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This assessment would be completely true.
Still, she’s the first stop in getting upstairs to Mr. Shadowvale. I have to make a good impression with her if I want to be able to actually get to my interview. Even though I have an appointment, something tells me that if I mess this up, I’m going to be right back where I was this morning: trapped in an apartment with a roommate who is counting down the minutes until I leave and she can bring in someone who can actually afford to pay rent, begging for a job anywhere that looks like they might take me, and wallowing in self-pity because I took out student loans with the hope that they would land me a better-paying job.
Newsflash: student loans aren’t a promise to get you a better job. Some places literally don’t care about grad school.
Ignoring the fact that I gained fifteen pounds my last year of graduate school and pretending that I don’t feel embarrassed over my slightly frizzy hair, I paste on a smile as I reach the reception desk.
“Good morning,” I say brightly. “My name is Alexandra Sparrow. I have an appointment with Ry-um, Mr. Shadowvale.”
She looks at me closely. Her eyes narrow as she tracks my hair, looks at my blazer, and then actually stands up so she can see the rest of me over the desk.
Shit.
She’s going to kick me out because I’m not pretty enough and not good-looking enough. I’ve completely blown this interview, and I haven’t even had the chance to get it started yet.
“Why are you meeting with him?”
“Excuse me?”
“Is this a social visit or an interview?”
“I...um...an interview?” I’m not sure why I phrase this like a question, but my voice seems to suddenly get all high-pitched and annoying, and the woman nods.
“Come with me.”
She slips out from behind the desk and walks briskly to the women’s restroom, which is at the back of the lobby. I try not to think too hard about this and follow her. Probably, I should be rushing for the elevators and trying to get up to my meeting, but I go with her.
The bathroom isn’t what I would consider a normal restroom. There’s an entire sitting area with mirrors and little stools where you can sit. While the countertops are completely spotless and free from anything at all, there are several drawers. She goes to one and opens it.
“Come here.”
I follow her.
She pulls out a lint roller and gestures for me to hold out my arms. To my shock, she starts rubbing it up and down my arms.
“Mr. Shadowvale is a huge dick,” she explains. “And if you go to an interview with lint on your blazer, he’s not even going to give you a chance.”
She’s helping me. She’s not a bitch at all. She’s trying to help me.
I stand perfectly still as the woman expertly takes care of me. She uses several sheets of sticky paper on the lint roller before placing it back in the drawer. Then she looks at me carefully once more. When she shakes her head, I feel my heart fall.
This really isn’t going to work out.
Then she starts unbuttoning her blouse.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Take your shirt off.”
“Excuse me?”
“Shirt,” she says. “Your shirt is too big. Let’s trade. You can give me mine back later, but you’re going to need a shirt that fits.”
“I think...you’re smaller than me,” I tell her nervously.
She laughs. “This is a stretchy top. It’ll make your tits look great. Come on.” A second later, she’s standing in front of me in her bra, and for some unknown reason – desperation, perhaps – I find myself trading blouses with her and then slipping back into my blazer.
She looks me up and down, adjusts my blazer, and then nods.
