Free The Position 3 by Izzy Mason Page A

her head as she works. “Do you have lipstick? You’re going to want some color or your face will just wash out.”  
    I nod and nervously dig through my purse. With shaky hands I put on a layer of color and rub my lips together. “How’s that?” I ask.  
    She dabs at a few places along my lip line with her index finger and smiles. “You look gorgeous! The camera is going to love you!”  
    She takes my purse to hold behind her desk and gives me a wink. Just then, another woman strides out from the back room. She’s in her 50s and dressed in a smart navy skirt suit. She has black hair with an elegant white streak at the front. Pressed against her chest is a clipboard. She extends her hand as she crosses the room.  
    “Diana James,” she announces in a husky voice. “Producer. We’re so excited to hear that Chance Monroe will be opening an exclusive business here in Denver. You must be thrilled to be chosen as architectural designer. Being such a pup, and all.”  
    I shake her hand, wondering if she notices that my palms are sweaty. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. And yes, I am thrilled.”  
    “Mark should be out any minute. We’ll be editing the interview so don’t be nervous. We can take out any stammers or mistakes. Just relax and have fun.”  
    I nod and watch her leave the room. She’s one of those classic professional women born for this world. The kind you can’t intimidate. She strides when she walks. She’s a strider. And that’s what I want to be. I’m getting closer, but I’m still not a strider.  
    I feel the phone buzz in the pocket of my suit jacket. I glance around, wondering when the news guy will come. Then I fish out my phone and look at the message. My stomach flips with giddy excitement. It’s from Lazarus.  
    “Looking forward to doing it all again. See you tonight.”  
    I feel the dopey grin stretch across my face and I can’t make it go away. Just then, the news guy, Mark Ableman, comes in. He’s wearing a brown sports coat with a beige tie, his hair lacquered into a swoop across his forehead. His nose is buried in his smart phone as he zombie walks across the room. At the last second before reaching my chair, he looks up.  
    “Michaela Clark!” He gives me his cheesy local news guy smile. “Great to have you in! We’re all so excited about the club!”  
    “Thanks.” I try to say it loudly, but it comes out pretty quiet. “Thanks for inviting me.”  
    Mark Ableman settles into the other chair, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Which camera is starting?” he seems to ask to no one.  
    Then from somewhere in the control room, a voice comes over an intercom. “Camera left, Mark.”  
    He nods and gives me his phony smile again. “Ready to rock and roll?”  
    I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “I am.”  
    After a little camera set up and back and forth jargon, the camera light glows. I take a deep breath. And then we rock and roll.  
    By the time it’s all over, I’m so spent I turn down Devon’s offer to go to dinner to celebrate.  
    “Come on! You were amazing! Smart, articulate. Gorgeous. I mean, Jesus! Live it up! You’re young! Know how to recognize your triumphs, no matter how big or small.”  
    But I can only think about one triumph, Lazarus in my bed. And all I want to do is go home and wait for him to arrive.  
    “I promise,” I mutter. “Next week. We’ll bring Nate and do a proper cocktail hour. But I need to get home and chill out.”  
    Devon shakes her head with disapproval. “So true what they say. Youth really is wasted on the young. At least it seems wasted on you sometimes, goody two shoes.” She gives me a wry smile and a wink. “Go chill out. Next week, we party.”  
    When I get inside my apartment at last, I lock the door and collapse on the sofa, truly exhausted. But happy exhausted. It’s the kind of fatigue I’ve always longed for. The kind that comes from hard work and success. After a power nap,