Leila bit her lip as she stepped into the elevator, nudging her purse onto her shoulder.
God, these heels are killing me.
The Louboutins had come out of their hiding spot in her closet; she'd spent the last of her severance pay - that is, the part that didn't go to student loans - on them. They were her good luck charm. Or at least that's what she told herself.
"Fifteen, please." She nodded at the young man in a standard suit in the elevator.
She couldn't breathe particularly well, either. She'd chosen the red sheath dress that she normally saved for weddings where she didn't have a date and wanted to get laid. Hopefully, this company would lay her - preferably with six figures, eventually. The elevator doors were just sliding closed when -
"Wait!"
An impeccably manicured hand slid between the doors. They glided back open. And there stood the most beautiful woman Leila had ever seen in her life. She was tall, and svelte. Her hair cascaded down to her shoulders in brown curls that glinted in the light. She had high cheekbones and lips that actually pouted. Leila looked away quickly, then back again. Did the woman just knowingly smirk at her? No, she was making things up. Her heart was pounding just being so close to somebody so beautiful.
"Fifteen, please," the woman said to the young man, who obliged happily. She took her position in between Leila and the man and up they went. The smell of coconut drifted into Leila's radius.
It's just unfair,
she thought.
She can't be that good-looking and smell so good. It's just not fair.
A cheerful ping announced they had arrived at floor fifteen. Leila let the woman step out of the elevator first - although if she was being completely honest, it might just have been to watch her round ass as she walked away.
Stop it
, she thought to herself,
you're objectifying this lovely woman!
But she couldn't stop thinking about how she would love to slide her hands up under that dress and grip, firmly, her hands exploring as she moved against...
"Hi, Leila?"
Leila snapped out of her fantasy. She could feel the blood rising in her cheeks as she briefly wondered if it was possible anybody could actually read minds. A perky blonde girl with thin wire framed glasses and her hair in ringlets was holding the door open for her.
"Yes, that's me!" Leila exclaimed.
The blonde girl extended her hand.
"Hi, I'm Madison. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise."
"Well, welcome to Headspace headquarters. As you can see, we're a small but intimate office."
She gestured to the building - it looked big enough to Leila. She could count at least three private offices and couches and tables scattered throughout the space, magazines and fabric swatches left lying on tables.
"It's a fairly laid back space, but we always put on appearances when an interview comes in. But don't tell anybody I said that."
Madison led Leila over to a particularly well lit, fashionable couch area.
"You can wait here. Ms. Hernandez is in a meeting for another fifteen minutes, I'll let her know that you're here. She'll appreciate that you're punctual, she likes that. Do you need anything? Any water or...?" Madison trailed off.
"Actually, do you have a bathroom I could use?" asked Leila.
"Sure, it's just down that hallway." She gestured towards the end and Leila was off, practically running. She felt a bit nauseous, the way she always did before interviews, but it was somehow worse this time. Had that woman in the elevator really thrown her off that much? This was so unlike her. Usually Leila was very confident in her conquests, no matter what gender, and there were plenty of each. But when she closed her eyes she could smell the coconut...
She splashed some water on her face and stared herself down in the mirror.
Cool down.
Yeah, that's it.
She leaned against the corner of the sink to examine her makeup. Mascara, check. Eyeliner was good. Maybe some concealer? She leaned forward to look at her chin, and let out a little involuntary gasp as the sink hit that spot.
"Oh," she sighed. Just a little bit. Just to take her mind off that woman. She put an arm up against the mirror, watching herself as she rubbed on the corner of the sink. Leila had always thought she had a particularly good O-face, all fluttery eyelids and flushed cheeks. Her hair was beginning to come out of the tight bun in little wisps, a good look for her. Her teeth poked out from underneath her top lip.
"Ah..." Leila fought the urge to pull up her dress and indulge fully. Just a little bit longer with the sink, she told herself. "Mmm..."
Suddenly, the door creaked open and Leila practically jumped away from the sink. A woman Leila hadn't seen before entered and gave her a brief smile. There was nothing knowing to her gaze. She either didn't know what Leila had been doing, or she was too polite to imply. Leila quickly gathered her things and rushed back to the couch area. She tried to busy herself looking at the issues of the Headspace corporate magazines around her. Now this was a place she'd wanted to work - well, forever.
They were the leaders in innovative fashion, meaning that they did it all, and they did it sustainably. They made clothes, they made magazines, they did fashion shows, they found models, and they worked for many, many bigger brands doing quiet behind the scenes work that the bigger companies got to take credit for. But Headspace took home the paycheck. When Leila saw there was a listing for a creative concept developer on the company website - well, that was that. She had poured her heart and soul into that cover letter, and here she was. About to interview with Rosia Hernandez herself, the elusive queen of the fashion industry. She almost never appeared at public events, and when she did, she did it veiled; it was her trademark. Some said she just didn't want the fame, some said it was a botched plastic surgery job, and others said she was actually a man. There were many theories, all unproven.
"Leila Nguyen?" Madison called, snapping Leila out of her fantasy. "Ms. Hernandez will see you now."
Leila stood up, straightened her dress, and entered the lion's den. Once she got inside, she stopped dead in her tracks. There she was. The woman from the elevator. But how? Leila hadn't even seen her walk inside! She had to fight her mouth - it wanted to fall open.
Rosia Hernandez, for her part, hadn't even looked up from her desk, where she was scribbling on a tablet.
"Please," she said, "take a seat."
Her voice was low and husky. Leila took a seat in the chair in front of the desk.
Jesus Christ. It's so unfair.
