Howard Galt scanned the résumé in front of him, feeling a diverse flurry of different emotions – confusion, incredulity, and astonishment all bundled into one foul cocktail. There was nothing spectacular about the résumé, and that's exactly why he had been thrown for a loop. It was painfully below average – one or two past jobs in entirely different fields, no references, a few generic "strengths", all regurgitated into a standard Microsoft Word template. He looked up at the applicant momentarily.

The woman's attention had apparently been lost since he had last said something to her a few moments ago; her gaze wandered off to the left, staring at some unseen point on the blank wall of Howard's office and her index finger lightly tapped out some lethargic, unrecognizable tune. Unlike her résumé, she managed to be brilliantly average looking, for Los Santos at least. She wore a blue skirt and blouse probably bought on sale from Binco and black sneakers. Her most remarkable features, and the ones that kept drawing his attention, were her red hair, dyed a bright shade of pink with purple tips but noticeably fading at the roots, and bright chartreuse eyes that reminded him of a bored housecat. Petite, no noticeable muscle mass, a few years younger than him – 23, maybe, 24…and apparently no qualifications…

Maisie Creed definitely wasn't what Howard was expecting to get when he put out an ad for a "bodyguard and personal assistant". He had almost turned her away immediately simply for being a woman – unless she was truly remarkable, he could certainly find a man much stronger and more intimidating. Something about her made him bring her in to interview though – her sheer audacity in applying for such a position despite apparently not knowing anything about it or the field.

Howard cleared his throat, drawing Maisie's lackadaisical gaze back to him.

"So, uh, Miss Creed." He said, meeting her eyes. The woman's expression was an odd mixture of apprehension that she seemed to be trying to mask with something approaching disdain. "What exactly makes you think you're qualified for this position?

Maisie didn't respond for a few seconds and looked past him, chewing the inside of her cheek. Had she seriously not thought that far into this situation?

"Why not?" She finally replied with an innocent shrug of her shoulders.

Howard wasn't entirely sure how to respond. Surely, she didn't think she was qualified? Or was she trying to bullshit her way into a potentially life-threatening job – some sort of roundabout suicide attempt? With the pink hair, cheap clothes, and generally bad attitude, he wouldn't be horribly surprised.

"Why?" He repeated incredulously. "Because you have no qualifications and your résumé barely qualifies as a résumé itself."

"You're the one who wanted it, dude."

It was his turn not to respond for a bit as he let that response fully sink in. She was either a moron or insane. "Of course I wanted the résumé – when you apply for a job, you usually give the employer a résumé!"

"Even a half-bit loan shark on the East Side?" Maisie spat back with a hint of a chuckle. As if on cue, police sirens screamed past outside.

"Loan shark?" Howard scoffed. "Excuse me?!"

"Just 'cause you name the business something fancy like 'Galt Financial' doesn't mean it isn't a dump next to a meth lab."

"I'll have you know," Howard was getting fired up at the nerve of this little girl now. "that I worked very hard to get where – wait..." He faltered. "A meth lab?"

"Oh yeah," Maisie confirmed. "Timmy and his boys cook it up all night in that laundromat next door."

How the hell had Howard missed that? He'd have to…talk to somebody about that; he wasn't sure who yet, but somebody. For now, though, he had to deal with this crazy bitch.

"I think we're done here, Miss Creed." Howard stated flatly, sliding the résumé back across the desk to her and steepling his fingers neatly, hoping he didn't appear as rattled as he was.

Maisie let out a long huff that sent her bangs into a frenzy for a second and stood. "Worth a shot." She replied dismissively, seemingly going to shove her hands in her pockets only to discover that she was in fact wearing a skirt, then picking up the messenger bag at her feet. The woman rolled her eyes and left without another word, leaving the résumé behind, not closing the office door behind her. Howard closely studied her as she left; she was clearly trying to put on a show of confidence with her exaggerated swagger as she walked. From the office in the back, he had a clear view of the front of the business as she exited through the glass door.

After he was sure she was gone for good, Howard sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. It had been two weeks since he put out the ad, and she was his second applicant – the first had been even worse, a meth-head who apparently thought the clouds were screaming at him. Maybe this meant the applicants would start getting better? He groaned and ran his hands through his hair. Unlikely, knowing this fucking city.

Howard stood, looking down ruefully at the abandoned résumé. He exited his office and ascended the stairs to his apartment above his business. Loan shark – bah! He wasn't a loan shark – he was a banker, a businessman! Such a pity that girl's puny mind couldn't wrap itself around that – no, wait, it wasn't a pity because she didn't matter to him! Maisie Creed, as far as he was concerned, was just another nobody millennial trying to make it big in Los Santos and failing miserably at it.

Entering the bathroom, he studied himself in the mirror, feeling the growing black stubble on his face. He looked himself in the eye – his eyes were his best feature, everybody said so. Knowing he was the owner of such brilliant blue orbs filled him pride. God, he was attractive! Looking in the mirror always served to recharge his attitude – how could it not, with such greatness looking back at him?

Feeling better about his admittedly questionable life choices, he turned around in the cramped space to take a leak. As he was finishing the task, he heard muffled shouting coming from outside that he recognized – "Timmy" and his "boys", probably. He vaguely knew his neighbors, but tried his best not to. They were obnoxious assholes masquerading as business owners. Washing his hands, he remembered Maisie's offhand comment – "Timmy and his boys cook it up all night". Shit.