Elizabeth was deadly serious about her degree, despite the ridicule she'd gotten over the years. It first started in the dingy office of her career's adviser, back in secondary school, when with fresh-faced optimism at the age of 16, she said she wanted a BA in Business Administration.

She paused, her heart pattering in her chest.

Before it keeled over, an arrow in it's side.

"Are you sure?" asked the career adviser, looking down the list of subjects Elizabeth excelled in. "Have you ever thought about Medicine? Or Engineering?"

Wait. What?

She hadn't asked about medicine or engineering. What she wanted to know was what qualifications she needed to study BA at Bristol. Simple really.

"No," Elizabeth said shortly, refusing to let go of her dream. "Now, look -"

"That's a shame." The pig-headed woman actually had audacity to bite into a cookie, so crumbs sprayed all over Elizabeth's certificates. The ones she'd resisted framing. "You're clearly very bright. With a mind like that you can go far in traditional courses. Not one," she leaned closer, eyes beady behind her spectacles. "Any Tom, Dick or Harry could enter."

"I'm not a Tom, Dick or Harry either," Elizabeth said, annoyed.

"I know, dear. But if you want to be a glorified secretary, then you don't need a degree for that. Just leave school at sixteen. There's plenty of companies looking for fresh blood. You might even have an advantage over those twenty-something year old graduates, who might be educated, but can't hold a candle to the years of experience you would've clocked up."

"Thanks." Elizabeth imagined slamming a heavy folder over the woman's head. "Thanks a whole lot."

Who gave her this job? She was absolutely lousy at it.

Elizabeth sulked over the whole summer, but she emerged, determined and focused more than ever, that there was more to Business Administration than a glorified PA.

She'd show that damn career's adviser.

.ssss.

Six years later

"Hi," said the girl seated furthest away from her in the semi circle. "My name is Natalie Troya, and this is my first job interview. I'm sixteen." She put up a hand, with a complete set of acrylic nails and gave a fake giggle.

The last two words started repeating over and over in Elizabeth's head.

I'm sixteen. I'm sixteen.

Jesus. She was at risk of being ousted by someone, by all rights and purposes, still belonged in a cradle. A bit harsh, but Elizabeth wasn't in a forgiving mood. She was surrounded by five people, all women besides the interviewer, who outclassed her in the looks department. To add insult to injury, they all wore flimsy, short sleeved blouses, the buttons straining against their busts and impeccably cut pencil skirts. Their hair was professionally done and although the youngest was sixteen and the oldest twenty-eight…they looked like they were sisters.

Were they?

Elizabeth's eyes skipped from one to another, coincidentally just as the second interviewee spoke. This one accompanied her statement with a finger wave.

"Hiiiii. My name is Michelle Peyton…"

Ah. So they weren't related.

Elizabeth's eyes anxiously fell to her prim and proper hands folded on her lap. The nails were filed short, no-nonsense, just like her. She'd combed a parting into her hair and let it hang loose, the tips brushing the blazer of her trouser suit, which ended with two stocking covered feet in flat shoes pressed tightly together.

Her lower lip wobbled, and she told herself not to cry. How was it fair she was overlooked in favour of the one who flashed the most leg, time and time again? Her CV was enough to get a foot through the door, but when it came to interviews, she lacked the charm and ease that made her sound stilted and one to avoid.

But it was just her nerves playing up. Elizabeth was very witty and level-headed. It's just the longer she spent job hunting, the less confident and distracted she grew.

Much like now.

"And what about you?" This stage - the group interview stage - was being held by a man called Charles Bingley. He was a very good-looking man in his early twenties, with rich brown hair he constantly ran his fingers across, almost like he was self-conscious about how luscious his locks were, and a worn in shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. "The quiet one at the end. What's your story?" He smiled at her.

Something inside Elizabeth broke.

She was tired of being called quiet. She was merely reflective. Elizabeth straightened up, trying not to let the hurt show.

Her voice was soft and lilting. It had no bite to it.

"My name is Elizabeth Bennet. I finished my Master's at Bristol Uni eight months ago, with two significant placements at JP Morgan and Legal and General. Throughout my studies and even now, I've supported myself by working as a temp. I'm not sixteen," she finished with a sigh.

"Why do you say that?" Charles looked intrigued.

Don't say it. Don't say it.

"My career adviser was right." Oh shit. "She told me if I wanted to be successful in this field, then I had a better chance if I did what Natalie's doing here. Which is try my luck as a novice. Now, that I'm on the other side, it's like I'm not pretty enough or relaxed enough, and I keep being told to sing my accomplishments but -"

She stopped, realising she'd stepped over the far reaches of professionalism. Who knew, a bunch of short skirts, a girl who was sixteen and Charles Bingley accusing her of being quiet would make her evaluate herself as a person.

"I'm sorry, I should probably go-"

"No!"

Everyone watched in shock as Charles half-rose from the seat himself, as if he planned to head her off. They stared each other down, daring each other to make a move first.

Almost as if he was frightened of making her flee, he looked at the remaining seated occupants of the room and decided to stretch his back.

"Why don't you girls go up to the third floor and fix yourselves a coffee." He paused ominously. "You too, Elizabeth."

She continued pulling on her duffel coat, and swept out her hair from inside the collar. Was she cold or was she planning on going outside?

Just to be sure, Charles added, "Elizabeth, you can't go outside. If you go missing, then I will have no choice but to make a scene. Not exactly the impression you want to make, I'm sure."

"Fine." Her lips tightened. "I'll stick around till the final verdict then."

Prolong the humiliation even further, why not.

Charles straightened up. "Good. Now can all of you just go?" He growled the last part. No sooner, had he uttered his dismissal, he contradicted himself by staring at the ground for a few good, hard seconds and ordered, "Elizabeth? A word?"

She stayed behind.

"Can you help me put away these chairs please?"

Following his lead, she lifted two chairs and brought them to the edge of the room. Charles was already heading back for his second trip, as she lined up the chairs like it mattered a jot.

"Do you approach all interviews like that?" He asked incredulously, from the centre of the room, taking a sip from the water bottle he'd brought with him.

"I know it might be hard to believe - but no." She looked up at the ceiling, her back turned to him. "Listen, I should apologise-"

"No, no, no. Don't go back on your words now. It'll make me think less favourably of you."

Elizabeth winced.

"I'm not normally like that-"

"Aw, don't say that. I was actually thinking you might stand a chance."

A sharp intake of breath. It sounded suspiciously like hers. She turned around reluctantly, and saw Charles was nearly upon her, with the last two remaining chairs.

"Thanks for all your help," he said formally. "Why don't you go join the rest now."

"Third floor, right?" A hand went up to fuss with her hair. She looked up at his face and chanced a smile, to see if he had no ill feelings. For a moment, all she got was a blank stare in return, but then the corners of his lips started to tilt up.

"Yes. Third floor." His hands grabbed her shoulders, and softly revolved her to face the door. "That way."

He pushed her slightly, like he was encouraging a lamb to walk, and when she tottered the next few steps, she felt helplessness and awe.

Had he just…?

Was that…?

A bonding moment?

.

Please read and review. It's a modern version of PP - and I'm doing a boss/secretary scenario but with my own twists. It's a slow romance, because I'm aiming to build a friendship, then a relationship...and it should be based on mutual respect and trust. I hope you fall in love with Darcy along the way! :)