The Interview

My phone's alarm jolted me awake. I quickly turned it off and got out of bed. My eyelids felt heavy, my muscles ached, and yet, 6a.m still demanded my life like a clingy bitch.

Our restaurant usually opened by 7a.m because our customers were mostly people like me rushing to go to work and wanting to have a good meal before they did.

I took my bath, dressed and grabbed my phone, only for a mail to drop in.

INTERVIEW CONFIRMATION

10:00 A.M.

[HighBridge Holdings. 847 Westburg Avenue Manhattan, New York]

Yup. Definitely sounds like some ritual location. I've been in New York all my life and never once have I heard of a... HighBridge Holdings whatever.

Last night, they’d gotten my number somehow. Today, my email. And I was a hundred percent positive I’d never typed in either.

I slipped my phone into my pocket and walked out of my apartment. Thirty minutes later, I was at Hoppy's restaurant. Customers were rushing in and I was trying to catch my breath.

By 9 a.m, the place had gone quiet.

"Ahh... I'm such a mess," Kimberly my coworker said, as she cleaned the table.

I snorted. "You think you have it bad? I spent the time I was supposed to use to sleep to fill out some really sketchy questions all because I need money," I responded, carrying the dishes to the kitchen.

She followed after me, chuckling. "What questions?"

"Don't know honestly," I said. "My friend from the club told me about it and sent me a link. I tell you they were really weird questions, but as soon as I finished filling it, the screen just went blank. I tried refreshing and tapping on the link again, but the questions never came back up."

She frowned. "That's strange..."

"You don't say," I muttered dryly. "It gets much strange cause I received a message this morning about an interview at some HighBridge place—"

"Wait. HighBridge?"

"Yeah..."

"Can I see this message?"

"Sure..." I drawled, handing her my phone. She squinted at it, her brows knitting tightly then her eyes widened.

"Oh. My. God. Amy!"

"What?"

"You cavewoman! This is HighBridge Holdings. A very legitimate company and for whatever you applied for, they're asking for an interview."

"Uhh... bu-but I don't know what the company is about, Kimberly."

"It's a private investment company owned by one of America's billionaires, Christopher Kstervenchi. How can you not know that?"

"Oh, my God," I muttered, my mouth wide open. "I fucked up, Kimberly. The interview is set for 10 a.m."

"I can see that, idiot," she screeched.

"You have only thirty minutes left. Go into the backroom and fix yourself."

I shook my head. "I-I didn't bring anything proper for an interview, I have only my club outfit—"

She pushed me the backroom and began rummaging inside her bag, while I stood there trembling.

"Wear this."

I stared at the black mini skirt and the cream blouse she handed to me.

"Ki-kimberly this is what too—"

"Short? Congratulations, Einstein. You identified an article of clothing. Now put that on, we'll make it work."

............

Ten minutes later, I stood by the roadside frantically flagging down a taxi. I glanced at the time again and my heart jumped.

A taxi stopped in front of me. I gave the address before jumping in. My nerves were all over the place. I was quite sure that I was soon going to have a panic attack.

The drive to the address was short, but felt longer. As soon as my gaze landed on the building, I immediately became self conscious.

"Oh, crap."

I adjusted the cream blouse in hopes it could cover more of my cleavage, while praying for the miniskirt to miraculously become longer.

I walked in, my steps cautious and as the same time hurried. I tugged down the miniskirt as a few pair of eyes followed me with confusion. I glanced at the time again.

9:55

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I rushed to the reception desk.

"Um... Hi."

Her blank gaze fell on me.

"I'm here for an inter—"

"Last door on the fifth floor. Take the elevator." She lowered her gaze, dismissing me completely.

"Thank you," I said before rushing off.

Any other day I would've been irked by her attitude, but today. I honestly needed it. I hastened, through a glass double door and my gaze landed on the elevator at the end.

I checked the time. 9:57

I sprinted toward the elevator, silently thanking whichever God was listening when I saw it opening. I didn't notice the man standing I inside until it was too late. He looked up from the papers in his hand and our gazes locked.

His eyes widened.

Mine probably did too, but I was already moving, and he seemed equally caught off guard. I crashed into him, the impact knocking me off balance.

My foot slipped beneath me, and I landed hard on my backside, while the

papers in his hands scattered across the elevator floor.

My skirt ripped slightly.

"Shit," I winced, planting my palms against the floor as I scrambled to my feet. My legs nearly buckled beneath me, but I caught myself against the elevator wall.

"Oh my God." I immediately crouched down, grabbing the papers.

"I-I'm so sorry, sir," I rushed out. "I didn't see you on time." He didn't respond, probably still caught off guard.

"I'm not usually like this, I swear. I'm just..." I shoved the papers into his hands without checking whether they were even in the right order. "I'm late for my interview. Which was kinda my fault."

My phone slipped from my pocket, I grabbed it to check the time. 10:00

"Shit. Shit. Shit!" I screeched, shoving the last papers in the man's hand. "I have to go!"

The man didn't protest as I hurriedly pushed him out of the elevator.

I winced.

“Sorry! I didn't mean to push you. I just—I'm super late for an interview.”

I pushed the fifth floor button as the doors began closing between us.

“I'm really, really sorry!”

Then they shut.

........

As soon as I stepped out of the elevator, I checked the time. 10:05

Fuck.

"Last door on fifth floor, last door on fifth floor, last door on—" I paused in front of the door, then I let out a shaky breath before knocking.

I tugged down the skirt and adjusted the blouse as I waited. The door opened and my gaze landed on a middle-aged woman.

"Hi... My name is Amelia Marlowe. I'm here for the interview."

"The interview has ended."

My heart sank.

"Elizabeth," someone called from inside the office. "Who is that?"

"An Amelia Marlowe, sir. Here for the interview."

"Send her away."

He blank gaze didn't waver. 

"You heard him."

"But I—It said 10 a.m."

She stared at her watch. "This is 10:10. Miss Marlowe."

"I know, I just..."

She didn't look fazed. If anything, her expression grew much blank.

My shoulders fell, my head lowered.

"Alright," I whispered as I turned back.

The door closed behind me, and almost instantly, tears rolled down my face.

"Stupid, Amy."

I sniffled, wiping away the tears as I trudged off. I reached the elevator, tapping the button to the ground floor when—

"Miss Marlowe."