The Interview
Evelyn
I walk into the waiting area, and I see a lady in her mid-forties. She has blonde hair and wears large glasses, typing away on the computer. As I approach her desk, she looks up with green eyes that show deep laugh lines and smiles warmly at me.
“Hello, dear, how can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m Evelyn Summers, and I have an interview appointment with Mr. Knight. Am I in the right place?” I ask.
“Oh yes, Ms. Summers. I’ll let Mr. Knight know you’re here. I’m Karen, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” I tell her as I smile back. She picks up her phone and dials a number. She then tells me to have a seat while Mr. Knight finishes up some paperwork. She offers me a drink while I wait, which I politely decline. She seems nice enough.
I sit down delicately on a black Italian leather sofa, afraid I may scuff the nice material. Then again, Knight Enterprises could prob- ably replace this couch without a second thought. I had read about Knight Enterprises when I first arrived in Vancouver, Washington. It’s a software company specializing in Information technology. I was thrilled when I saw the job listing for a marketing position here, and I was even more ecstatic when I was hired three months ago. Now I’ve been granted a much-coveted interview for his personal assistant.
As I sit here, the butterflies start to flutter in my stomach. Why am I so nervous? Maybe it’s because I’ve heard stories of Mr. Knight during the time I’ve been working here. People keep telling me all their theories about why no one ever sees him.
“He’s a 60-year-old hard-ass who only cares about numbers . . .” “He’s probably just an AI, honestly—no one ever sees him . . .”
For a Fortune-500 CEO of a multibillion-dollar company, he sure doesn’t seem to like the limelight.
I came here from Pennsylvania, where I was working two jobs—as a marketing assistant during the week and a barista on the weekends. And before that, an intern at an ad agency. After working my fingers to the bone for very little pay, I decided I needed a change of scenery. I loved my boss, but she couldn’t afford to pay very much as a small business owner barely getting by. It also didn’t help that my ex, Lucas, became overly possessive of my time and tried to push me to settle down with him; something I just wasn’t interested in at this point in my life. So, technically, he had a part to play in my desperate need to start over with a clean slate.
After about ten minutes of waiting, Karen informs me that Mr. Knight is ready for my interview. My palms suddenly feel sweaty and clammy.
“Right this way, dear,” she says as she walks me down a long, wide hallway with expensive-looking art and framed awards hanging on the walls, through a glassed-in conference room, and finally to Mr. Knight’s office door. She discreetly knocks, sticking her head in to announce me. I hear a low mumble from the other side, and she opens the door, letting me in ahead of her.
“Good luck,” she whispers, disappearing before I have a chance to thank her. I square my shoulders, bound and determined to convey a sense of confidence for this interview. As I walk in, portfolio in hand, I look up, and I have to bite my cheek to keep my mouth from dropping to the floor as I take in the man before me. Holy Mother of Pearl... this man is no man, but a Greek god in the flesh. He definitely isn’t in his 60s, like some of my friends assumed; maybe late 20s, at most.
And my goodness, is he a sight to behold, standing tall with broad shoulders that seem to fill the space around him. His short black hair has a slight curl to it. It’s neatly combed to one side, giving him an air of effortless sophistication. He wears a dark grey suit. Fendi? Perhaps Prada? He wore a blue tie, accentuating his muscular physique in all the right places. A strong jawline, a straight nose, and a slight dimple in his chin make him beyond handsome, but the feature that captivates me the most is his blue eyes. They seem to swirl as he looks up from his desk. Once our eyes meet, I’m mesmerized. Those electric blue eyes seem to almost glow and pierce through me.
Mr. Knight stands up from his chair. At first, I think he’s just being a gentleman, but then I notice his body language: he’s stern and guarded as he looks out the sixty-ninth-floor window. And I swear I see his eyes flicker to black. That can’t be . . . he had blue eyes when he looked up just a moment ago, right? I try not to stare too long and make it awkward, quickly averting my eyes to pretend my black heels are exciting. Did I imagine his eyes were black, or was it the light? I hear him let out a small sigh, and when I look up, he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, and I can see the annoyance rolling off him.
Rude much? Is this a preview of how this interview is going to go?
He walks around his desk, and every movement he makes projects a sense of masculinity and purposefulness. As he approaches, his piercing gaze holds mine with a confidence that could make any woman’s heart skip a beat. It seems that he now has a slight smirk dancing on his lips.
I wonder if his lips are as soft as they look. What? Did I just think that? Come on, Evelyn, get your head in the game!
He extends his hand, “Ms. Summers, I presume?”
“You can call me Evelyn, Mr. Knight,” I offer, shaking his hand. “Ah, yes. Evelyn. Please. Come. Sit. Stay for a while,” he says,
leading me farther into his office. Oh, so that grand space back there was just the anteroom.
The office suite is palatial, featuring a large desk in the center and an elegant seating area to the left, which frames the ten-foot floor-to-ceiling windows. The view of the city is breathtaking from his office. Mr. Knight gestures for me to take a seat on the sofa while he settles into the black leather Eames lounge chair across from it.
“Tell me a little about yourself, Evelyn,” Mr. Knight says, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers.
I take a deep breath and launch into the spiel I’ve prepared in my head. “So I graduated from the University of Pennsylvania with a dual degree in business administration and marketing. After graduation, I worked as an intern at an agency, then as a marketing assistant for three years, honing my organizational and interpersonal skills. I’m eager to . . .”
“Interpersonal skills?” he interrupts, looking at me quizzically. “Yes. Honing my interpersonal skills. I’m eager to . . .
“You mentioned that part.”
Is he fucking with me? I wonder.
“. . . to take on a more challenging role at this juncture and gain more experience in the business world. I believe I have the qualifica- tions and work ethic to excel as your assistant.”
Mr. Knight nods thoughtfully. “I see. Apparently, you did great things for your previous employers. When we called them, they had nothing but positive things to say about you and were sad to see you leave. But tell me, what do you know about Knight Enterprises?”
I hesitate for a moment, trying to recall the details I researched online. “Well, Knight Enterprises is a multi-billion-dollar software-as-a-service firm that specializes in . . .”
“Cut the sales pitch, Evelyn,” he interrupts. “I don’t want a Wikipedia entry, I want to know what you really think of my company.”
I’m taken aback by his bluntness. “I... uh... well, I think it’s a successful and innovative company that has made a significant impact in the business world.”
“The business world,” he chuckles, raising an eyebrow. “And what about me?” That same smirk he had before is playing on his face.
I shift in my seat, my pencil skirt riding up a little, feeling increasingly uncomfortable at his unusual interview approach. “I’m not sure what you’re asking, Mr. Knight.”
He then leans forward; his piercing blue eyes fixed on mine. “What do you think of me? Do you find me attractive?”
My cheeks suddenly flush as I realize what he’s insinuating. “I ... uh... I’m not sure if that’s relevant to my qualifications as your assistant, sir.”
He scoffs and sits up straight. “You’re right, of course. But I couldn’t resist teasing you a little. It’s clear that you’re a woman of high character and intelligence, and I’m impressed by your professionalism. I think you’ll be a great fit for the position. I’d like you to start tomorrow.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, I feel the tension in the room dissipate. “Thank you, Mr. Knight. I would be delighted to start tomorrow.” I’m surprised at how quick this interview is. He hasn’t even asked to see my portfolio. “I’m excited for the opportunity to work with you. Is that all you have for me for the time being?”
“I’ll let you know when I’m done with you,” he chides me, standing up and adjusting his cufflinks. “But yes, it is. You can stop by Karen’s
desk on your way out and let her know you’ll be by first thing in the morning to see your new office and bring your things up.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, standing up to leave his office. I extend my hand again to say goodbye. “I look forward to working with you.” And after shaking his hand, I turn to leave his office. As I reach the threshold, he calls out.
“Oh, and Evelyn . . . call me Greyson.”
