Loving Work

Author: That would be me, Vykya.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: AU where Jessie has to interview people for a job in Grace's company including a certain Miss Singer. (As both Jessie and Katie are in it, I assume you know what to expect.)

Disclaimer: They do not belong to me (except for Jason and Simone, for now).

Reviews: I'd like that. Feel free to comment (both positive and things I should improve).

Chapter 1

Jessie felt awkward sitting behind the large reception desk. She would have been much more at ease in her own office but she had decided – and was now starting to regret it – to observe the job applicants before they would actually start the interview. There was a lot she could learn from them – especially if they didn't think they'd be watched. But now she felt awfully small in this large reception area that was beautifully decorated with a comfortable sitting area with modern abstract paintings that in her opinion betrayed a rather disturbing obsession for blood (what else could those large smears of red paint mean – or perhaps the painting wasn't supposed to mean anything, maybe she was just trying to look for too much explanation.) Anyway the only real reason the paintings were there was because Grace had liked them – she really has no taste whatsoever. She had smiled politely and said that that was a great idea – then regretted the word 'great' for making the lie too obvious but Grace hadn't noticed too relished in the celebration of her hideous taste. Ok, that sort of makes it look like I don't like her, which isn't quite true. I do like her, it's just that sometimes she can get a bit too much and all I really want is to run away, so I can breath. Does that make me a bad person? Well, it is only rarely. It is getting better … in the beginning we didn't get along at all. You see, Grace is my stepsister, so we know each other for almost ten years now. But we get along better now then we used to when we were still living in the same house (with my dad and her mom and her sister). At least I think we get along better now. We're mature now and well she did ask me to become the company's psychologist – so she'd probably like me back, I think. Right, that reminds me why I'm here. She is looking for someone who can lure investors to – well invest in I presume – the company and now it is up to me to find the best person for the job. And that is why I have left the safe and familiar surroundings of my office – I am not the most outgoing person on this planet, I know – and am now pretending to be the desk officer waiting for the first applicant for the position. God, I hope the phone doesn't ring. I'm not good at answering phones. But before I could be tortured by the non-ringing phone – it is strange what mind tricks you can play upon yourself – I hear the distinct sound of the elevator bell. And as Pavlov's dog my eyes jumped to the elevator doors. However without drooling – but with a heartbeat quite above my normal rate – I watched the doors slid open.

A man with black hair – gelled in small spikes – and a cappuccino coloured suite strode confidently out of the elevator. He walked – or more like strode – towards the desk I was sitting behind, not too fast that he would seem in a hurry and not too slow as if nervous. He walked like he knew he was getting the job. He actually managed to walk through the reception like he belonged there, like he had been coming here for years – I did come her for years but I still felt small in this room. He threw a plastic smile at me – the one that you see on carnival masks, which I personally think so creepy that I wanted to scratch it off his face (which I'm not allowed to). The smile probably worked wonders on blond bimbo's, – although blond, I am not a bimbo – so I assume he wouldn't have looked further than my hair colour and missed my psychological well developed mind inside – for which I can hardly blame him since after all I am the psychologist and he doesn't need a degree in that area for the job. However I didn't like him. That's a lie. I couldn't stand him, is closer to the truth or better even I loathed him. I would have put him in his place, where he not so intimidating (and as said before I am not the most socially eloquent person) – then again hadn't he been so intimidating I would probably not found the need to put him in his place. So I did nothing but stare at his fake smile – which he seemed to enjoy. He seemed the person who like to make heads turn – I do not, but you probably got that by now. 'Hey,' he said in what I could only assume was his "picking up" voice. It made me feel ice-cold fingers brushing up and down my spine. He winked – presumably expecting me to go week in the knees right now, but I did not. He didn't bother to check … wait that sounds like … ehw, I meant he assumed I did, not expecting me to be able to resist … well him I suppose. 'I'm here for an interview.' It sounded like something trivial. With a confident voice he continued: 'The name is James Holden.' He did the awfull wink-thing again. If he would do that another time I would most likely empty my stomach content in the bin … or maybe on his shoes … yeah, that would be a good idea. I couldn't see his shoes right now – the desk was so high I couldn't see anything below his heart – that's assuming he has one, which I'm still rather indecisive about – but I'm pretty sure the shoes would be shiny – not polished especially for this occasion but polished because he wouldn't – even couldn't – leave his house without first polishing his shoes. He was looking up now – I'm sure he had already forgotten all about me – and was staring in the large mirror that was hanging behind me on the wall. I know, what possible reason could there be for placing a mirror on the wall behind the reception desk? Anyway there was one and he was admiring his own reflection in it. He brushed over his gel-styled hair – of which we both knew that it was lying perfectly fine – and admired it like it was now so much better when in fact not a single hair had been altered. He shook his sleeve for a moment and a golden – or what had you expected – rolex watch slid down to his wrist. I had the distinct feeling he knew he was five minutes early for the interview and was just showing off his watch, but when he looked back from it as if it had shown him the meaning of life, I decided to let it go. I normally would have told him to wait in the waiting area (hence the name) for longer than technically needed so he would sweat a little before I would tackle him but I had the feeling that keeping him there would only make me more nervous for the interview and would do little to make him sweat. He didn't look like he sweat, it seemed like something unnatural for him. He was too controlled to sweat or to be nervous … or perhaps it would be a too natural response for a guy completely constructed out of plastic. Ok, Jessie, calm down, we haven't interviewed him yet and you're already going nuclear on his personality. Let's be professional, let's just see if he has the right skills for the job. 'I'll take you to miss Sammler's office.' It seemed to take him by surprise. Yeay! It only lasted so short that I thought that I had imagined but since I could not imagine him surprised, I assumed that he had in fact been taken aback.

When I entered my own office and more confidently than before walked to my own desk and sat down, I expected his surprised face to utter 'naughty!' but he disappointed me and remained silent.

'I take it you are Miss Sammler.'

'I am Miss Sammler.' I answered a little superfluous, I know, but what else was I going to say? It is my name.

'Nice trick.' He changed his posture a little although I could not say how exactly. He made me feel like now I had been finally found … worthy of talking to him. I wasn't sure that made me feel happy or more scared.

'Not a trick. You just assumed too much.' I was glad my voice resembled the coldness of winter but without explicitly being hostile. I was indifferent, like I hadn't and never was going to form an opinion of him. Needless to say, I was quite proud of myself.

'You're right. I assumed too much.' It should have sounded like admitting defeat but somehow it didn't.

'So Mr. Holden'

'Jason, please.' Of course the schmuck bastard would insist on first name basis. Professional, Jessie, try to stay professional! I felt the desire to bury my nails in the arm cushions of my chair but instead I took a deep breath and asked my question.

'So Mr. Holden why should we consider you for the job?' He ignored the denial of his request and answered the question instantly.

'I'm a people person.' He opened his arms – as if he was Jesus asking the children to come to him – and laughed a fake plastic laugh. He didn't strike me as the person who would prepare his answers on cue cards at home, but if he did, I'm sure it would have said 'laugh here.' 'I like to talk to people, get to know them, help them, bring them in contact with others.' I would have added a lot of 'I pretend to' to that sentence. 'It is what I love to do.' It was followed by another smile. That's all very nice (beware: irony) but what about us. He seemed to have read my mind for he continued: 'And that is where I think that I can help you.' I was half expecting him to point at me like the guy with the hat in the colours of the American flag. He did not. Instead he settled for grinning plasticly. 'I'll make them invest in your company.' Strangely I believed him. He elaborated: 'I was thinking about hosting a reception maybe about something new…' It looked like he was coming up with the idea just this minute but I think it only looked that way. He started describing this reception thing (which to me was starting to sound more like a gala with every detail he brought up). He was really getting into it, and it suited him. I could actually see him putting together what he was describing. Grace would adore it – but then again she had a very weird taste.

A half hour later – one that I would have liked to have back – the interview was over. I came to the conclusion that Mr. Holden was an arrogant schmuck bastard who I would prefer never to encounter again but as such … perfect for the job. I repressed the urge to kick him (literally) out of my office and for some reason …vacuum my office. Instead – as my job required – I escorted him out and led him back to the reception where Simone (the real receptionist) had reclaimed her desk. Naturally our "Mr. People Person" couldn't suppress the urge to walk over to say 'hi.' I had believed him on his word, I really did not need a live demonstration. But he seemed to insist, for – if I remembered correctly – he couldn't help but talk to anyone he came along. He told Simone the apparently funny anecdote where I was her and he was – unfortunately still – himself. I felt left out as Simone and he shared a laughter. Simone joined him in the conversation and I was thoroughly surprised she could talk about anything else than the lack of sexual interest her husband took in her, which for some reason she thought I could help her with. Once you had a degree in psychology people seemed to expect you to know something about the strangest things. Besides even if I knew something more than average on marriage counselling I would have to talk to both of them anyway. See, I'm doing it again. I'm going along with it, whilst instead I should tell her to fuck off and stop whining about it when she actually has someone to sleep with in the first place. But I'm a too nice person to say that. So instead I just stand there – pretending to be one of the plants which decorate the reception – and listen to the faux flirtations of the two whilst feeling more alone than I ever have been. I want to run back to my office but I never seem to be able to do something that is impolite – even if I want to. After another five painful minutes – I know, because I have watched the full five tours of the seconds hand on the clock above the mirror behind Simone – he finally left. Before the doors of the elevator had even closed Simone was already asking me whether we most certainly were going to employ him. My sigh was the only answer she got as a retreated back towards my office.