Dangerous Curves: The Good Girl

The Secret (2)

The Secret (2)

(One week earlier)

"Sorry to make you work on your day off," my boss, Mariah said, shutting the door to her office with a loud thud. "But two people called in sick and everyone else was busy. You know how it is."

Boy, did I ever.

This was the third time she'd done this to me in two weeks. When I would I learn to stop answering the phone when work called? Never mind. It wasn't like I had any exciting plans. Besides, I could use the extra money.

Working the night shift at Brown-Eyed Girl Magazine was easy, if incredibly dull. We were an online publication, our new content went up every night on our popular website between the hours of midnight and 2 a.m.

I'd been working here for three years, and I'd still yet to move up the ranks. I wasn't a "guest columnist" like my best friend, Katie. Despite taking on several voluntary (read: unpaid) assignments, and turning in various test articles, Mariah had yet to give me a chance to write for the magazine.

It sucked, because I had a degree in journalism, a filing cabinet full of old clips, and here I was stuck managing the website. Point, click, copy, past. That was what my job came down to. If I was lucky, I got to play editor for the night and read an article or two for content. Usually, though, I was stuck uploading text files into little boxes, hitting spell check, making sure the fonts all looked correct, and then pressing "publish" with my mouse.

It was exciting work, if you could get it.

So why did I stay here?

It was a good question, one I asked myself often.

In truth, it all goes back to the statement I just made: not the "exciting work" part, the "if you could get it" thing. Believe it or not, a position at Brown-Eyed Girl Magazine was not easy to come by. We were one of the hottest webzines around - owned by a man who'd just been ranked the most influential businessmen on the planet, in addition to being named one of People magazines 50 Most Beautiful People for three years running - Nicholas Colby.

Not only was Brown-Eyed Girl a terrific stepping stone for budding journalists (our writers often went on to high profile gigs at places like Vogue and Vanity Fair after putting in a few years here), but the chance to work for any of Nicholas Colby's business ventures was too good to pass up. The man was a living legend - a self-made billionaire before the age of 30 years old - and having an association with him anywhere on your resume could only lead to bigger and better things.

Not that you could even call what I had to be an "association." Mr. Colby and I have only met once, when he gave the keynote speech at an event the magazine hosted two years ago. After captivating the room with a speech that was equal parts inspiring and funny, Nicholas had briefly worked the room introducing himself to everyone (as if he needed an introduction!) and before ducking out with a girl, I'm pretty sure, was one of the models on that season of Project Runway.

Nicholas is known for his playboy ways, and he is routinely spotted with a different woman on his arm. He's even dated a few staffers from Brown-Eyed Girl in the past, although, trust me, I have no illusions that I'm ever going to wind up on that list. Mr. Colby tends to prefer models. And at a size 16/18, I'm hardly the model type. (Even for the plus-size scene. Last I checked most of those "larger" model girls were still way smaller than I was.)

It's not that I'm not pretty. It's just, I've always been the type of girl who tended to win a guy over with her personality. But since moving to New York a few years ago, I hadn't been winning over anybody.