Are You The One?

Secretly Brit wanted to tell her that she should have arrived sooner but held her tongue.

“Ah yes here it is. Sorry I’m new here. I haven’t learned everyone’s name yet,” she explained apologetically.  She turned to Brit.

“You can go right on up. Just sign the visitors log,” she informed her.

“Right up…where?” Brit inquired as she signed her name.

“If you just give me the floor,” the lady interrupted again.

“Ma’am please just give me one minute.”

“I don’t have a minute,” she said exasperated.

Brit waited patiently with a small smile.

“Oh sorry,” Leslie said, clearly flustered.  “He’s on the eleventh floor. Here I forgot you’ll need this visitors badge.”

Brit smiled gratefully and made her way to the elevators. She pressed eleven just as she saw the woman running for the elevator and shrugged apologetically as the doors closed. Brit tried to calm her nerves before the elevator reached her floor but too soon it stopped. She stepped out into a hallway with large mahogany doors. Brit took a deep breath and opened them nervously.

She was surprised by how quiet the office seemed to be. She knew they were a new publication but she had expected more activity than this. The hustle and bustle her university paper had with cork boards full of tacked ideas and chalkboards with chaotic writing. She supposed this was just a more upscale environment. There were a few rows of cubicles which sat empty, flanked by several frosted pane glass offices. A pleasant older woman in her mid-fifties smiled at her from the lone receptionist desk. She was answering some questions on the phone. She held a finger up, indicating she would be right with her. The receptionist hung up, and smiled brightly.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“Yes I have an interview …” Brit began.

“Oh yes you must be the last one we were waiting for. I’m afraid he’s in another interview right now but he’ll be right with you.”

She led Brit down a hallway where several people sat in rooms looking nervous, to her dismay she saw they were all impeccably dressed, the receptionist Margo whispered ‘other candidates’ as they walked past. She finally stopped at a small conference room and told her to wait there. She offered her coffee but Brit was so nervous she wasn’t sure if what she needed was caffeine. She did accept a bottle of water as her mouth had suddenly gone dry. 

As she waited she pulled her portfolio from her briefcase and laid it on the conference room table. Twice she put it back in the briefcase wondering if that was pretentious before finally settling on having it at the ready. She smoothed her pants and rubbed her sweaty palms against her thighs. She checked her watch. Almost twenty minutes had passed. She wondered what was taking him so long.

“Hello. Sorry to keep you waiting,” a voice said startling her.

She turned and came face to face with George Adams. Her jaw dropped.

He looked impeccable. His gray suit was tailored and fit him perfectly. Everything was carefully coordinated from his tie down to his shiny leather shoes and cufflinks. She suddenly regretted her outfit choice. She had worn sensible black trousers with a sleeveless plum silk blouse. She suddenly felt under-dressed. She also regretted not trying to tame her thick hair as she was sure it was a frizzy mess with the current humidity. He wore his dark hair slicked back and wore a pair of frameless glasses. It made him look smart but intimidating. Brit took a deep breath and blushed profusely. She felt her face grow hot and was embarrassed that he had this effect on her.

The embarrassment was only brief however, and she found herself getting irritated as he smirked inquisitively.

“Brit right?” he asked genuinely surprised.

“Yes, well it’s Brittany. I thought your name was George Adams,” she said defiantly.

“It is George Adams. Are you here for the job interview?” he asked with an arched eyebrow.

“Yes. I didn’t know you would be the one doing the interview,” she said sheepishly.

George flipped through some papers he was carrying with a frown.

“I don’t seem to have a copy of your resume,” he said.

“I have one here,” Brit said reaching for her briefcase.

She ruffled through some papers before finally locating it and handed it to George.

His eyes scanned through it quickly and Brit felt suddenly uncomfortable.

“You work as a hostess for Stefan correct?” he asked.

“Yes. It’s on there,” she replied nervously.

“Oh yes I see. Event coordinator,” he said with a grin.

“Well I do help plan the galas,” she said defensively.

“Okay,” he said skeptically. “Do you handle the gallery’s budget, payroll anything of that sort?”

“No. Just help with the planning,” she replied confused.

“And your other jobs. Anything with payroll or inventory?”

“Not exactly,” she said slowly.

“I’m a little confused,” George said. “Do you have any experience?”

“Well of course I do,” she retorted.

Brit launched into details about her education and working as the editor for the high school and college newspapers. She handed him her writing samples and he read them over.

“Very impressive but I’m a little confused,” he said handing them back. “Why do you want to work here?”

Brit explained how it was her dream to be a writer and how a smaller publication would grant her creative freedom. As she spoke George’s smirk grew wider until he could barely control his laughter. Brit could barely contain her anger.

“What the hell is so funny?” she asked angrily breaking off mid-sentence.

“I just think there has been some mistake and…” George began.

“You are by far the most arrogant, obnoxious man I have ever met. So you think I’m some small town hick who is not good enough to work at your tacky little newspaper? Well I have news for you Mr. Adams! I wouldn’t work here anyway. Not if it meant I had to see you every day. You’re right. But it wasn’t a mistake calling me into an interview it was a mistake lowering my standards for a job in this rinky dink establishment,” she fumed as she gathered her things to leave.

“Brit…”

“Don’t call me that. The name is Brittany.”

“Jerk” she added under her breath as she stuffed papers haphazardly back into her case.