scoff at my goals. More opportunity for me.
I leave the bathroom and go back into the living room, then re-check my brand-new pink, Kate Spade tote for my résumé.
I pull out my new Link Leather padfolio and open it up to read my reimagined résumé—printed on high-quality, white, one-hundred-percent cotton paper—one more time.
There are no lies in this résumé. I re-did the whole thing. I have never had a real job so there’s no experience on my résumé either. But there are ways to make yourself look good on paper.
It’s called a functional résumé. In other words, it’s bullshit, but not lies.
I have watched every single online video about Bright Berry Beach and they love an underdog. They have a soft spot for all the downtrodden people who have no prospects.
As long as they have a work ethic.
And that is me in a nutshell.
I am a little worker bee. I will work harder, longer, and with more determination than anyone. I am tenacious, and persistent, and strong-willed.
And I gave myself a new area of expertise. Because I am an expert in my field. It’s just… my “field” is a little unorthodox.
So my new title is… drum roll, please…
Influencer.
Ta-da!
I actually laugh out loud. It’s so perfect. Especially for a sales position.
I’m totally gonna nail this day. Tonight I will be studying all the shades of pink in every Bright Berry Beach Cosmetics line.
I arrive fifteen minutes early. Punctuality is actually my thing. And I immediately look for the woman who greeted me yesterday because a familiar face is always better than a strange one.
But she’s not at the reception desk. And there’s a fuckton of people here this morning. I’m talking like fifty women. Some older than me, some younger than me, but we’re probably all somewhere between twenty-one and thirty-five.
Every one of them is dressed to the nines. Most are wearing very sexy outfits. Which has me side-eyeing them as I wait my turn in front of the receiving desk.
Did I get this wrong? Did I misinterpret the climate here at Bright Berry Beach?
Then I glance to the left, the other side of the large lobby—to the people who actually work here—and decide no. I look just like them.
All these women to my right got it wrong.
So I smile as the woman in front of me slides off to the side to go join the other recruits and say, “Brooke Alder. I’m here for the—”
“Yes, I know,” the woman behind the desk snaps. She’s very young. Like… she can’t be more than twenty-two. “Do you have a résumé?”
“Yes,” I say brightly. “I do.”
She holds out her hand, frowning at me as I open up my padfolio and remove my perfectly polished history. She takes it out of my hand before I’m even really offering it and says, “Just have a seat over there. It might be a long wait. We’ve got a ton of people interested.”
“Sure,” I say, ready to give her a snappy, but professional, closing statement. But the girl behind me kinda crowds me out and the next thing I know, I’m being pushed aside.
Whatever. This is just reception. They have no influence over who gets hired. And I’m ready for this. One hundred percent on.
There are no seats. Every one of them is filled. Not that I would sit, because I’m not about to wrinkle my skirt. So I just stand up against a wall next to a girl who looks like she’s going out for the evening and not applying for a job.
She smiles at me when she notices me looking her over. “Nice outfit,” she says.
“Same,” I say, side-eyeing her back.
“Oh, here they come,” she says.
I look over to where she’s pointing and find the door to an office opening.
A woman appears, deep frown on her face. Then she quickly walks away and the man coming up behind her—big guy with a kind of football player build—says, “OK. You.” Then he points to a woman off to my left. “Let’s go.”
She gets up, takes a deep breath, and smiles at another woman who might be her friend.
“Good luck,” the friend whispers.
Then she disappears into the office.
“Another one bites the dust,” my new frenemy says.
“What do you mean?” I ask, turning to look at her.
“Obviously she’s out.”
“Oh, yeah.” I frown too. “They’re super picky then, huh?”
“Well, look around. There’s like fifty people here applying for the job and only one of us is going to get it.”
“One?” I ask. “Jesus. One?”
My new frenemy is about to say something, but the office door opens again and the girl who just went in exits. “Wow, that’s a new record.” She laughs.
“Holy shit. This is competitive.”
“Find me someone suitable!” a deep voice calls from inside the office.
I lean to the right a little, trying to see past the bulldozer dude, and catch a glimpse of a very handsome man in a light-gray suit siting at a desk.
What the hell? I’m not being discriminatory or anything, but this is a cosmetics company. And all the upper management people are female. So who is this guy doing the interviews?
“Just… get rid of the ones who aren’t a good fit,” he adds.
Every one of us looks at the bulldozer.
He sighs. “Look, ladies, I know you all want the job. But we only need one girl. And we don’t have much time. So… forgive me for this, but… you, you, you… all of you against that wall.” He shakes his head. “This job is not for you. Thank you for coming, but he’s not going to see you.”
Chairs scrape as some girls get to their feet. Loud sighing. Some cursing. Then about a dozen women start heading towards the door.
The rest of us look back at the man in charge.
He looks us all over. “OK. Again, I’m super sorry, but you, and you, and you, and you three over there—and hell, everyone sitting down—sorry. This is not the job for you.”
More chairs scraping. More muttering and cursing. And another whole crowd of ladies head for the door. Including my ex-frenemy.
He’s already weeding out more. In fact, he just keeps going. Dismissing people, one after the other, until there’s just me and two other women left.
“You three. Come inside,” he says.
We look at each other. And I smile when I realize we are all dressed professionally.
Ha. Nailed it.
Bright Berry Beach family, here I come.
I suck in a deep satisfied breath and walk into the office to find two more men. The one at the desk, who is clearly in charge of the hiring, and another one sitting off to the side. Head propped up with one hand, scowling at us.
Hmm. This is a little weird. I mean, it’s independent sales. Don’t they usually take everyone who shows an interest? I’m glad I did all my research because apparently that’s not the case here at Bright Berry Beach.
“This is it?” the scowling one says. “Three?”
“Hey,” the bulldozer says, as he closes the door. “You said weed them out. These three are the only ones who didn’t come in looking like runway models.”
I frown, pretty sure that’s not a compliment.
“What agency are you from?” the boss says, pointing to the girl on my far right.
“Clair’s Talent,” she says in a demure, sweet voice.
“And you?” the boss asks the girl next to me.
“Uptown Agency,” she replies.
Then he points to me. “And you?”
“Um…” I smile. With teeth. Unsure what the fuck he’s talking about. But I’m kinda good at lying on the fly and I’m starting to think that I’m in the wrong place. This isn’t a job interview for Bright Berry Beach sales consultants. It’s something else. And if the number of interested applicants and the weeding-out process is any indication, it’s probably a much bigger, better opportunity. “I don’t work with an agency,” I say.
The eyebrows on all three men shoot up their foreheads. “Then how did you get here?” the bossy one asks.
“Right time, right place,” I say, my words exuding confidence. Because whatever this is, it’s a door.
And I need all the doors I can get.
“No, really,” the boss says. “How the fuck did you get in here?”
OK, Brooke. These men are an obstacle. That’s all. And you are spectacular at overcoming obstacles.
“I came for the job,” I say. “I have a résumé, if you’d like to see it.”
“But how did you hear about the job?” Bulldozer asks. “It was a very private invite.”
“A friend,” I say. “She was told to come today and couldn’t make it. So I came instead.”
“Which friend?” the scowling one asks.
And I take a risk here. Because it’s possible they know who all those women were outside, but not probable. So I say, “Megan Turrel. She works with foreign agencies. And she had a last-minute booking in Mexico. We’re roommates. So I came instead. But if you’d like me to leave…” I shrug my shoulders.
They picked me out of dozens of women. Me.
I have something they want. I look the part they need played.
And here’s the thing. Playing parts is actually what I do best.
“I’m happy to leave you to”—then I glance at the two other girls on my left and shrug again—“them. If you’d like.”
I get to my feet, take two steps towards the door, and Bossy says, “Sit down.”
I walk back to my chair and sit. Smiling.
“Names,” Bossy says.
“Amanda Hopkins,” the first girl says.
“Linnea Billings,” the other one says.
I tilt my chin up, smile, and say, “Brooke Alder.”
Bossy pushes a button on the phone and says, “Elaina? I need the résumés for Amanda Hopkins, Linnea Billings, and Brooke Alder, please.”
“Yes, Mr. Boston. I’ll bring them right in.”
Mister. Boston. Well, well, well.
That’s some news right there. I’ve heard of the Boston Brothers. Who hasn’t? I don’t know which one he is yet, I’m not that familiar with them. And why he’s here in the lobby offices of Bright Berry Beach Cosmetics hiring women from talent agencies, I have no clue.
But I’m about to find out.
CHAPTER SEVEN - JOEY
Hmm. There’s something suspicious about this Brooke woman. But before I can think about it too much, there’s a knock on the door and Huck opens it and takes the three résumés from Elaina.
I have to grudgingly admit that Huck’s idea to hire an actress to play my pretend girlfriend for this weekend visit to meet Maisy was a good one. At least, now that the paring down is complete.
The first two are both blonde. Very pretty. Very sexy too. They look like they could double as bikini models. The third—Brooke—I’m not so sure about.
She’s also pretty, though her hair is more brown than blonde. That dishwater color. With streaks of brown contrasting with the highlights. But she has a dark look to her. Kind of forlorn. Like one of those hollow-eyed girls up on designer-jean billboards.
Like she’s seen things. Done things. Regrets things.
Which I kinda like, if I’m being honest. The other two are very blonde. The first one looks like she spends a lot of time in the spray-tan booth and the second one is pale, like an ice princess.
But I’m not looking for a sexy bikini model. I’m looking for a sexy mom.
“Here you go,” Huck says, placing the résumés on the desk in front of me. Then he turns to the ladies and says, “First question. What did you do last weekend?” He points to Amanda and says, “Go.”
Amanda frowns at him, then me, eyes a little bit squinty. “What did I do last weekend?”
“That’s what I said,” Huck says. “And just so you know, quick answers with no questions are what we’re looking for.”
“Last weekend,” Amanda rallies, “I was shooting a print ad in the Appalachian Mountains for a new perfume line that will be released at Christmas and getting ready for an audition in a commercial.”
“And you?” Huck points to Linnea.
“I was acting in a local play. I have the lead part.”
“What play?” I ask.
“Dingo Dance,” she says.
“Never fucking heard of it,” Wald says.
“No, it’s… my friend. He’s an independent—”
“We don’t really care about that shit,” Wald says, cutting her off. “We’re more interested in what your weekend says about you as a person.”
“Me as a person?” confused Linnea asks. “I thought this was an acting job?”
“It is,” I say. “But we’re looking for a very specific type of person to play this part. A person who sends just the right message. So… what else do you two do? Aside from act and model?”
They both look at each other like I’m speaking a foreign language.
“I do a lot of things,” Linnea, clearly the more aggressive of the two, says. “What sort of things do you want to know?”
“I want to know who you are,” I say. “So tell me that, in words, without talking about your jobs.”
“I know who I am,” the third girl, Brooke, says. “Would you like me to go first so they can have a little think?”
I take that back. I think Brooke might be the most aggressive of the three.
“Sure,” I say, redirecting my attention to Brooke. I have to be honest. She’s a little… pink for my taste. She looks more like an actual Bright Berry Beach Cosmetics sales rep than an actress or a model.
Brooke stands, smooths out her skirt—which makes Huck, Wald, and I all look at her perfectly shaped hips—and then says, “I spent the weekend in the park.” She stops to look at me, her eyes narrowing just a little.
“Doing what?” I ask.
“Frisbee,” she says. “I’m a two-time world champion Frisbee player. Well, I was. When I was a teenager.” She laughs a little. “Boy, that was a lot of travel and work. But now I just play for fun.”
“Who did you play with?” I ask.
“Oh, you know. I go alone to the park and try to get a game going. I’m new in town,” she explains. “So I don’t have many friends yet. But I’m just one of those outgoing people. The kind who makes friends everywhere she goes.”
She stops, and again, she narrows her eyes at me. Like she’s waiting for a reaction.
“Did you make any new friends last weekend?” Huck asks when I say nothing.
“Several acquaintances I’ll probably never talk to again,” she says. “But I did meet a bunch of dogs.”
“Dogs?” Wald asks.
Still, she’s staring at me. Trying to read me, I realize. She’s clocking my reactions.
“I love dogs. And kids.” She smiles. “So on Sunday I started a new game up at the park, only this time I only invited dog owners and kids. It was a blast. So much fun. I’m actually going to adopt a dog as soon as I get set
tled here.”
Now she’s looking at Huck. Because Huck is grinning at her, then me, then her again. “Good answer,” Huck says to me, nodding his head.
“OK, are you two ready now?” Wald asks the other girls.
But I hold up a hand and direct my gaze to Brooke again. “One sec,” I say. Because I know she’s lying. Every fucking word that just came out of her pink little mouth is a lie. Even that story about her roommate. And I’m going to prove it. “What kind of dogs?”
“Oh, let’s see,” she says, rolling her eyes up like she’s thinking. “There was BoBo, the shepherd mix. He was a fantastic Frisbee player. If I were going to put together an interspecies Frisbee team, I’d pick BoBo first. Then there was Jackal. He’s one of those blue merle Australian shepherds. Pure. His owner told me.” She blushes. “He was cute. I might date him. And then—”
“Who cares?” Wald says. He’s talking to me. He was not keen on this idea of Huck’s at all. He wanted me to pick up a girl in the gym and try for a true connection. But I don’t have time for that shit. And who the hell finds a true connection in a gym? Sometimes I just have to shake my head at Wald because while he does fuck a lot of women, he has no clue about how to date one. Besides, I don’t want a gym girl. I want a sexy mom. And those aren’t easy to find.
The casting call got us a lot of options in a short period of time.
“I care,” I say. Because everything she just said was a lie. And I know this like I know my own dark, lying soul.
And she knows I know. I can tell. And she didn’t even blink.
I need a good liar if I’m gonna pull this off. But… I do not like to be lied to. So I say, “And then what?”
“And then,” she continues without missing a beat, “I found a few young couples with small kids. Like between five and ten. And I offered them Frisbee lessons. I might become a Frisbee instructor,” she muses. “I miss it.”
“OK, enough about Frisbee,” Wald says. “You two. Go.”
Amanda rises from her seat and says, “When I’m not shooting, I enjoy the beach, and dinner with friends, and—”
“Next,” I say. “This isn’t Love Connection, Amanda. I’m not trying to date you.”