To say that I was excited for my assignment would have been an understatement. MNG Placement Opportunities was a prestigious organization, accepting clients with only the most qualified characteristics and impressive credentials. Their headquarters' opaque hallways seemed to contain a family, only it wasn't a family – no, the intimacy of the staff, management and the people they served seemed to rival even that of the closest of kin.

It was that very same illusion of professionalism that drew me towards the collars to begin with. My father's briefcase, his stationary, the pens with his name and firm – it all built this facade of importance. It was impressive, and I knew at a very young age that it was an image I was meant to convey. People would think highly of me. They'd know me, they'd love me, they'd fear me, and most of all, they'd respect me.

Frank Gallagher, my 'Placement Advisor', commanded such attention whenever he roamed the halls. Peers, secretaries, and even the clients all regarded him as if he came from royalty. As I waited for him in his corner office, overlooking his magnificent and (most likely) well-earned view of the cityscape, I could tell I was in for something special. Even the air in the room tasted crisper than any other in the building. Frank walked in, the voices of everyone in the hall serving more to brighten his day, just as his mere presence did to them. It really was a lovely cycle, one that I longed to call my own.

'My apologies, Mr. Davenport. I didn't mean to keep you waiting.' He was stoic, even when asking forgiveness. The firmness of his handshake sent chills down my spine, and it was in that instance that I knew – I assured myself – that this decision would be the best of my life. All of my hardwork was about to pay off. In a few years time, people would hold me in the same regard as Mr. Gallagher, and even the thought of it caused my heart to skip.

'No trouble, Mr. Gallagher, sir. And please, call me Daniel.'

'Sure thing, Daniel, only if you don't mind calling me Frank.'

I giggled. It was very unbecoming of me, but Frank seemed to let it pass. He must have gotten them all the time – those 'pity' laughs that are more to impress than express.

'So, I can see here that you are a immensely qualified individual, Daniel. The perfect candidate for MNG placing.'

'Well, if I may say so, I was rather excited to hear that I'd been accepted by your firm, and even more so when I found out that you specifically would be handling my placement.'

'Hah.' A single chuckle. Funny, but not too funny. Damn. He was good.

'Your reputation precedes you.' I couldn't help but stare wide-eyed, like a puppy gazing at forbidden food above a counter-top. My flattery only summoned silence. The moment felt awkward and forced, stretching beyond an eternity, until he finally looked up from the file before him with a polite smile that indicated he'd let it slide.

'So it appears your consultation could not have gone better.' He took his time glancing between the papers and me, not leaving the slightest of details ignored. A few minor details aside, the meeting couldn't have been going better. Word amongst the alumni was that those in our class that found placing assignments through Frank saw six figures in less than as many months. I could feel my foot on the pedal of the TT Quattro. 'Chuck tells me you're good people.'

'Aw, Chuck! How is he doing?'

'Great, great. He told me to tell you that he'll take that twenty whenever you get around to it.'

'Hahaha, that bastard-' Frank's eyes met mine for only a moment before returning to his desk. Had I overstepped my bounds? '-who would have thought the Jazz would go on a tear?'

'Chuck and Chuck only – Mormon bastard.' He quickly did a double-take, back at me. 'Sorry. I mean, no offense, if you're, you know...'

'OH! Oh no, Frank, don't worry about it.'

His pen stopped moving across what I could only assume was another evaluation form. Whether this was a good or a bad thing remained unseen.

'I never worry,' he said flatly.

Probably a bad thing.

'So, Daniel, it seems we have an... exciting... opportunity available for you. It's a one-of-a-kind gig.'

'Well I'm a one-of-a-kind guy, myself. Haha.' He wasn't laughing.

'Before I go any further, I'd like you to tell me something... how familiar are you with our selection process?'

'I wouldn't say I'm familiar, Frank. Though I do know that your firm only accepts the most qualified candidates and places them in positions that are, if you don't mind me saying... prestigious.'

'Hah. Of course I don't mind. We take our work seriously, which, as you know, is your work.' He stood from behind his desk, assuming a casual pace from one end of his massive office to the next. 'You've hit it right on the money, and that's exactly what we want our clients to hit. The money. I assure you, each of these opportunities are just that, and provided what you do with them, you can be seeing yourself in a position of wealth sooner than later. Catch my meaning?'

'I believe so.'

'You see, Dan – you don't mind if I call you Dan?' He didn't leave room for response, but I didn't mind. 'The companies we serve are very... substantial, for lack of a better word. We keep them satisfied and vice-versa. This does, however, mean that certain niches must be filled. And these certain niches require the mosts capable people we can manage to round up. You, Daniel, are one such individual.'

He took the file from where he once sat, slowly made his way round the table, and set it in front of me. Closed. Waiting for my eager eyes.

I glanced at Frank, who was wearing a smile just a shade smaller than mine. He'd been in this position before, many a time – the dealer of fates, waiting to see just how happy his next subject could possibly be. So I obliged.

I took the folder, flipped it open, and red the bold font at the head of the front page...

Personal Assistant.

'Ah ha. Are you... is this a joke?'

'Excuse me?'

'Oh, I mean...' I was speechless. Personal Assistant? This had to be a ruse. It didn't make sense. Someone, maybe Chuck, had to put him up to this. A Personal Assistant? Through MNG? It was a nightmare incarnate – my living fear, facing me in a dark alley with no where to run. This couldn't be reality. This wasn't my reality.

Deep breath. Smile. Pretend not to be offended.

'I don't mean to be ungrateful, Frank, but... a Personal Assistant? That seems a little-'

'The fact of the matter, Mr. Davenport, is that we put people where they fit in. We take pride in our work and so do the clients we place. This particular position is one of the highest caliber. As the closest confidant to one of sports most entertaining athletes today-'

He continued to list reasons why I should appreciate the position I was being offered, but my mind was already concocting methods to respectfully recline and maintain my reputation, with very little luck. Short of Michael Jordan or David Beckham, I couldn't see myself catering to the needs of any so-called phenoms. These people were the embodiment of everything wrong with our society. Soaking in the praise of the millions of living dead strewn across the country, allowing them to live their meaningless lives with little more reason than to cheer and whine over their successes.

These weren't the people to envy. Guys like Frank were. Guys like me.

'So, Mr. Davenport, does it still seem so... little?'

I hadn't been paying attention, but frankly, nothing he could say would change my mind.

Then again, this is MNG. You don't say 'no' to an MNG placement, and you definitely do not say 'no' to Frank Gallagher.

'Who am I representing, again?' I asked, glancing up from the paper. I should have noticed it – it was the most blatant, ridiculous string of words I'd ever seen on print.

'The Illustrious Face-Eater.'

And it sounded worse when said aloud. Well, at least the money was right.