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She’s been waiting for four years now for me to jump on her bandwagon of good taste. It’s not as though I have bad taste; I’m studying to be a designer after all. It’s just always been an expense I couldn’t afford, and I chose my studies instead. I thrift shopped, bargain-bin dove, and coupon hoarded my way into a wardrobe that worked … just not up to par in a place like Foster’s.
    Two hours later, we’ve had dinner and found me three tailored jackets, four new pairs of slacks, five blouses, and a new pair of pumps. Every last piece can be mixed and matched, and if I’m lucky, I won’t ruin anything before the end of my time at Foster’s, for I surely can’t afford to replace any piece of my new wardrobe. It isn’t terribly expensive clothing but more than I typically spend. As it is, I spent nearly a month’s rent on these clothes, and it will be hard enough to get by until I graduate and can get a job making actual money, or more likely, run home to my parents broke.
    Exhausted, I quickly hang all of my new garments in my closet and collapse into bed, but I don’t sleep. Instead, I think about him. I never imagined I would see him again, and as much anxiety as the idea of tolerating his presence for the next few months causes me, I’m also excited. He makes me nervous, especially now. It was one thing to give my body to this man, who knew nothing about me and would never see me again, but now he’ll be around all the time. He knows my name, and he’ll be witness to me fumbling my way through this new and terrifying chapter of my life, and when it comes to fumbling, I tend to be great at it.
    Dressing the next morning, I am marginally more confident than my previous day left me. I’m still terrified of running into him, but at least I feel better about my appearance; it’s a start at least. Entering the building and finding my way to my cubicle, I’m happy to find a man from IT already at my desk, getting me logged on and up and running. Once he’s gone, I log into Outlook and explore the different programs. They use one of the most robust programs on the market for design, and the oversize, wide-screen, high-definition monitor is amazing. I worked with software and hardware of this caliber at Columbia, and I’m relieved I’ll at least know my way around the applications of Foster’s even if I can’t find my way around the building without throwing myself headlong into boardrooms I’m ill equipped to handle.
    After I’ve had time to familiarize myself with my cubicle, a bubbly but quite nerdy young woman pokes her head in and introduces herself as Bridget. She’s sweet, and she’s the first person I’ve met here I’m not intimidated by in some way. Bridget shows me around some more, and I discover the two buildings that make up Foster’s serve to divide the two divisions of the firm. The long hallway that contains the accounting department, payroll department, and human resources links the two renovated warehouses. The opposite building from the one I’m located in is devoted to the architects of the firm, including Mr. Foster, Jordan, and most of the other principals. Our building is reserved for the interior design division of the firm. Only one principal comes from the interiors department, and like most combined architectural and interior design firms, the management of projects falls squarely on the shoulders of the architectural division. More or less, interior designers rank lower on the totem pole than architects—perhaps a throwback to the division of the sexes from years past. How this translates to me, I will be working with and trained largely by the interiors division, but any project I work on will be managed and at the very least overseen by the architects.
    As I pry information out of Bridget on our way to tour the sample room, I hope my interest sounds casual.
    “So I met some of the principals yesterday and Mr. Foster. Will I be working for any of them do you