“I do believe you are nearly perfect.”

Presley twirled a makeup brush between her perfectly manicured nails before laying it down on the bathroom counter.  She tossed her platinum blonde hair off her shoulder before standing and motioning me to the mirror in her bedroom.

I glanced at the large, freestanding mirror in front of me and turned to the left and then the right.  After spending years looking at myself in styles ranging from collegiate casual to evening formal, seeing myself in a conservative, corporate suit seemed strange.  Hair up, simple diamond stud earrings, scarf around my neck…I barely recognized myself.  Only the labels on the Versace suit and Prada purse were familiar.

I’d hardly call myself “perfect” though.  Not “nearly perfect” either.

I smiled at my reflection, going for that look of confidence someone with a master’s degree in accounting should have when applying for a job.  Smooth and easygoing, as if I didn’t have a care in the world.

Inside, my heart pounded and my stomach churned this morning’s takeout crepes from Barney’s Bakery.  I wished I had just stayed at my own apartment last night instead of agreeing to stay here and let Presley fix me up for my interview.

“Ashlyn?”  Presley placed her hand on my arm.  “You all right?”

“Nervous.”

“Whatever for?”  Presley looked genuinely confused.  “It’s not like you aren’t going to get the job.”

“I still want to interview well.  I don’t want to look like I don’t know what I’m talking about, and I don’t want to embarrass Dad.  I feel like I’m representing the whole Dragonov family.”

“You’ll be fine.”  Presley was dismissive in her tone and a flippant wave of her hand.

“I’ve never even had a job before,” I said.  “I never so much as babysat a neighbor’s kid, delivered a pizza, or asked if anyone wanted fries with their order.  If Dad didn’t hand me cash for whatever I wanted, I simply used the credit card.”

“You and me both, sister.”  Presley laughed.  “I’m not even sure if I’ll get a job after graduation.  According to your dad’s company, my trust fund pretty much covers me for life and then some.  I’m thinking about going to the Virgin Islands or maybe Puerto Rico and just chilling for a while.”

“Didn’t the last round of hurricanes make that a little difficult?”

“I figure I can help out,” Presley said with a shrug.

Trust fund lifestyle aside, Presley was often the first in line when it came to those she considered less fortunate, which were most people.  She had a thing for five-kilometer walks and political fundraisers.

“Are you going to help distribute supplies?”

“I figure there’s probably a lot of people who won’t be able to fix up their homes or businesses.  Zoey’s been talking about combining her broadcasting degree with her newfound love of house-flipping and starting up a new reality TV show.  If we can offer people who want to relocate good prices for their homes…well, real estate is always a good investment.”

“Couldn’t that be considered…I don’t know…taking advantage of the situation?”

“Someone has to do it.”  Presley tucked her hair behind her ear.  “Ashlyn, you should go with.  I bet we would need an accountant.  Screw Daddy Dragonov’s company.”

“That is so not in the cards.”

“Just for a month or two,” Presley said.  She was always good at pressing an issue.  “It would be good to give yourself options.”

“No can do,” I replied.  “I’ll start work just two weeks after graduation, and I still need to find a new apartment before our lease expires.  I refuse to move back home.  I’m not going to be one of those people who live with daddy into their thirties.”

“Always want to prove something to everyone, don’t you?”

“Just to myself.”  My words were a lie but only partially.  I did want to prove to myself that I could do well on my own without Dad’s backing.  Inside, I knew I wanted others to look at me and realize I had done it on my own, too.

I took a deep breath and looked back in the mirror.  At least I looked the part of a highly paid executive.  If I added up the money spent on this single outfit, I would find something close to the gross national product of a small country.

“Are we done here?” I asked.

“Nope.”  Presley tapped her finger against her lips and shook her head.  “One change needed.”

I continued to stare at my reflection as Presley disappeared into her giant walk-in closet and rummaged around in the back.  She returned with a pair of shoes.

“Seriously?”  I tilted my head and narrowed my eyes at the monstrosities in Presley’s hands.  Three-inch heels with pointy toes seemed a bit much for a job interview.

“Definitely.  You can never go wrong with Louboutin.”

“There are steps leading up to the office building, you know.”

“You’ll live.”

“Ugh.”  I grabbed the shoes from her fingers, sat down on a nearby chair, and put them on.  I stood up, wobbled for a moment before getting my balance, and looked back in the mirror.

Presley was right.  The shoes made the outfit.

“Now that is the look of an up-and-coming CFO!”

“I won’t start as the CFO.”  I shook my head and laughed.  “I’ll be her assistant until she retires.”

“I’ve seen her,” Presley said.  “She should have retired last year.”

“She’s only sixty.”

“Right.  Practically dead.”

“That is my aunt you’re talking about.”  I scowled, but Presley only shrugged.

Presley plopped down on the edge of the bed and grabbed her phone.  Her fingers flew over the touch screen for a few minutes as I flattened my skirt out with my hands and walked a few steps in the shoes.  They weren’t too uncomfortable, and I wasn’t planning on walking in them very much.  I should be fine.

I glanced at my childhood friend.  She had narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips tightly together.  I wondered who she was texting with so emphatically and hoped she wasn’t going to demand pictures of my outfit to send to our friends.  I appreciated her help, but I never liked being the center of attention like she did.

“Club Mania tonight.”  Presley leaned back and dropped her phone on the duvet beside her.

“I don’t know how long the interview will last,” I said.  “Dad will probably want me to go out for dinner or something afterward.”

“So?  Come later.”

“We’ll see.”

“We’ll see you there.”  She stood, grabbed her phone again, tapped furiously for a few seconds, and then grabbed her purse.  “Gotta run.  Chem lab starts soon, and I need a mocha.  You can let yourself out.  Good luck and all that.  See you tonight!”

I watched as Presley, the straight A chemistry PhD candidate, exited the room with a parting wave and a two thousand dollar backpack to hold her books.  A moment later, I heard the apartment door close.

I checked my phone for the time and decided to review my notes before heading to the office for my interview.  Everyone assumed I already had the job in my pocket, which was mostly accurate, but I couldn’t completely blow the interview and make my father justify hiring me anyway.  I also wanted to make sure I got the assistant CFO job and not some underling starter position, or it would take that much more time to become the head of the financial department.

Nepotism was certainly evident at my father’s company, but I also knew my shit, and I planned on proving that today.

I sighed.  I needed to get moving so I wouldn’t be late.

I picked up my leather briefcase full of actual, physical copies of my resume—on linen paper, which I thought was ridiculous in this day and age, but my advisor told me to do it anyway.  On the way down the hall, I dug for the fob to my Saab and tried not to fall over in the ridiculous shoes.

In the parking garage for Presley’s apartment, my slick black Saab near the back wall sat off on its own with the trunk partially open.  Apparently, neither Presley nor I had realized we hadn’t closed it after retrieving our shopping bags last night.

I slammed the trunk and lowered myself into the driver’s seat, automatically placing my foot on the brake.  It felt weird, and I realized the high-heeled shoes were going to interfere with my ability to drive.  Reaching down, I bumped my head on the steering wheel as I tried to get the shoes off and then scraped my leg with one of the spiked heels as I sat up.

“Ugh!”  I tossed the shoes onto the passenger seat along with my purse and briefcase, placed my foot back on the brake, and pushed the start button.

Nothing happened.

I pushed the button over and over again, but all I heard was a clicking sound.  I knew I had filled up the tank earlier in the week, so I definitely had gas.  My father insisted on regular car maintenance, and it had been in the shop for a tune-up within the last two months.

The car simply wouldn’t start.

I grabbed my phone, ready to call roadside assistance to come and fix whatever was going on, but the first thing I noticed was the time.  I had given myself plenty of time to drive to Dragonov Financial but not enough time to wait for someone to figure out what was wrong with my car.  If I left immediately, I would just barely have enough time to reach the office on foot before my interview.

“Shit!”  I reached over, grabbed the heels, put them back on my feet, and abandoned the car.  For a moment, I stood just outside the parking garage, noticing the sudden pain from my left heel.  There was no way I was going to be able to walk in these things, but I also couldn’t take them off and head down the city street; my stockings would be ruined!  There wasn’t any time to run back up to the apartment to get any other shoes.

Once again, I glanced at my phone for the time.  I only had a few minutes to get to my interview on time, and there wasn’t a choice.  I was going to have to walk.

In these shoes.

Quickly.