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a tiki bar, with wood paneling and colored Christmas lights, in a sad attempt at being “fun” and “hip.” I was going from a chic minimalist office to a Las Vegas lounge.

    The receptionist sent me in to meet one of the executives, who had a typically drab office with slivers of window that looked out on the misery of midtown workers scrambling to grab lunch and get back to the office with enough time to actually eat it. When the woman stood up and extended her hand, a pungent, stale aroma wafted my way—she smelled like booze.

    “Michael told me you’re great with clients and really good at booking media.”

    Yeah, I thought, a prize he was looking to give away .

    “I need you to write a press release so I can see your work,” she said, slurring her words.

    “Right now?” I asked. I was pretty nervous. I already knew I didn’t want to work for this lady, but I needed a job. Without saying another word, she got up from her desk and wobbled away to make room for me to use her computer. I sat down in her chair and waited in silence for a few awkward moments. Had she passed out behind me?

    “Well, what’s it about?” I asked.

    “What?” she said.

    “The press release you want me to write.”

    “Oh, right . . . God is announcing the end of the world, and you have to write a press release.”

    She had to be kidding.

    “Who is your client?” I asked.

    “God.”

    I stared at the screen with my wrists resting on the keyboard, fingers poised to type, having no idea what to write. There is no way I’m doing this, I thought as I stared at the blinking cursor. I got up and looked right at her. “Well, if God is your client, thenyou don’t need me, or a press release,” I said, grabbing my purse and running out of her office.

    I ran through the tiki-lounge waiting area to the elevators and repeatedly pressed the down button, hoping she wouldn’t follow me. Nobody was in the elevator, and when the doors closed, I leaned against the wall and began sobbing. I was hysterical. Everything good about my life was slipping away. The job I had been lucky to get and worked so hard to keep was over. I wouldn’t be hanging with people like Michael and John, or even Liz and Tricia, anymore. I would probably lose my apartment and have to move back in with Frank and his mom or, even worse, back home.

    I cried all the way from midtown to 26th Street. Somewhere along the way, one of my contacts fell out of my eye, so by the time I got back to PR/NY, I was puffy, crying, and half-blind. I went straight into my office and slammed the door shut.

    Moments later, Michael banged on the door and said, “Rose, come on, open up.” But I wouldn’t. I yelled through the door, “Forget it. I can’t believe you’re ditching me like this.”

    From the other side of the door, I heard John ask, “What’s going on?” Then there was a low murmur as John and Michael talked about me. I heard one pair of footsteps retreating and gathered that John had returned to his office—which I still thought to be my office.

    “Rosie, calm down.”

    It was John.

    “I think we might be able to figure something out,” he said. I worried he was going to give me a pity talk, but I opened the door anyway. Instead, he sat on the edge of my desk and looked me straight in the eyes. “Why don’t you work for me?”

    The fact that I really didn’t want to leave moved John. I would come to understand that he prized loyalty above all. Plus, he liked my sense of humor; I made him laugh, and he wanted me to stick around. . . . Doing what, I had no idea.

    “What will you do?” I asked.

    John laughed. “I’m starting a magazine.”

CHAPTER
2

    “Random Ventures, please hold. Random Ventures, please hold.”

    Although I had pictured myself staying at PR/NY for much longer, promoting new brands and partying with Liz and Tricia, the company had been dissolved. Will jumped to another firm and brought his clients with him. Liz landed a