Chapter Text
I think I blew it.
Waverly sent the text and leaned back against the metallic elevator wall with a sigh. She stared at her reflection for a moment, noticing the uncharacteristic frown on her face and worry lines around her eyes. This interview was everything Waverly had been wanting for years. Years. And she’d royally fucked it up, she was certain.
She loosened the death grip she had on her phone as it buzzed twice in her palm, her sister’s name displayed on the screen next to a text notification.
Nonna: im sure it went better than you think, baby girl
Her older sister, ever the optimist when it came to supporting Waverly and her pipe dreams.
Waverly: You wouldn’t believe how fancy the office was. They had an original Mark Rothko on the wall of the conference room! At least I got to be in the room with an artistic masterpiece for 20 minutes.
Nonna: …am I supposed to know what that is?
Waverly smiled at her phone and rolled her eyes. Of course her horse trainer sister didn’t know shit about modern expressionist art. Not that either Earp sister had any exposure to it in Bozeman, Montana where they’d grown up. Waverly had spent the majority of her life there before leaving for college and never looking back, but Wynonna had never left.
Waverly: Rothko is a very famous painter. His work costs a small fortune.
The elevator pinged quietly, and the doors slid open to let another passenger on at the sixth floor before continuing its descent. Waverly smiled tightly at the older gentleman who joined her and checked her latest text from Wynonna.
Nonna: you know you can always come home if this job doesn’t work out
Waverly swallowed against the sudden emotion tightening her throat. It wasn't that Wynonna’s offer wasn’t tempting. Waverly had thought about cutting her losses and dragging her sorry ass back to her hometown on more than one occasion over the last few years. She was twenty-six, had degrees in Business Management and Art History from the University of Washington, and had absolutely nothing to show for her alleged brilliance and phenomenal work ethic. Now that she’d tanked this interview, Waverly didn’t even have a future prospect for the next step in her career.
The temp agency Waverly worked for was always supposed to be just that - temporary. After graduating from university, she’d thought it was the perfect solution to allow her to try out some different roles and figure out what company might be a good fit for her before making any long-term commitments. Waverly had bounced from job to job every few months, taking almost anything the agency offered her in an attempt at expanding her horizons. She’d worked as a data analyst for an investment firm, a delivery driver for a flower shop, and a personal assistant to a crotchety, seventy-five year old author for all of three hours. The old pervert had groped her ass the first time they were alone, and Waverly had booked it out of his house faster than a greased pig could slip its pen. Most recently, Waverly had been working as a store manager for a national book store chain, which she actually didn’t hate but certainly wasn’t passionate about. When Waverly had seen the job posting for an Executive Assistant at Haught Restoration, she’d literally dropped her phone in her kitchen sink in excitement.
Waverly had first become aware of Haught Restoration her first year out of college when a former roommate had sent her an Instagram post of an older home listed for sale on Mercer Island, just east of Seattle. It was more an estate than a house, a stunning modern cottage situated on a picturesque two acres overlooking Lake Washington. But what had drawn Waverly in were the details, the historic charm that had been perfectly preserved and enhanced, the craftsmanship evident in every photo of the property. As a career-less twenty something, Waverly obviously wasn’t in the market for a multimillion dollar home. But she had an obsession with architecture and impeccable design that her former roommate Chrissy knew well, hence her Instagram message.
Buried in the post’s many comments, Waverly had stumbled across @HaughtRestoration when the home’s new owners had gushed about the quality of work the agency had done on the property. Waverly had clicked on the handle immediately, and thus began her love for - ok, obsession with - everything about the Haught Restoration brand. She’d followed the company religiously ever since, vowing to one day get a foot in the door at the prestigious real estate firm if it killed her. The idea of somehow merging her love for crunching numbers, old homes, and art had become Waverly’s mission in life, and Nicole Haught’s company was the epitome of Waverly’s career fantasies.
Speaking of fantasies, Nicole Haught was…hot. Waverly had, of course, googled the founder of Haught Restoration as soon as she’d found out it existed, and it was fair to say the photos of Nicole on her company’s website were enticing enough to make Waverly give them a second look. And maybe a third. Nicole didn’t seem to have her own social media accounts, which Waverly found odd given her age - thirty-two per Waverly’s googling - but maybe she was simply a private person. Too bad, Waverly had thought when she’d first searched Nicole’s name on all of the major platforms and come up empty. Although, probably for the best if Waverly wasn’t lusting after her hopefully future boss. A girl could dream.
The thought jolted Waverly out of her memories. There was no way in hell Nicole Haught would ever be Waverly’s boss now, not after that train wreck of an interview. Perhaps it was for the best the founder and CEO hadn’t been in attendance, although Waverly had been surprised and admittedly disappointed about Nicole’s absence when she’d first arrived. She sighed heavily, earning a curious glance from the gentleman sharing the elevator with her. Waverly’s phone buzzed again, and she realized she hadn’t sent a response to Wynonna’s last text.
Nonna: call me later if you want to talk. love you
Waverly: I love you too, and I will.
Waverly stepped out of the elevator before she hit send, her shoulder bumping firmly against someone who was waiting to step inside. She glanced up quickly, an apology already forming as she turned to look at the stranger she’d so carelessly run into.
“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t look- Oh.” The words died on Waverly’s lips as the woman now inside the elevator gazed at her curiously.
Nicole Haught was a minor celebrity in Seattle. Waverly had seen a feature on her in Forbes just last year naming Nicole one of the most influential, self-made female entrepreneurs on the west coast. The photo spread had included shots of Nicole in front of various homes she had helped restore, as well as one of her and her all-female team in the office Waverly had just left. Between the article and her devout internet stalking of Haught Restoration for the past three years, Waverly would have recognized the woman anywhere. Unfortunately for Waverly, the photos she had seen in print and online didn’t prepare her for the reality of Nicole Haught in the flesh. Not even close.
Warm brown eyes held Waverly’s as she continued her blatant staring. She knew she should look away. Just turn around and head back to her sad little life without a kickass job at Haught Restoration in it. She was leaving, truly. Just a few more seconds, and the ridiculous fantasy of the life she could've had would be well and truly over...
“I’m in the elevator,” Nicole said, her voice softer than Waverly was expecting.
Waverly’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Um, I can see that?” Her statement ended up sounding like a question, as Waverly had no idea why Nicole was stating something so obvious to a total stranger.
Nicole’s lips quirked, her eyes crinkling in amusement. She tucked a strand of long red hair behind one ear and turned her head slightly. There, clearly situated in her right ear, was a small white earbud.
She’s on the phone, you idiot. Waverly’s face heated in embarrassment as the elevator doors mercifully began to slide closed. Nicole faced forward again and half smiled, Waverly catching the look and the accompanying dimple in Nicole’s cheek just before the gap between the doors closed completely.
Fuck my life.
****
When she finally arrived home after the day from hell, Waverly did what she always did when she needed to de-stress: she cooked. She pulled ingredients from her fridge and pantry, deciding on a version of ratatouille since she had picked up so many vegetables at the farmer’s market the afternoon before. She poured herself a hefty glass of the cheap rosé that had probably been open in her fridge for too long and began to chop, replaying her nightmare of a day in her head.
Things had started off well enough. Waverly had to take a half day off from the book store so she could attend the 9:00am interview at Haught Restoration, but the loss of a partial day off was an easy sacrifice to make for the opportunity of a lifetime. She’d put together the perfect outfit, a pale green dress that tied at the waist with her favorite cream-colored blazer and matching heels. She had given herself plenty of time to arrive at the office early, knowing parking in Belltown would be a nightmare during peak rush hour. She’d even googled ahead of time and found an hourly parking garage only a few blocks away from the office building, meaning her feet wouldn’t be killing her by the time she arrived. Waverly was nothing if not a planner, and she’d accounted for just about every scenario she could think of to make sure the interview would go smoothly.
Because the universe apparently hated her, Waverly’s best laid plans had quickly spiraled out of control after she’d spilled coffee on her blazer as she sat in standstill traffic on the 99. She’d pulled into the parking garage with only fifteen minutes until her appointment time rather than the thirty minutes she’d expected to have, throwing her Civic in park and gathering her purse, phone, keys, and printed copies of her resumé as quickly as she could. Waverly had recognized immediately that the blazer was a lost cause thanks to the dull brown stain marring its lapels, so she’d been forced to shrug it off and leave it behind in the car, making her once-perfect outfit now seem too casual for an interview.
She might have been underdressed, but she’d be damned if she was going to be late. Waverly had nearly jogged the three blocks to the address on Vine Street, the building’s mirrored glass walls reflecting the morning sun as she’d pushed through the front doors breathing harder than she had in quite some time. She really needed to take up running again. With precious few minutes to spare before she was due to arrive, Waverly had gotten her visitor badge from the security guard in the lobby and slipped into an elevator just before the doors closed on her.
She’d given herself a once-over in the mirrored wall, cursing under her breath and wishing like hell she’d had five more minutes to freshen up in the restroom before she had to show her face. Alas, her time had been up, so she’d taken a deep breath and stepped off the elevator with a hopefully convincing smile plastered across her face. That smile had struggled to remain in place the second Waverly got a glimpse of Haught Restoration’s offices on the eighteenth floor.
There was marble everywhere. Carrara, Waverly was certain. The floor, some of the walls, the top of the reception desk were all covered in the gorgeous, veined stonework. A large plaque hung behind the empty reception area, Haught Restoration engraved in gold filigree in a casually scrawled but classy font. The entire place had screamed chic, expensive, and a seed of dread had planted itself firmly in Waverly’s stomach.
As if her presence had been announced in some silent, magical way, only a few seconds had passed before a woman rounded the corner to find Waverly waiting just outside the elevator.
“Miss Earp?” the woman had asked. She was beautiful, all dark hair and dark eyes and olive skin Waverly would’ve killed for. She was slightly taller than Waverly, although the heels she’d been wearing were tall enough to make Waverly grimace in sympathy for her poor feet. Waverly guessed they were close in age, and she wasn’t sure why that surprised her as much as it did.
She’d cleared her throat and attempted to appear like she belonged there, forcing her smile so wide her cheeks started to hurt. “That’s me,” she’d said, reaching a hand out for the woman to shake as she approached. Had she imagined it, or had the woman just scanned over her outfit quickly before meeting her eyes? The dark haired woman was dressed impeccably, and Waverly found herself cursing the loss of her blazer.
“Rosita Bustillos,” the woman had said, shaking Waverly’s hand firmly before letting go. “It’s great to meet you. Come on back, and we’ll get started.”
Waverly had followed Rosita down a long white hallway, heels clacking on the tile as they passed various rooms and offices Waverly didn’t have time to study closely. Rosita had taken them to a small conference room at the end of the hall, a table large enough to seat six situated in the middle of the room. A tray with a coffee pot, mugs, sugar packets, and bottles of water sat on one end of the table, and Rosita gestured to it before taking a seat on the other side.
“Help yourself if you want anything,” she’d said, observing Waverly as she crossed one knee over the other and checked her watch quickly. “Mercedes should be here any minute.”
Waverly had scanned the room quickly, her gaze freezing on a blue and white painting hanging on the far wall. “Is that a Rothko?” she’d asked, pointing at the piece before she could stop herself.
Rosita had turned in her chair and looked at the painting in question before turning back to Waverly with a raised eyebrow. “I honestly couldn’t tell you,” Rosita admitted. “So. You know art.”
Waverly had found herself nodding in response to Rosita’s unasked question. “Art History was one of my majors at UW,” she’d said. “It’s a gorgeous piece.” She glanced wistfully at the art before taking a seat across from Rosita.
“I’m here, I’m here!” A woman with bright red hair had rushed into the room then, a stark contrast to Rosita’s dark complexion but just as stunning with her perfectly applied makeup and patterned dress that fit her like it’d been custom tailored to her body. Judging by the designer, it probably had. Clearly, Nicole Haught only hired wealthy supermodels to work for her. The pit in Waverly’s stomach had grown to the size of a cantaloupe as she’d glanced between the two women uneasily.
“Mercedes Gardner,” the redhead had said by way of introduction. “So sorry for the dramatic entrance. I lost a fight with my blowdryer this morning and haven’t managed to get myself back on schedule yet. It’s nice to meet you, Waverly.” The sentiment had seemed genuine, and Waverly found herself returning the woman’s smile as Mercedes took the seat next to her at the table.
“Nice to meet you, too.” Waverly had settled into the most comfortable office chair she’d ever sat in and wondered when Nicole Haught would be joining them. She didn’t want to be rude and glance at her watch, but it had to have been a few minutes past nine already. Maybe it was common for the boss to run late due to her busy schedule, Waverly had thought.
“All right. Let’s jump in, shall we?” Mercedes spoke before pulling an iPad out of her bag and scrolling through it quickly. Waverly had briefly wondered if Mercedes was pulling up her resumé to review.
“Isn’t Miss Haught going to be joining us?” Waverly had asked. Mercedes and Rosita had shared a glance Waverly didn’t know how to interpret, but the implication was clear enough.
“I’m afraid Miss Haught had another pressing meeting this morning,” Rosita had explained. “It’ll just be the three of us today.”
Waverly had nodded her understanding and swallowed the surprising disappointment at the news. She’d assumed that Nicole would be present since the position was for her own Executive Assistant, but apparently Waverly had been wrong. Maybe Nicole only attended interviews for the top candidates, which Waverly clearly wasn’t given her sporadic job history and lack of experience in the field. She’d fidgeted in her chair uncomfortably, ready to throw in the towel and head home before a single question had been asked.
The questions Rosita and Mercedes had asked were pretty standard interview fare, nothing that Waverly hadn’t prepared for. The only one that had caught her slightly off guard had come after only ten or so minutes had passed, and it was Rosita who had posed the question.
“Someone with your education and…varied experience could work just about anywhere, do almost anything you wanted to do for a career. Why do you want to work here? Why Haught Restoration?” Rosita had asked.
Waverly had looked between Rosita and Mercedes and taken a steadying breath, deciding on the spot she had nothing to lose so she might as well be completely honest. “To be completely transparent, I’m obsessed with Haught Restoration,” Waverly had said.
Rosita and Mercedes had exchanged concerned glances, and Waverly had backpedaled as fast as she could to clarify her meaning. “Sorry, that came out wrong. Not in a weird way, I just mean…” She’d paused and taken another deep breath. “The first time I came across the work you all do here, I was floored. I mean, literally stunned with the level of craftsmanship and skill and care that is so clearly the hallmark of your work. Haught Restoration isn’t just about real estate, it’s about preserving this city’s history and maintaining the integrity of architectural masterpieces rather than tearing them down and putting sleek, modern shoeboxes in their place. I want to be a part of something like that, something that combines business and beauty and making people’s dreams come true when they buy a home that your team has designed for them. I want to work with the best in the business, and I can’t tell you what it would mean to me to have an opportunity to work for a company like this.” Waverly had felt herself start to ramble by the end of her impassioned speech, and she’d prayed her foundation was hiding the flush she’d felt spreading over her cheeks.
The two women had exchanged unreadable glances again, and then came the cherry to top off Waverly’s shitty day sundae. Rosita’s phone had pinged twice in quick succession, and she’d stood from the table quickly as soon as she’d glanced at the screen. “I’m so sorry, Miss Earp, but we’re going to have to cut this short. We’ve got a situation that demands our immediate attention,” Rosita had explained, already walking around the table towards the conference room door.
Waverly had stood, completely shell shocked as she’d been ushered quickly down the hall by Mercedes with a promise someone would be in touch about the position soon. She’d stepped into the elevator in a daze, pushing the button for the ground floor and willing to bet her life she’d just been given a fake emergency brush off. The thought had more than stung, and Waverly had immediately texted her sister that her dream had been effectively crushed. And then, of course, Waverly had run smack into Nicole freaking Haught.
She shoved the casserole dish into the oven and shut the door a bit harder than necessary. Waverly had lost her appetite, but she could always reheat the dish for tomorrow’s lunch at the book store. She leaned against the counter and took a large swig of her room temperature wine. Maybe she should just stay at the bookstore and give the job a real shot. If she actually committed, Waverly could probably be a regional manager in the next two or three years’ time. A title like that would come with a decent salary, good benefits, a stability Waverly had been sorely lacking since graduation. All of that sounded pretty tempting as she sipped her twelve dollar rosé alone in the studio apartment she could barely afford.
Waverly’s phone alerted her to a new email in her inbox. She finished off her glass of wine and placed it in the sink before taking her laptop off the charger and flipping it open. Her email app showed one new message, and Waverly gasped at the name in the From line: [email protected].
“Fuck, here we go,” she muttered, double clicking the email and resigning herself to actually read the likely very politely worded ‘thanks, but no thanks’ message that was undoubtedly awaiting her.
Dear Ms. Earp,
Thank you again for coming in to interview with us this morning. Mercedes and I are so sorry we had to cut your interview short, but we hope you understand there was a time critical emergency we needed to address at one of our active project sites.
Despite our brief meeting this morning, Haught Restoration is pleased to offer you the position of-
“Wait, what?” Waverly held her breath as she re-read the sentence from the beginning, eyes bulging in disbelief the further she read.
…Haught Restoration is pleased to offer you the position of Executive Assistant to the CEO, effective April 1, 2024 with a starting salary of $125,000.00 and commission bonuses and other incentives possible throughout the year. I’ve attached a .pdf that details our full benefits package and employee code of conduct.
If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to reach out. Miss Haught requests a response on your offer by COB March 21st.
Sincerely,
Rosita Bustillos
Listing Agent & Marketing Manager, Haught Restoration
Waverly stared at her computer screen for another full minute before jumping around her kitchen and squealing like a maniac. She’d gotten the job! She, Waverly Earp, was going to work for the most prestigious real estate and restoration firm in the Pacific Northwest. She was going to work with and learn from Nicole freaking Haught and the team of women she’d hand selected to make her business the success that it was. Holy fucking shit.
Waverly sprinted across the six feet of open space and launched herself face first onto her queen sized bed. She squealed into her pillow and kicked her feet against the mattress a few times before rolling over and taking some calming breaths. This was really happening. Waverly had manifested this over the last three years, and her dreams were finally, unbelievably, coming true.
A sudden wave of harsh reality rushed in as Waverly glanced over at her dollhouse sized closet and sighed in exasperation.
“What the hell am I gonna wear?”