Trading Game
I pull my shoulders back as I walk into another cold concrete building on my second job interview of the day. Frankly, I'm not feeling very optimistic. Life hates me. Even if I do land the job. I am sure life will find a way to knock me down, it always does.
I've applied for a job as an Executive Assistant to the owner of G.S.I. The only problem is I don't have much experience. I been working as a paralegal for the last 4 years and got laid-off last week. With my niece and sister in-law dependent on me, I've been running around town, dropping off resumes at various companies to find work. At this point I'll do anything. I've gone on multiple interviews and even second interviews. Nothing is coming back to me positively, at this point I'm desperate for a paycheck.
I open the door with more force than necessary. Immediately I see the receptionist behind the large desk and slap a smile on my face. "Hello, I'm Samantha Rivers. I'm here for an interview with Mr. Greco."
She motions to a seating area with a couple of grey leather chairs. "Please, have a seat. It will only be a moment."
I do as she says and sit down, my legs wanting to do nothing but pace. I have to nail this interview. I have to have a job. Ella is doing great but we still have doctors bills stacked a mile high. Mom and Dad have been doing their best, we all have, but we can't seem to pull ahead of our mounting debt.
"Ma'am." The receptionist says, interrupting my inner dialogue, "He's ready for you." I follow her noticing how pretty her hair is, shiny and healthy. I wish I could afford to take care of my hair and nails like she does.
"You have very pretty hair." I tell her randomly. I tend to say exactly what I'm thinking. A curse I'm learning to control, slowly...very slowly.
"Thank You. I pay a man a lot of money for it." She jokes, winking at me. I laugh, noticing she's a lot older than I originally thought. I'd bet she's almost 50 but with the help of her hairstylist and healthy living she looks 10 years younger. I instantly want to be her one day.
I thank her as I walk through the door and she smiles in encouragement, but I see something else in her eyes as well, sympathy, concern? I make my way to the big dark wood desk in the center of the room. Behind it sits a man who looks like he's just walked off the cover of G.Q. Magazine. However, his demeanor and hard planes of his face tells me he's more than what meets the eye.
Customer Reviews
ThriftBooks ® and the ThriftBooks ® logo are registered trademarks of Thrift Books Global, LLC
