The door chimed when I walked through, the pristine industrial rug now wet from my boots. The walls were painted eggshell; the frames hanging in a line between windows contained magazine covers. Besides the front desk, six cushioned red chairs backed against the front wall, and a fake plant, the lobby was a whole lot of blank space.

At first, I could only see the top of the head of the girl manning the front desk. She stood up, acknowledging me with a nod. She looked barely out of high school, wearing braided blonde pig tails hanging from beneath a knit cap. Her name plate on the upper desk read JOJO.

She held a black phone receiver with hot-pink mittens, with far too much makeup on her young face. Although I was sure she only meant to hold up one finger, her entire mitten was erected, silently asking me with a wink and a smile to wait while she finished the call.

“No, Mike. Because Wick is busy, and so am I. He doesn’t want your pictures of the parade. Because they suck. I’ve got someone at the desk. I’m hanging up now. Yes, I am.”

She slammed down the phone and looked up at me with big eyes and fake lashes. Her orange skin had been baking in a tanning bed far before the ski season had started. She chomped on her gum and smiled at me with an inch of gloss slathered across her puffy lips.

“How can I help you?” Her tone changed as if she were a different person. She was no longer the cranky receptionist fielding questions for Wick. Jojo was pleasant, eyes bright, waiting to make me happy.

“I’m here for the nine AM interview. My name is Ellison Edson.”

Jojo’s expression immediately fell. “Oh. You’re Wick’s assistant.”

“No, I … I’m applying for the job.”

She stood up, gesturing for me to follow her down the hall. “Trust me, no one else wants the job. You’re the first person who’s even applied. The ad’s been out for a year.”

We walked through an extra-wide doorway to an empty room with a desk and a seating area, and stopped in front of a lightly stained door with J.W. Chadwick branded into the wood.

“Is there a reason no one has applied?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said, opening the door. “Because he’s a dick.”

Mr. Chadwick lowered the paper he was holding. “I heard that.”

“From everyone,” Jojo said, closing the door behind her. “Love you, Daddy.”

Mr. Chadwick sat up, interlacing his hands on his desk. “Love you, baby.” He looked to me. “When can you start?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Chadwick, I didn’t hear you correctly. When can I…?”

“Start. And it’s just Wick. Everyone calls me Wick but Jojo.”