“2 pm.”
I thanked him and sprang out of bed, still on the line. As shiftless as I normally was, I had been looking for an opportunity like this for a while. I had worked as a receptionist up until a year ago, and had all the skills - but a PA job could actually go somewhere.
“Argh, James, what do I wear?” I whined.
As predicted, rummaging through my extensive wardrobe didn’t produce much in the way of business attire, however. I pulled out pants and skirts, most of which were pretty old and too tight. Why didn’t I clear out my closet more often? I cursed myself.
“Come and help me?” I asked.
He laughed. “I’m not travelling for half an hour to help you pick a dress.”
“You think I should wear a dress?” I held one up. A bit too colourful and flouncy for a job interview, I judged.
“Sure. Something to show off your curves.”
I snorted. “Please, that’s the last thing I need to emphasize.” I threw a shirt across the room, hanger and all.
“Why do you always say things like that?” He scolded. “You look great. At least when you’re confident. You’re a babe, babe!”
I smiled, not answering. James was gay, so I wasn’t sure he saw me the same way other guys would.
“Just do it!” He said after a minute. “Take my advice for once, woman!”
I giggled, said a quick goodbye, and gave up on the dresses for now, in order to concentrate on lingerie. That, I didn’t need help with.
My collection was extensive, and I loved to wear something sexy under my every day clothes - even if no one else ever saw it. I chose a red lacy bra and high cut panties, and found some black stay-up stockings. I always liked the red and black effect of the lingerie. The red stood out on my pale skin and the full cups of the bra supported my generous bust and created just the right amount of cleavage.
I threw everything on the bed, and rushed into the shower.
With renewed resolution, I started sifting through the closet again, and quickly settled on the plainest black dress I could find. I had worn it only once, because I normally liked to wear color. But it had a modest neckline, and was roomy so that it didn’t look like I was about to bust out of my clothing.
I threw on some makeup, making sure to tone it down from my usual look - and put my hair up in what I hoped was a professional style. Now, if only I could make it to the interview on time.
The Tableau main office building was imposing, huge and glass-fronted. I walked into the lobby, three minutes late and slightly flustered, and greeted the receptionist - a tall, thin woman wearing thick-rimmed glasses. She led me through a few doors and into a waiting area. I looked around, and my heart sank.
There were about eight other people waiting. Most of them were young women, clutching their resumes, looking infinitely more confident and professional than I imagined I did. What had I expected - James had gotten me an interview, but of course that didn’t mean I was the only one. I heartily wished I’d thought to go over my CV, and maybe put it in some fancy folder.
I took a seat, smoothing my skirt beneath me, and played with my phone to while away the time.
One by one, the applicants were shown through. I saw them leave, too, with smiles on their faces. I could have sworn each looked very confident about their chances for the job.
Eventually it was my turn. The receptionist peered around the room inquiringly. “Jessica Adams?”
I’d been in a daze, and jumped up in surprise. “I’m here.” Clutching my resume and my handbag, I followed her.
Rick Alcott’s office was huge. A giant desk dominated one side of the room, with comfortable-looking leather furniture on the other side. There was an adjoining room, which was closed. It was all very tidy, and had the requisite beautiful city view. I could see it had started raining outside, the sky darkening and a few drops of rain landing on the windows.
“Good afternoon, Miss Adams. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Please, take a seat.” Rick Alcott had a pleasant but bored-sounding baritone voice. He was seated at his desk; pen in hand, stack of papers in front of him. I wasn’t sure if he’d even looked up from his reading. I smiled, and walked toward the desk, heels clicking on the tiles and then growing silent as I stepped onto the thick carpet.
I sat down slowly, placing my resume on the desk before me, and waiting. After a minute, I felt decidedly awkward. I willed myself not to fidget. Instead, I crossed my legs and watched him. He was young - maybe five years older than me at most, I estimated. His hair was light brown, or perhaps dark blonde, and slightly messy, and he wore glasses with steel-colored wire frames. In his hand the pen tap-tapped restlessly against the desk as he read.