As I did the first time I ever set foot in the building, I have to register as a guest at the reception desk. It feels weird not to bypass security. The receptionist hands me a visitor pass and starts giving me directions to Emilia’s office. Great, my least favorite place in the building.

“I know where Ms. Peterson’s office is, thanks.” I cut the girl short and make my way upstairs.

Emilia’s office is the same: white everything and minimalist. Emilia also appears the same paper thin and groomed within an inch of her life. She invites me to sit with the warmth of a popsicle. I take my place on the white chair opposite her white desk and fold my hands on the immaculate surface.

Emilia’s icy blue eyes follow the gesture with an air of disgust. Is she worried I’ll taint her space? Is she a germ freak? Her eyes focus an extra second on the tip of my fingers and her nose creases in the slightest wrinkle.

I quickly pull my hands down and check my nails. My index is missing a microscopic speckle of nail polish. So, yeah. I stopped doing my nails every night and started doing them every other night—or two. Big deal!

Emilia’s displeased scrutiny continues. This time, I follow her razor-sharp gaze to my blouse where, just over my left breast, there’s a tiny—again, almost-invisible-to-the-naked-eye—brown circle. So a droplet of that man’s coffee did land on me. Oh, well. Shoot me. It’s not like I’m wearing a T-shirt that says Cece Chanol.

How could I forget how much pressure they put on appearances here? A few months in Brooklyn have relaxed my standards to unacceptable levels of shabbiness it seems, given the sour expression on Emilia’s face. What a wonderful way to start the interview. Was Emilia forced to offer me the job despite her—almost certain—recommendation against it?

“So, Blair. How have you been?”

“Great, thank you.” But no thanks to you. “You?”

“Busy, as always.”

I think she meant, “Bitchy, as always.”

Emilia continues. “Tell me about your experience at this”—she stares at my CV and raises an eyebrow—“online hub you’ve been working at.”

I launch into a professional presentation of my achievements over the last few months. The regular beauty features I’ve established. The team of influencers I’ve put together. The sponsorships. The celebrity photoshoots and interviews… The more I talk, the more I surprise even myself at the amount of work I accomplished in such a short time. I basically built an entire fashion magazine from scratch. An awesome one.

Emilia lets me talk, her face a studiously unimpressed one. “That all sounds marvelous,” she comments when I’m finished. “Now, as I’m sure you remember, here at Évoque we operate on a high-end profile. As a Junior Editor, you’ll only be in charge of assisting more competent and experienced professionals.”

“So I wouldn’t be responsible for any project? Not even smaller features?”

“Never say never. We’re very open minded and it’s our desire to groom the next generation of leaders. So we encourage all employees to bring forward new ideas…”