"Kennedy Taylor?" A smartly dressed secretary asked as she peered up at me from behind the ultra modern glass desk. I nodded, and tried to smile, but it came out as more of an awkward grimace. "You can head on back, Michelle is waiting for you."

I began walking down the short hallway, making my way to the glass door she'd pointed to. I tugged uncomfortably at the waist of my two sizes too small Oscar de la Renta black tweed skirt. It'd been two years and over twenty pounds since I'd last worn the skirt, and my diet of ramen noodles and pizza was extremely evident.

I could hear my mom's admonishing voice in the back of my head, criticizing me for how frumpy and rundown I'd allow myself to become. If only she knew the full extent of it, I'm sure she'd have an anxiety attack in the middle of one of her 'spa days'.

Glancing down at my outfit I couldn't help, but feel self-conscious. I'd paired the designer skirt with a white blouse I'd picked up at Target after busting multiple buttons on my old one, and it's cheap polyester material was chafing my sweat dampened skin. I'd forgone nylons, Dallas's humid weather not even allowing me to entertain the thought. On my feet were a pair of simple black ballet flats I'd also procured at Target, after realizing my normal Converse weren't going to cut it. All in all it was a jumbled mess, much like my life, as pieces from my past and present were thrown haphazardly together.

"Come in," A voice sounded from within the office, mere seconds after I'd had my hand poised to knock.

"Hi,"

"Good afternoon Miss. Taylor, have a seat." A dark haired woman I assumed was Michelle gestured to one of the ultra modern, metal chairs facing her equally modern glass and chrome desk. "So, I've looked over your resume and have to say I'm a bit confused."

"Confused?" I asked, a frown settling on my features. I'd gone to many job interviews in the past month since graduating college, and while I'd heard the words under-qualified and ill-suited tossed around, confused was a new one.

"Well I find it strange that someone with a bachelor's in art and a minor in business would be applying for an internship for a hockey team's PR department. A poor paying internship to boot," She raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow at me, her dark brown eyes boring into mine.

"I'm always up for a new adventure and a chance to add to my skill set." I mustered up after a moment, putting my childhood media training to use.

"Let's cut the bullshit, what's the real reason you applied?" Michelle said, surprising me with her bluntness.

"The jobs aren't quite as plentiful as the cows are here in Dallas. I'm a recent graduate with a student loan payment to make, so a paid internship is better than an unemployment cheque." I replied, deciding to be honest rather than deceitful with my could-be boss.

"Ah, that makes more sense." Michelle shuffled some papers on her desk, silence encasing the glass walled office. "What were your duties when you were working for the Livingston campaign?"

I cringed, having hoped I wouldn't be asked about that. My parents were constantly involved in Washington's politics, and as a teenager I'd been a volunteer in a number of campaigns. The only reason I'd put it on my resume was because it was the only volunteer experience I had. I just hoped that it wouldn't lead to questions about my parents, something I desperately wanted to avoid.

"Photocopying, manning the poll lines, managing some of the social media accounts, a bit of this and that really." I said as non-chalantly as I could, knowing it wasn't what the normal teenagers aiding the campaign got to do. It was because I was a Taylor that I got those privileges.

"Well based on the glowing recommendations from your professors and the fact that you've had some experience manning social media I'm going to hire you. We'll get some paperwork filled out today and you can start tomorrow morning."

"Thank-you very much for opportunity!" I said, adopting my first genuine smile of the entire interview.

"Basically you'll be my assistant, helping me out with organizing press conferences, social media posts, and stuff like that. You're expected to wear business casual unless otherwise specified. You're also expected to conduct yourself in a respectable manner as you're now part of the Dallas Stars team-"

"-What do you mean by that? Like what are the expectations?" I cringed, hearing my dad berating me for the use of the word like. One of his biggest pet peeves was when people sounded uneducated.

"No drunken posts, no relationships or fraternization with the players or coaching staff, etcetera etcetera." I nodded, those didn't seem like ludicrous standards to uphold. "This contract basically just states what I've already told you, just in greater detail. After you've signed it, I'll get Abigail to make you a copy for your records."

"How long does this internship last?"

"A year, then we'll reevaluate and see if we want to give you an entry level position somewhere in the company." "Sounds great."

An hour later I left the office, feeling lighter than when I'd entered it. I knew this job wasn't my dream job, but it meant that I didn't have to go groveling back to my parents. It meant that I didn't have to have them say 'I told you so' and send me back to business school. It meant my freedom from under the oppressive thumb of Taylor Enterprises.

I grabbed the bus downtown and spent the afternoon at Target buying a few more pieces of 'business casual' attire that could tide me over until my first paycheck.

I wasn't looking forward to having to dress up everyday for work, as I'd grown accustom to wearing jeans and sweats everyday since my second year of college. I comforted myself that a suit was infinitely better than a McDonald's uniform.

"Rents due in a week Kennedy," My landlord said, a deep frown marring his pudgy face. "Will you have it on time?" The 'for once' was silently implied.

"Yeah I'll have it for you on time, I promise." I replied, trying to exude as much trustworthiness as I could.

"I'll be expecting you. Have a good night, Kennedy."

I let out a sigh of relief as I stepped into my tiny, rundown studio apartment. The walls had at some point been white, but were now a sad stained yellow. The kitchen was a hot plate, microwave, a few crowded cupboards and a fridge older than my 22-years. My bed and dresser took up the rest of the apartment, save for a few square feet of cheap laminate flooring.

Kicking off my ballet flats, I quickly changed into a pair of pajamas and sank down onto my bed. I queued up an episode of Friends while I waited for the water to boil for my cup of Mr. Noodles.

Checking my email I saw a few from my parents which I promptly deleted and another from Michelle, giving me directions for tomorrow. After an uninspiring dinner, and Google mapping the transit directions to work I fell into a fitful sleep.

Notes

Sorry for the slow start, but I promise things pick up next chapter. Please comment, rate, and subscribe! Hope you like it :) xx