Chapter Two:Cathy's Help
743 Words
Chapter Two: Cathy's Help
Natalie hadn’t been inside a building like this in… well, the whole twenty-two years of her life.
Rash Entertainment’s headquarters stood like a glass-and-steel beacon in midtown Manhattan. Sleek, bold, and unapologetically expensive. It hummed with life—interns clutching iced coffees, assistants with tablets glued to their palms, and people who looked like they belonged in magazine spreads striding past like they owned the world.
Natalie clutched her worn out leather bag to her side and adjusted the pale blue blouse Cathy had loaned her. It was a little too tight in the chest and definitely too expensive for her usual taste, but Cathy had insisted.
“You’re not walking into that place like a scared bunny,” she’d said that morning, handing her a pair of nude heels. “You’re going in there like you’re meant to be there.”
Now Cathy was by her side, her green eyes scanning the lobby with effortless poise. Her blonde hair bounced in waves as she turned to Natalie.
“I told you this place was insane,” she grinned. “But you’ve got this.”
Natalie nodded, even as her stomach twisted itself into knots. “You’re sure they’re not looking for someone with, you know, actual business experience?”
Cathy rolled her eyes. “Please. You’ve read more business books than half the people in there. And you’ve got the communication degree and the voice.”
Natalie blinked. “The voice?”
Cathy leaned in and whispered, “Trust me. You sound like honey and sugar had a baby.”
Natalie laughed nervously, but it helped. She pulled her shoulders back. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
They walked up to the receptionist, a polished woman with sharp eyeliner and an air of controlled chaos.
“I’m here to apply for the radio host position,” Natalie said.
The woman gave her a once-over, then smiled slightly. “You’re early. That’s good. Fill this out and take a seat. They’ll call you in.”
Natalie filled out the form with shaking hands, and when she sat down, Cathy gave her hand a squeeze.
“You’ve got this,” she repeated. “Just be yourself. You’re smart. You’re passionate. And you’re desperate—not that you should say that, but channel it.”
Natalie gave a small smile. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Cathy shrugged. “Probably be working in some dusty bookstore instead of chasing dreams in a power building.”
A few moments later, a young man in a very expensive gray suit called out, “Natalie Daniels?”
Natalie stood. Her heart thudded. This was it. She glanced back at Cathy, who gave her a thumbs up and mouthed, Go break a leg.
The hallway smelled of fresh coffee and expensive cologne. The interviewer a sharp-looking woman with tight curls and a no-nonsense expression—led her into a soundproof room with a sleek microphone at its center.
“Let’s see what you’ve got,” she said. “You’ll have five minutes. Talk to me like you’re hosting a segment on small business tips for new entrepreneurs.”
Natalie took a deep breath, stepped up to the mic… and something clicked.
She imagined her mother listening from a hospital bed. Imagined a room full of people who didn’t believe in themselves yet. And she spoke.
Her voice flowed—confident, calm, compelling. She talked about the importance of knowing your audience, keeping your startup lean, and learning from your failures. Everything she’d read and absorbed over the years poured out of her, framed by a voice that sounded… professional. Assured. Alive.
When she finished, the woman just stared at her for a moment before nodding.
“We’ll be in touch.”
As Natalie walked back into the lobby, Cathy stood up. “How did it go?”
Natalie was breathless, heart pounding. “I think… I think I nailed it.”
Cathy grinned. “Told you. you could do anything you put your mind too.”
Neither of them knew that several floors above them, behind tinted glass and locked doors, Caleb Rashford had paused mid-meeting. His eyes narrowed as he listened to a voice streaming faintly from a test broadcast being reviewed in a staff room down the hall.
“Who is that?” he asked, standing slowly.
No one had the answer yet.
But he intended to find out.
- Writer
