I smooth my hands down my pencil skirt and gray tailored, jacket before touching up my dark lipstick in the hall mirror with a look of resignation. My eyes scan and check my tawny hair is neat and sleek in its high bun and I scrutinize my reflection again, to make sure it’s precise. Sighing once more, I take a steadying breath trying to ready myself, pushing down the gnawing ache of anxiety and nerves deep inside my gut.

I’ll do.

I look as good as I know I’m capable of, and I’m mildly satisfied with what I see before me; a cool, efficient image of cold poise and gray tailoring that exudes authority, with no hint of the turmoil of emotion inside me. I narrow my eyes to look for any flaws to my immaculate armor, any stray hairs, specks of dust, or creased fabric, and find none.

I’ve never been a lover of my own reflection, with my young appearance, cool blue eyes, and pouting lips, but nothing is out of place and I look right for my new role as personal assistant to my very high-profile boss. Professional and capable on the outside which I guess is what matters, calm and uncompromising with every detail in place and clothes flawlessly neat. I have always been good at shielding the truth about how I feel inside.

I slide on my stilettos with a slow careful motion, keeping my balance with one hand on the wall and hearing the movement in the room behind me, I check the mirror in response.

“Morning, Ems … God, you look professional as always.” Sarah stifles a yawn as she wanders from her room and rubs her eyes with the back of her fist childishly as I watch her in the reflection behind me. It’s unusual for her to be up this early on her day off; Sarah’s never been a lover of mornings for as long as I’ve known her.

She’s wearing her baggy pink housecoat, and her messy, short, bleached blonde hair is sticking up at all angles from her head; casually loveable as always, and I am warmed with affection for that bundle of happy energy. Her bright blue eyes are heavy with early morning fatigue and she’s watching me closely with a silly smile on her face. A little too closely for my liking.

“Good morning, Sarah.” I smile lightly, I try to ignore the way she’s looking at me and straighten up to stand tall. I turn, lifting my briefcase from the floor in front of me and head forward into our open plan apartment. Ever conscious of my grace and mannerisms under scrutiny, even in front of her, and push out the sense of tightness in my nerves today; swallow down the listlessness and try extremely hard to curb the swirling of my stomach.

“Remember you need to be here for ten o’clock … the boiler repair.” I remind her as she shuffles along behind me to the living room area, trying to distract her from the open gawking she seems to be doing. Running through my schedule in my head like a mental checklist to give me something else to think about, besides my uneasiness today.

“I know. I know! You left me a memo on the fridge remember?” she giggles childishly and throws me a patient look, raising a brow with an almost indulgent expression. She looks much younger than her age and sometimes I forget we went to school together. I’m more like her guardian than her roommate nowadays, but maybe I always did, if I am being honest. I sigh again, pushing down the tight knot of apprehension growing inside and give her a small smile of bravado.

“Don’t forget.” I sound stern, but she doesn’t react, she’s used to my serious tone and my endless organization of our lives. She knows this is the way I do things; my need to be in control and have everything just so makes me feel more capable.

“I won’t. I swear … I’m not working until tonight, so I’m going to stick around and chillax … Watch some back-to-back Netflix.” She moves lazily in the bright white and gray kitchen to the side of me and begins making herself a coffee. Lifting the mug I washed earlier this morning from the rack for herself, with another sleepy bright smile. I watch her casual, confident movements around the space; her domain when she’s at home, and it gives me a sense of calm.

Sarah was always good at making me feel a little saner when I needed it, never aware of how I drew from that uncomplicated relaxed manner of hers when I had to ground myself.

“I’m going to work.” I walk steadily into the small hall by the side of the bar which juts out into the lounge and lift the few open letters from the counter I’ve yet to deal with today. I know that I’m lingering and acting indecisively, compared to my usual efficient routine every day, and normally I’d already be walking to the subway station, despite being early.

“Oh, here.” She slides a white envelope out from behind the toaster and holds it out expectantly for me to take, a blank look on her face.

“Before I forget … I know you’ve probably already taken care of them, as usual.” Her sparkling eyes flash at me with affectionate amusement.

“What is it?” I look at the long envelope, taking it from her slowly with careful fingers, eyeing it up with a frown, seeing no writing on the front.

“My half of the utilities and the rent … I got paid early.” She smiles brightly and sets about going back to making herself coffee, pulling a loaf of bread open to slide slices into the toaster.

“Right, and yes. I’ve taken care of it already … Thank you.” I take it and slide it into my bag to bank at lunch and mentally note down a memo to do so. I ritually pay our bills at the start of every month when I’m paid, having a very good wage in a great company with many perks makes it effortless to make sure we are always up to date.

“No surprise there then,” she mumbles and throws me another affectionate look, all cute eyes, and gentle sighs as she regards me from a sideways look that I clearly catch. I just shake my head at her, fully aware that she prefers that I take control of our living expenses and always have. She’s never been good with money and I doubt she would remember to pay the rent on time without my ever-efficient presence to do so. Taking care of things is how I like it to be; it gives me purpose, control, and a focus in my life that I so desperately need to thrive.

“I won’t be home until six o’clock, Sarah. I presume you’ll be at work by then, so have a wonderful day.” I turn from the breakfast bar and head for the main door of our apartment, lifting my warm jacket as I pass the dining table and turn with a smile when I reach the dark slate door.

“Oh, wait … Good luck on meeting your super-hot boss for the first time, Miss. Anderson!” She beams at me excitedly, raising her eyebrows; leaning out across the worktop so all I can see is her head popping out from the kitchen at a funny angle. She looks messy but cute and far too awake for her today. I smile back emptily, not wanting to give my feelings away or show any weakness.

“Thanks.” My face heats slightly with the rise of nerves hitting my stomach hard again but ignore the sensation, swallowing it all down with the expertise of a seasoned actress.

“Are you nervous?” she probes with a little furrow of her brow, still leaning out a little too far to watch me adjust my briefcase handle and pull my outside jacket on over my suit. I frown back at her question, the tightening knot in my stomach intensifying somewhat but I shake my head with a “No” in reply. If I admit it to her then I admit it to myself, then I’ll let my nerves get the better of me and lose my edge.

That just wouldn’t do at all.

“Of course, you’re not … You never are!” she adds quickly with a grin and slides back into her little culinary world, oblivious to anything amiss in my behavior today. I smile again as I watch her recede and turn with a wave of my fingertips before heading out the door on my mission to get to work.

Sweet Sarah.

So sure of my capabilities and cool, outward confidence.

I sometimes wonder if she even remembers the old me at all. If she even associates me with the girl I was when we met, so many years ago?

I close the door behind me quietly, holding onto the handle for a second as I take a deep steadying breath and take a moment to be still. Refusing to let emotion get the better of me and crack my armor. Looking down at the cool silver knob as a way of calming myself once more, steadying that creep of inner nerves and pushing down all my anxiety and fears.

I can do this.

It’s what I’ve been working so hard for; finally, my abilities recognized after years of hard work and climbing the internal ladder. I need to push down the inner doubts and the final traces of my adolescent Emma, to focus on the tasks ahead of me. The responsibilities I’ll be taking on after today. It’s heady and overwhelming, but I steel my nerves inwardly, still my hands against me as I’ve practiced a million times in the last ten years. Everyday working toward this person I’ve become; this cool and confident persona known as Emma Anderson.

It takes a moment to be able to walk from the door, but as I do, the armor sliding up and the mask fully connecting with my face. Each step strengthening my resolve, back to my normal practiced demeanor and that inner me finding the will power and steady strength to pull this off, day after day. I head to the subway station.

* * *

Floor sixty-five of the Carrero corporation—Executive house. Lexington Avenue, Mid-town Manhattan.

My hands are clammy and heated and my heart’s pounding so hard I may throw up. It’s grating on me that I’m unable to reel it all back in so easily now I’m here. I’ve been watching the hands on the clock move very slowly for the last few minutes and all I can hear is the sound of my own blood rushing to my ears. I’m sensitive to every noise and movement around me in the stark modern office, and the fact the shiny new keyboard in front of me is gazing back expectantly. I’ve not even begun to start working.

This is so unlike me.

I’ve taken twelve deep breaths in a row, yet my hands are still shaking, I feel like at any moment, I may pass out. I’m disappointed at myself for letting my nerves get the better of me and I’m trying to pull back every single emotion one at a time, to stow into that neat box in my head.

Don’t fall apart, Emma.

I chide myself and check my reflection again in the glass opposite me that serves as a wall to the office, to make sure I’m not betraying anything. I look self-sufficient, calm, and in control, despite my inner turmoil. As I always do. No hint of the conflict going on behind the cool blue eyes or sleek, smooth tawny hair. Years of practice giving me this uncanny ability to act my way through life, making sure no one ever got to see the turbulence below the surface of my calm waters. I will never let them again.

“Emma?” Margaret Drake’s voice echoes toward me as the clip clop of her stilettos comes at me across the white marble floor from her internal office. She looks unflustered and ever graceful in a tailored, black pant suit and high shiny heels.

“Yes, Mrs. Drake?” I stand, unsure if I’m meant to. Suddenly nervous and shy of this woman who has been letting me shadow her for over a week. She seems very professional today. An air of purpose, and I steady my hands on the hem at my waist and fix the obligatory smile on my face with grace.

“Mr. Carrero will be arriving shortly, make sure there’s fresh water with ice on his desk and clean glasses.” She smiles encouragingly, possibly sensing my unease.

“Have the espresso machine on and ready in case he asks for one, and all his mail and messages laid out on his desk before he arrives. When he does, please keep out of his way until I call you for introductions.” She pats my shoulder gently, a mannerism I’ve grown accustomed to, and with a bright wide smile.

“Yes, Mrs. Drake.” I nod, trying not to still feel in awe at the swirl of platinum blonde hair effortlessly held on top of her head, or the severe tailored jacket revealing a curvaceous physique. When I met her a few days ago I had been floored by her physical appearance. My previous mentor had informed me she was in her fifties and Mr. Carrero’s personal assistant, and I guess I expected someone colder and dragon-like, considering her key role in the business. Not this designer-clad cool temple before me, with breathtaking beauty and natural friendliness, who is now my mentor. Margo Drake is an incredibly beautiful and intelligent creature that I can only look up to.

“Oh, and, Emma?” she pauses, turning slightly.