Chase and Company

Chapter Three: Alliterate versus Illiterate

        In the light of alliteration and matching first letters, Chase and Company was more like Business with Beauty. There was no color coordination; every small detail of color there was but a mere accent to the stark white walls and glittering white tiles. I approached the white front desk. “Hello,” I greeted red hair cheerfully. Before the receptionist could raise her head from the appointment book in front of her, I said, “I’m Shay Evans, I’m here for an appointment for the candidacy of my internship.”

        “One second,” she said as she skimmed through the dates and times. While I waited, I inspected green leaves contrasted against the void of color of white hydrangeas in a glass vase on the counter. She finally looked up and smiled warmly. “Yes, you’re scheduled for 11:30. You’re quite early, you know, about twenty minutes. It’s okay though, they like that.”

        I smiled back. “Glad to know.”

        “I’m Jillian, and you will be going up to the 24th floor. The elevators are to your right.”

        “Thank you so much, Jillian. I’ll see you when I get kicked out.”

        She laughed, saying, “I’m sure you’ll snag your internship. Tell me the verdict later!”

         “Will do!”

        I walked towards the elevators and pressed the up button. Not five seconds later, the closest door to me opened. Stepping inside, I punched the 24th button and then sighed, closing my eyes as the doors closed and silently sped me up.

        I opened them again and prepped myself. Staring at the mirrored side of the elevator, I checked myself out. Studying up on Chase and Company, I researched their dress code and conduct. Lame as it was that I couldn’t figure out what to wear to the interview, I wanted to make sure I looked the part. Because of its concentration in fashion, the company allowed its employees to experiment and style themselves with any color, design, or material, provided that they are still business appropriate and tasteful. And not look like clowns.

        I chose a crisp, white, sleeveless button down with a bib necklace of gold underneath the collar and had tucked my shirt into a grey, A-line skirt. Because of my height of five foot six and my love for my bottom half, the skirt was slightly above the knee and slightly high-waisted, elongating my legs. But the real attraction was my blazer; it was a rich plum color that matched my plum pumps.

        Oh for the love of alliteration.

        I smoothed any stray hairs from my waved hair and jumped twice for the bounciness test. I originally planned on pinning it into a bun but decided against being a grandmother today. The shine of my brown hair accentuated the movement and I was satisfied.

        The elevator dinged at twenty four and I hopped out just as the doors opened. My mouth opened partially as my eyes widened with raised eyebrows. In front of me weren’t cubicles, but open office desks as everyone typed away while still chatted freely over their shoulders. The white walls remained and the furniture were all the same color, but at least here the floors were hardwood instead of white tile like the lobby. Occasionally, racks of outfits with outrageous color choices flew by, weaving through the desks.

        “You’re early, Ms. Evans.” I turned my head to the right to find one of the most gorgeous mid-forty year olds ever to strut on the earth in blood red Louboutins. She wore a sheath dress in grey tweed with a skinny patent red belt that matched her shoes and lips, and did she work it. In all honesty, I was half expecting a blonde but her honey colored hair was as warm as her eyes.