Written

Chapter 11

When I walk into the restaurant where I am supposed to meet Paul, I am met by a man who offers to take my coat. It is June. I don't have a coat. But it seems to be protocol and he offers to take my purse as well.
I am unfamiliar with fancy restaurant manners, but I am more comfortable keeping my belongings close to me, so I politely decline.

"Have you a reservation?" I am asked by a man in a hideous tailcoat with an even more hideous fake British accent. At least I think he's attempting British.

"Um, I'm meeting someone. Paul Higgins?" The man gives me a look of disdain, as if he doesn't believe me. I see his white-gloved finger make its way down a list of names, list which Paul's name appears on.

"Right this way, ma'am." I follow him down a short hallway and up a small flight of stairs to a private room. Paul isn't here yet, but I am not at a loss for entertainment.
The room itself is beautiful. It is made of marble, the marble-tiled floors leading into the marble walls with pillars that hold up a magnificent marble ceiling. I do my best not to gawk, but it is impossible. This room alone probably cost more than the house I grew up in.
In the center of the room there is a table set for two. It seems as if it should be intimate, but there is a very business-y air to the way it is all set up. Across from the table, a fire is roaring in the fireplace. What the Hell? Doesn't anyone in this place realize that it's June?

"Hayley," Paul's voice sounds from behind me.

"Hi," I say, spinning around to face him. He gestures to the table and pulls out a chair for me to sit in. I wonder if things will always be this strict and businesslike between us.
Paul pushes in my chair when I sit down, and I find myself relishing the fact that it's the first time anyone has ever done that for me. Paul is chivalrous and well-mannered, I find myself giving him the same level of respect that I reserve for people like Catherine and my mother.

"Before you make your final decision," Paul starts, "I would like to say a few things."

"Please do," I say, though I've already made up my mind. I wonder if he knows that.

"We want you, Hayley. You know this already. We've been looking for people to bring on with us, but no one has stood out to us the way you do. I want to teach you this business, I want to mentor you. I know that this can seem intimidating," he gestures at the fancy room around us, "but it isn't like this all the time. It's...normal. For something so abnormal. It becomes normal, you get used to it, you adapt. I know that you can adapt, Hayley. This is supposed to be a professional offer, but I promise you that I personally will not let you fail. Not that I think you will, but I will help you. I will mentor you, I will guide you. I don't think you will really need it, but whatever I can say to make you accept our offer, I'll say." Paul's nervous speech is endearing, and I find myself suppressing a smile.

"Thank you," I tell him. I am touched by his kindness and caring, and even more touched at his blind belief in me. "Paul, I've done a lot of thinking and I think this is something I want to do."

"You think?" Paul raises his eyebrows, no trace of humor or sarcasm in his voice. "I don't want you to feel pressured into something you're unsure of."

I dismiss the comment offhand, I don't feel pressured. Or...do I? It's awfully hard not to. But no, I made my decision on my own.

"I do want to do this. I would just like to have a better understanding of it before I sign anything." I eye the briefcase that Paul brought with him, now sitting on the table.

"That's fair. Mainly, you will be my assistant. You will see what I do and how it all works, you will help when it's needed. Eventually you will earn opportunities to try your hand at the job. You will travel with us everywhere we go. There will be times you will be assigned to other duties, but it's nothing you can't handle. Think of it as a sort of...internship. Only paid, and you get to go to a rock concert every night."

I can't help the smile that spreads across my face as Paul reaches for his briefcase. Stacks of papers and brochures and pamphlets are spread onto the table as Paul locates a contract that has already been written specifically for me.
In the back of my mind I hear my father's voice, from a distant memory, telling me never to sign a contract without a lawyer present. But Paul seems to sense my hesitance and has no aversion to walking me through each paragraph, step by step. My eyes widen when we make it to the salary portion. This is more than my mother's made in the past three years.

The air in the room seems warm as I sign and initial in at least twelve places on the contract. My hand is shaking and my stomach is in knots, but with one last flourish of the pen, I sign my life away.
It feels as if a burden has been lifted off my shoulders and I feel lighter than ever. Paul stands up and walks around the table to shake my hand. I pull him in for a hug and he laughs before picking me up and twirling me around. "Welcome aboard, Hayley Reid."

I ask Paul to tell me some of his favorite stories from tour, and we both end up laughing too hard to eat much of our undoubtedly overpriced food. By the end of the night, I've decided that Paul may very well be one of the best people I've ever met.

"I've got to be going," Paul says, standing from the table. "We've got a show to put on tomorrow. You're free to stay as long as you like, Hayley, it's been taken care of," he gestures around the room.

"Thank you," I tell him sincerely. "For dinner, and for the job. And for having so much faith in me."

"I know you won't disappoint," Paul says. He leans down to kiss me on the forehead before swiftly exiting the room. I sigh and fall back into the cushioned chair.
I'm left alone with my thoughts about my leap of faith, and my worries about where I will land.