The weekend was spent partying, lazing about, and of course, doing some studying and working on my various projects. Sunday night, Grace helped me pick out my outfit. I didn’t exactly have any designer suits laying about, but I made do with my black skirt and jacket set from the discount aisle at Macy’s, a white blouse, and some black stiletto heels that made my legs look longer. We put my blonde hair up in a twist and decided that wearing my reading glasses made me look smarter and more responsible, so we added those to the outfit as well. Putting the ensemble away, I got ready for bed, hoping for a good night’s sleep.
Monday morning came way too soon and when my alarm rang at 8 am, I got up. I showered, put on some makeup, had a cup of coffee (I was too nervous to eat) and headed out the door by 9 am. The address was in the heart of the Financial distract, 112 Walter Street. I exited the subway 30 minutes later, sprinting towards the address. I wanted to be at least 15 minutes early, but the stiletto heels made it impossible to run.
My jaw dropped when I stopped in front of the address. In front, in large metal letters, it said “Ridgen Industries.” The modern, all-glass building seemed to tower all the others Lower Manhattan. The tall mirrored spire shot up into the sky. Was this really the place I where I was interviewing? The address was correct. Grace didn’t write down the name of the building or the company though. I would remember if one of America’s largest corporations wanted me to come in for a job.
“I’m here for my 10 am interview,” I said to receptionist, trying to sound confident.
She barely looked up at me, as she issued me a badge. “Go to 50th floor and someone there will help you.”
I walked to the elevators, scanned my badge, and pressed 50. The small metal car shot up, and in a few seconds, it opened into the plush offices of Ridgen Industries. Everything was sleek, modern, and almost stiff. All the people walking there wore perfectly tailored suits and designer shoes. I suddenly felt self-conscious as I approached the receptionist.
“Uhm, I’m here for the executive assistant position,” I said. “I’m supposed to go in at 10 am.”
The gorgeous redhead in the tight suit raised an eyebrow at me. “You? You’re interviewing for the EA position?”
I nodded. “Someone from your HR office called me on Friday afternoon.”
She sighed. “Well, alright. Turn the corner and walk down. Wait until Mr. Ridgen calls you in.”
I walked towards the end of the hall and turned right. There was another long corridor with a door at the end. I seated myself on one of the couches.
After five minutes of waiting, the large door opened. Two men came out, one, a young guy in a smart suit and a briefcase. The other was much taller – probably 6’2, and wore a very expensive suit that seemed to mold to his long, lean body.
“Thank you Mr. Ridgen,” the younger man said. “I hope to hear from you soon.”
The older man nodded. “Sure Richard. Give my regards to your parents.”
They shook hands and the younger man walked away towards the elevators. The taller man – Mr. Ridgen – turned towards me. His magnetic blue eyes seemed to bore right through me. I stood up like a rocket, nearly toppling over in my shoes. “May I help you?” he said, his voice deep and low. The timbre made heat pool in my stomach and I felt slightly dizzy, perhaps from the blood rushing to my head. Couldn’t have been from just being near him.
I cleared my throat. “Yes, I’m here for the interview. Georgina Lewis,” I introduced myself.
He looked me over from top to bottom, his handsome face a mask I couldn’t read. “There must be some mistake.” He had a slight, posh accent and a low baritone.
I raised an eyebrow. “I assure you, I was contacted by your HR department.”
“Yes, I’m sure you were. But, I distinctly remember a ‘George Lewis’ on my schedule today.” He handed me a piece of paper from his folder.
Holy shit, was this for real? I looked at the resume he gave me – sure enough, it was another person – a man, George Lewis from Brooklyn. “Oh crap!” I hit myself in the face with the piece of paper. “Shit, what am I going to do now? I really needed a job! I’m gonna be homeless in a month!”
Mr. Ridgen gave me a dry smile and crossed his arms over his chest. “I suppose, you are ‘shit out of luck’?”
The bastard had the nerve to joke?! He was a privileged, rich businessman, after all, so I wasn’t surprised. “Oh shut up!” I tossed the resume at him. Well, poor George Lewis had missed his chance. Or dodged a bullet, it seems, judging from the way this asshole acted. I straightened my shoulders. “Well, it was nice to meet you Mr. Ridgen. Or that’s what they say, I suppose.” I turned around and walked away.
“Wait!” he said. “Where are you going?”
Ugh, why did he care? “Well…it’s 10:15 am on a Monday. I suppose I should go and get drunk in the bar across the street!” I called out as I turned towards the elevator. God, what an awful morning!
