The interview
I checked my watch, which sat tightly on my wrist, as I sat in the uncomfortable chair.
I had an interview at 8:00 a.m. It was now 9:20 a.m. The boss, they said, was running late.
I really needed this job. There was no question about that. My dad had been good to me while I worked two jobs. I knew that if I got this position, I wouldn't have to keep working two jobs anymore. I'd finally have extra money to help pay for the luxurious lifestyle he insisted on living fueled only by the money I earned. He hadn't worked in years, not since my mom died. Instead, he had become hooked on drugs.
I was lost in my thoughts when my name was called.
"Meredith!"
I shoved my thoughts aside and quickly walked over.
"Mr. Greyson is ready to see you now. Take the elevator to the top floor," the receptionist said, typing away on her computer.
I walked to the elevator and pressed the button. The bright fluorescent lights inside did nothing to help my headache, and my nerves were already getting the best of me. I hit the button for the top floor, closed my eyes, and held tightly onto the wall.
I had hated elevators ever since I was a little girl. The ding signaled that the doors had opened.
I stepped out and approached a large, muscular man wearing black glasses, who was typing on his computer.
"You must be Meredith. Knock on the first door on your right and wait for him to call you in," he said without even looking up. Strangely, I was grateful for that.
I walked to the door, my heels clicking softly against the floor, and knocked gently.
"One moment," a muffled voice replied.
Then the voice dropped lower and continued, "Farlo parlare. Inizia tagliandogli le dita. Diventa creativo. Una volta ottenute le informazioni sulle armi rubate e sulla droga, uccidilo."
{Get him to talk. Start off by cutting off his fingers. Get creative. Once you get the information about the stolen guns and drugs, kill him.}
Hmm, what language is that? I thought. Spanish? Italian? I tried not to eavesdrop.
"Come in," he called out, louder this time.
I turned the knob, stepped inside, and softly closed the door behind me, keeping my gaze on the floor.
"Listen, I'm a very busy man," he said, staring at me intently. "I've reviewed your qualifications, and so far, you're the best candidate. I'm willing to give you a two-day trial run. If that goes well, I'll hire you. Either way, you'll be paid for the trial. Sound good?"
His icy blue eyes locked onto mine. A small scar marked his forehead, and tattoos covered his arms and even parts of his neck.
I nodded, thinking about the two-day trial and the guaranteed pay. I'm in. I'm going to be the best assistant ever, I told myself, mentally hyping myself up until he rudely interrupted me.
"Use your words. I don't need a mute," he said, looking agitated.
"Umm, yes. Thank you for giving me a shot," I replied, extending my hand.
He glanced down at my hand, then back up at me, before quickly shaking it.
"For a girl, you have a strong handshake," he said, releasing my hand and returning to his computer.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" I asked, instinctively reaching toward his hand again.
"No, you didn't," he said, gesturing for me to stop.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought I might have when you mentioned my strong handshake," I said, looking at the floor and feeling awkward standing there without further instructions.
"I was stating a fact and giving you a compliment. Don't overthink it. Get me a coffee. Black," he ordered, still focused on his screen.
I remembered passing a break room on the way in. I went there, poured a cup of black coffee, and after a moment's hesitation grabbed a couple of small scones and the newspaper from the counter, just in case.
Maybe I shouldn't... He only asked for coffee. Still, I decided to bring them.
I knocked again.
"Come in," he said, already on the phone.
"Merda, è stato veloce. Uccidilo. Sai cosa fare con il corpo. Pulire dopo."
{Shit, that was fast. Kill him. You know what to do with the body. Clean up afterward.}
I entered and set the coffee down, followed by the scones on a napkin and the newspaper beside it.
"I didn't ask for the extra stuff, Meredith," he said, looking up from his screen.
"I know, I'm sorry. I just thought you might want something with your coffee... and maybe the newspaper. Next time, I'll only bring what you ask for."
"It's fine. I appreciate the thought," he replied, then added, "Throw the newspaper in the trash."
I felt like my future was being tossed in the trash along with it.
He handed me a folder of papers with sticky notes attached. "Make copies of these. The number of copies needed for each is written on the sticky notes. The copier is on the third floor."
I smiled politely, took the folder, and walked out, closing the door softly behind me. I headed back toward the dreaded elevator.
The doors opened with a bing, and I stepped inside once again, my irrational fear flaring up under the exaggeratedly bright lights. I pushed the button for the third floor, gripping the handrail so tightly my knuckles turned white. I held my breath and listened to the low, constant hum.
When the doors opened, I stepped into the large copy room lined with printers, paper, and ink. I found a machine and got to work, vaguely aware of a few people coming and going.
"Hello, I'm Carter! I don't think I've seen you before. Are you new?" a friendly voice asked.
"I am new...well, I'm not officially working here yet," I replied, carefully watching the papers feed through.
"Ah, you must be interviewing with Mr. Greyson. If you want to grab lunch with my boyfriend and me today, let me know. You seem interesting." He handed me a business card. I slipped it into my pocket, grabbed the warm copies, and headed back to the elevator.
I rode up to the top floor, knocked on the door again, and waited.
"One minute."
"Hai trovato il topo? Legatelo e imbavagliatelo, ma lasciatelo a me."
{You found the rat? Tie him up and gag him, but leave him for me.}
"Come in."
I handed him the fresh, warm copies.
"Thank you. Down the hall we're having a meeting. Evenly distribute these papers on each chair and staple them together in this order." He handed me a sample packet and a stapler, then turned back to his computer.
