Three more steps and I'm standing face to face with a man who can change my entire future. Two heartbeats, one breath, and then he's standing in front of me, porousing a sheet of my flimsy accomplishments without looking me in the eye. I take the moment to study him, to absorb who he is. He stands lax against his desk, long legs crossed over one another, a dark suit lining his body and framing him in luxurious designer lines. Piercing eyes and softly swooping lips which, if I hadn't done my research on him, would convince me of a gentle sweetness. And then there is a striking amount of absence as I assess his hair. In lieu of red curls which nature had dictated he should have, there is smooth skin. He takes another moment to look through my resume and then eventually finds my gaze. I smile nervously, scraping the nails I knew I should have painted before the interview against the leather of my bag. A quick extension of his hand guides me to a plush leather chair. I wish it weren't so comfortable. I almost drown in the feathery cushion, making me feel small. I feel like a child again, waiting for someone whom I recognize as far above my equal to decide my fate.
"Ms. Vanderhaul, I hope you understand the amount of work this job would take. You'd be organizing my every hour, running errands, interacting with some of the most elite people in these United States. I'll be honest, it's grunt work. And you'll have to put up with me, which may prove to be the most difficult task of all."
I laugh, easing at his honesty and humor. "Well, you'd have to put up with me as well, so I guess we'd be even." My breath catches at my own stupidity. Never, I repeat; NEVER admit that you're difficult to the man who holds your future career in his hands. I wait for him to recoil but continue politely. Some slight retraction of warmth to prove my faux pas. However, if anything, there's a whisper of a smile and a hiccup which could be confused for a laugh.
"Yale is a pretty good school." Pretty good. That's powerful person speak for "I'm impressed". "I'm impressed." Or… not. "However, I'm sure you realize that most of my applicants are from impressive schools. Harvard, Yale, Stanford. It's all the same to me at this point. And, to be honest, this job is not one you necessarily need a college degree for. You don't need latin classes to pick up a phone."
"Unless an Ancient Roman decides to call." He doesn't laugh. Because it wasn't funny. "But, in all seriousness, I don't mind. I'm young, and this job would either be a great jumping off point for a greater career or, if it goes well, you're rich enough that I'm sure I would live a pretty comfortable life on the salary I receive here. God, I hope that wasn't too forward. But, you know, this would be huge. And I know I'm young, and I know my experience is lacking, but I work hard and I'm smart and I'm more desperate than someone old enough to have some self respect." I cringe away from my last line. It's pathetic. I'm pathetic.
He sets down my resume and proceeds to study me. He lets his eyes roam over my body as I had done to him when I walked in the door, but I don't get to train my gaze on a piece of paper. Instead, my teeth chatter at the attention as my skin bubbles with goose flesh. My eyes lose focus as my brain whirrs with anticipation. His eyes find their way back to my face, tracing the curve of my cheeks and the swish of my eyelashes until he's satisfied. He sticks out his hand. "Welcome to LutherCorp, Ms. Vanderhaul."