Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know Read Online Free

prominent cheekbones and power suits presided. Office supplies didn’t exist! Those basic necessities like organizers, garbage cans, and books were simply not present. I watched as six floors disappeared in swirls of white perfection before I felt the venom and heard the voice.
    â€˜She. Is. Such. A. Bitch! I
cannot
deal with her anymore. Who does that? I mean, really – WHO DOES THAT?’ hissed a twenty-something girl in a snakeskin skirt and a very mini tank top, looking more suited for a late night at Bungalow 8 than a day at the office.
    â€˜I know. I
knooooooow
. Like, what do you think I’ve had to put up with for the past six months? Total bitch. And terrible taste, too,’ agreed her friend, with an emphatic shake of her adorable bob.
    Mercifully, I arrived at my floor and the elevator slid open.
Interesting
, I thought. If you’re comparing this potential work environment to an average day in the life of a cliquey junior high girl, it might even be better. Stimulating? Well, maybe not. Kind, sweet, nurturing? No, not exactly. The kind of place that just makes you want to smile and do a great job? No, OK? No! But if you’re looking for fast, thin, sophisticated, impossibly hip, and heart-wrenchingly stylish, Elias-Clark is mecca.
    The gorgeous jewelry and impeccable makeup of the human resources receptionist did nothing to allay my overwhelming feelings of inadequacy. She told me to sit and ‘feel free to look over some of our titles.’ Instead, I tried frantically to memorize the names of all the editors in chief of the company’s titles – as if they were going to actually quiz me on them. Ha! I already knew Stephen Alexander, of course, for
Reaction
magazine, and it wasn’t too hard to remember
The Buzz
’s Tanner Michel. Those were really the only interesting things they published anyway, I figured. I’d do fine.
    A short, svelte woman introduced herself as Sharon. ‘So, dear, you’re looking to break into magazines, are you?’ she asked as she led me past a string of long-legged model lookalikes to her stark, cold office. ‘It’s a tough thing to do right out of college, you know. Lots and lots of competition out there for very few jobs. And the few jobs that are available, well! They’re not exactly high-paying, if you know what I mean.’
    I looked down at my cheap, mismatched suit and very wrong shoes and wondered why I’d even bothered. Already deep in thought over how I was going to crawl back to that sofa bed with enough Cheez-Its and cigarettes to last a fortnight, I barely noticed when she almost whispered, ‘But I have to say, there’s an amazing opportunity open right now, and it’s going to go fast!’
    Hmm. My antennae perked up as I tried to force her to make eye contact with me. Opportunity? Go fast? My mind was racing. She wanted to help me? She liked me? Why, I hadn’t even opened my mouth yet – how could she
like
me? And why exactly was she starting to sound like a car salesman?
    â€˜Dear, can you tell me the name of the editor in chief of
Runway
?’ she asked, looking pointedly at me for the first time since I’d sat down.
    Blank. Completely and totally blank, I couldn’t remember a thing. I couldn’t believe she was
quizzing
me! I’d never read an issue of
Runway
in my life – she wasn’t allowed to ask me about
that
one. No one cared about
Runway
. It was a
fashion
magazine, for chrissake, one I wasn’t even sure contained any writing, just lots of hungry-looking models and glossy ads. I stammered for a moment or two, while the different names of editors I’d just before forced my brain to remember all swirled inside my head, dancing together in mismatched pairs. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, I was sure I knew her name – after all, who didn’t? But it wouldn’t gel in my addled brain.
    â€˜Uh, well, it seems I