Emma side-eyed the stack of résumés still sitting on the corner of her desk.
She closed her eyes and focused her breath for a moment, and then slowly creaked one eye open.
She was disappointed, though not surprised, to find the tidy stack had not disappeared.
"Uggggghhhhhhh," she let out in an irritated huff.
Emma Woodhouse was of a particular breed of perfectionist that to the untrained eye looked remarkably like procrastination.
But, really, she couldn't be expected to hire just anyone to assist her on her ascent to greatness, could she? And despite Alex's insisting on the large quantity of "highly qualified candidates" to be found within that dull little pile, none of the faceless CVs piqued her interest.
Hmmm…maybe she should have required headshots—no, a full-body shot, so she could get an idea of each contender's fashion sense too! Plus, it would give her an idea of how well they could compose a fashion photograph…she was beginning to suspect Alex was growing tired of playing her personal Patrick Demarchelier during their daily photo shoots to document her outfits.
She made a mental note for next time.
Truthfully, the only applicant that seemed at all suitable was Harriet Smith—although the apricot paper was a tad gauche and Lobster really wasn't an appropriate font for a header, at least it showed some personality.
However, Alex insisted that she call in at least two others to interview next week, and she'd been staring at the pile of utterly boring résumés since Monday.
Emma sighed. She supposed she should just get it over with. She pulled out her monogrammed legal pad and a freshly sharpened pencil and began sketching out a ranking grid with a ruler. Once satisfied with her work, she pulled the sheaf of papers over and perused the first one.
"Robert Martin," she groaned, "He of the puritan work ethic and Photoshop proficiency. Joy." Nonetheless, she dutifully penciled his name into her grid.
While she contemplated how to rank him on personal style—what could one glean from the most perfunctory of résumé layouts and one of the most widely used sans-serifs around?—she absentmindedly tapped her pencil eraser on the paper and stared at the new video camera mounted on a tripod by her desk.
"Focus, Emma!" she scolded herself softly. "This will take an hour, tops. You just have to find two moderately appropriate candidates, and then Alex will get off your back." She decisively penciled in a two in the personal style column for the lackluster Mr. Martin and congratulated herself on her productivity.
Her progress was short lived though; as much as she admonished herself, she couldn't stop her gaze from returning to her shiny new toy.
"Okay, so I could settle in, get focused, and knock these out in an hour. Or…OR…"
She smiled. Whomever she ended up hiring would surely want to know how she became the amazing, awesome, life-maker person she was. And who was she to stand in the way of her creative spirit when inspiration struck?
And with that thought, she unceremoniously pushed the stack of resumes aside and turned on her camera.
"Hello, my lovelies!"