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I pace the floor in my studio apartment, taking a seat on my couch as the phone rings. The second I hear a click, I jump back up and begin to pace again.
“This is Lisa.”
“Hi.” My voice is so high I sound like a dog toy. “Hi, this is Presley James. I’m calling because Cy—Mr. Gates gave me your card. I apologi?—”
“Ah, so you’re his best student,” she says, her voice growing warmer.
His best student? Is that what he told her?
“Thank you for reaching out. Cyrus mentioned that you’d be calling, and I really am in dire need of someone ASAP so would you be able to come by this morning for an interview?”
“Oh, yes, absolutely. I’m free all day actually. I don’t have class on Tuesdays at all.”
“Perfect. Come by at eleven. The front desk receptionist will have a badge for you and tell you which floor my office is on. You know where we’re located?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, thank you so much.” I try not to gush but it just comes out.
“See you at eleven, Presley.”
The phone goes dead and I can’t stifle the squeal of pure joy that erupts from my throat as I throw my hands over my head and dance with excitement. I glance over at the time on the microwave. It’s already half past nine and I haven’t even showered.
“Shit!”
I toss my phone onto the couch and rush to the bathroom to start the shower. It’s only a few stops away on the train, but still, I need time to pick out the perfect, professional interview outfit, brainstorm questions I might have, and brush up on my general interviewing skills.
I rush through my shower routine, wrapping a towel around my long hair and a fluffy robe around my body as I make myself a cup of coffee. I grab my tablet and pull up my resume to update it with my most recent work experience. I don’t own a printer—does anyone anymore?—so I’m hopeful a digital copy of my resume will do. I can simply email it to their HR team or Lisa herself when I arrive.
I read over my resume and I’m happy with it. For only working part-time at Lighthouse Public Relations, I actually had a lot of responsibility. Mostly to do with the fact that they were so small they had most of us doing more than one job, but also because I enjoyed it and often asked for more responsibility so that I could gain hands-on experience.
I’m about to close my tablet and start drying my hair when a thought pops into my head. I open my school email and pull up the syllabus for Ethics in Business. There at the top of the page is Cyrus Gates’ school-assigned email address. If I had to guess, he’s probably never checked it. We use the online portal for any questions or assignment submissions, but I decide to send him a quick note anyway.
Got an interview with Lisa today at 11! Thanks again for the opportunity. I promise to have a backbone.
And then, for some unknown and completely asinine reason, I sign it…
Your best student ;)
I have a habit of attempting to be bold in the moment which usually backfires on me because it’s not bold; it’s stupid and impulsive and ends up with me cringing in bed at night as I once again pray the earth would open up and swallow me whole.
Thankfully, I’m too nervous and excited to allow this slip up to completely overtake my brain and ruin my day. I close the tablet and rush to the bathroom to finish getting ready, completely focused on my upcoming interview.
There will be plenty of time later for me to remember this moment of insanity and wallow in embarrassment or perhaps, craft yet another apology to Mr. Gates.
I arrive at my interview fifteen minutes early… Okay, more like thirty, but I paced outside in the cold January wind for fifteen minutes until my face went numb before going inside. Fifteen minutes is an acceptable amount of time to be early; thirty sends the message that I just can’t manage my time.
I sit rigidly in a chair outside of Lisa’s office, looking down for the fifth time to make sure my visitor’s badge is straight. It’s straight. I tap my fingers, then my foot, then cross and uncross my legs again.
I can hear voices on the other side of her office door nearing closer so I stand up. The handle turns and the door begins to open when I recognize the voice and Cyrus Gates emerges from her office.
“You don’t give me enough credit, Lisa.” He laughs, looking back at her as they both walk out of the office. “I’m not always the bad guy.”
“Mr. Gates.” I smile nervously as he finally turns, his eyes meeting mine.
“Miss James,” he says calmly, clearly already aware that I was meeting with Lisa today.
“Hello, Presley, I assume?” Lisa says as she extends her hand toward me. “Pleasure to meet you. I know you already know Cyrus. I’ll be right with you. I’m going to grab a cup of coffee before our interview. Would you like one?”
Is she asking to get me coffee?
