Bella shifted nervously in the back of the elevator as it climbed ever higher, stopping every few floors to let well-dressed businesspeople off. She checked her reflection in the paneled mirrors, adjusting the hem of her pencil skirt, smoothing back her long blonde ponytail, checking her makeup, and generally worrying about her appearance. She needed this job. The interview had to go perfectly. She couldn't afford another failure.
Though she was only in her second year of college, she had switched her major a half a dozen times. Nursing was too gross, pre-veterinary classes were too hard, English was too much work, and she had tried education only to learn she couldn't stand children in large groups. On top of that, she had never been very good at school. She had begun to form a sneaking suspicion that her high school teachers had let her sneak by with B's and C's only because she was sweet and pretty. She had been put on academic probation, and her parents refused to pay for another semester until she figured out what she wanted to do. She had moved out of the dorms into a house with five other girls, and desperately searched for something to pay her share of the rent that she could apply for with her meagre qualifications. She filled out nearly fifty applications, only hearing back from five, all of them turning her down. It was with fading hope and a drained bank account that she clicked submit on the application for a personal secretary at the BlueStar marketing firm, accepted the call for an interview with a wavering voice, and now rode the elevator to the sixty eighth floor of the downtown skyscraper in her best interview clothes.
Soon, it was just her and an elderly gentleman left on the elevator. When the bell dinged at floor sixty eight, she started forward, her legs quaking. She fell forward a bit, her breasts pushing into the man's arm. She caught herself, flushing red, apologizing profusely. The man just smiled, and gave her a once-over with his eyes.
"Good luck, dear," he said, watching her hurry out of the elevator. She was still blushing.
Trying to compose herself, Bella straightened her spine and walked into the lobby. It was very clean and modern, the company logo staring at her from the reception desk. She walked past an overweight, middle-aged woman complaining loudly into her phone.
"Why would they call me for an interview if the position had already been filled!?" the woman said, and Bella's heart sank. "I know! That's what that little tart at the counter told me!" As she said this, the woman's eyes swiveled over to meet Bella's. She looked away quickly, moving towards the reception desk, hoping against hope that the woman hadn't been applying for the same position as she was. She just couldn't have been. Bella couldn't bear to move back home, a failure.
She reached the front desk, and a pretty black girl with long braids smiled up at her. "What can I do for you?"
"Um..." Bella swallowed, trying to regain her shaky confidence. "I'm here for an interview, for the personal secretary position. If it's still available."
"Name?"
"Bella Williams."
The girl clicked some things on her computer screen. She had beautifully done nails and impeccable makeup, but that's not what Bella's eyes were drawn to. The receptionist wore designer clothes, but they all seemed a little too small for her. Her skirt on her lap rode up to reveal the hint of the top of a lace stocking, and the edge of a lacy bra peaked out between the gap in the buttons on her shirt, almost inviting in the gaze of strangers. Bella realized she was staring at the curve of the receptionist's breasts, and glanced away, embarrassed.
"Miss Williams. Here we are," the girl smiled at her. "Have a seat, please. Mr. Taylor will see you shortly for the interview."
Bella felt her shoulders relax in relief. "Thank goodness," she breathed. "I passed a woman by the elevator who made me think the job had been filled."
"It had for her," the receptionist said, nodding. Bella furrowed her eyebrows. The receptionist scooted forward, conspiratorially. "We can't specify ages in the ad, because that's discrimination. But the company has a certain image in mind, and Mr. Taylor needs a young, fresh face to meet his clients to maintain that image. You're pretty. He'll like you."
Bella flushed pink.
"Plus," the receptionist continued, "If you're hired, I'll be working directly with you. I think we'll have more to talk about than I would with a woman her age, don't you think? I'm Leticia, by the way." She smiled, revealing rows of perfect teeth. Bella began to feel self-conscious about her own smile, suddenly wishing she had brought a toothbrush. The confidence-boosting frappuccino she had on the train may have left coffee stains on her teeth.
Before Bella could respond, an intercom buzzed at the receptionist's side.
"Leticia?" the speaker said, a commanding male voice. "If that interview is here, you can bring her back."
"Right away, Mr. Taylor," Leticia said. She rose gracefully. "Follow me, hun."
Bella followed the receptionist down the back hallway, mesmerized by the sway of her hips. She wore tall heels that clicked on the tile floors. There was a zipper pulling together the fabric of her short skirt, running all the way up the ample curve of her ass to the tapering small of her back. Bella again tried not to stare, feeling a little frumpy her in own outfit. Leticia stopped before an open door, and knocked.
"Good luck, hun," she said with a smile, opening the door. "I hope you get the job." Bella steeled herself, and walked through.
The office was large and elegant. A plush sofa sat against one wall, opposite a wide window overlooking the bay below. There were lush potted plants in the corners, shelves of books and shiny awards, and a broad, antique desk in the center of the room. Seated behind it was a rather handsome man in his late thirties in an expensive-looking suit and an equally expensive haircut. He didn't stand up when Bella entered, only nodded to her.
"Bella Williams?" he asked. It was the same commanding tone from the intercom. His blue eyes seemed to look right through her.
"Ye-- Yes, sir." Bella inwardly cursed herself for how awkward her voice sounded. "I'm here for the interview?"
"Looks like it," Taylor said. He leaned back in his chair, crossing one ankle over the other knee. "Have a seat." He waved his hand at the two chairs on the other side of the desk. Bella sat on the edge of one gingerly, while Taylor reached for a stapled packet of papers. He started leafing through it.
"I was just reading over your application," he mused. Bella could feel her legs shaking, and clasped a hand over each knee to try to steady them. The application questions had been... different. There had been some personality questions, multiple choice options that asked how she dealt with confrontation, authority, how she reacted when making mistakes, if she confessed secrets or kept them to herself. She had had to write answers about her definitions of success, the importance of following directions, and what attention to detail meant to her. She had needed to explain her commitment to her work and how she balanced a professional and personal life. None of the other applications she had completed had been so thorough, but at this point, she was desperate.
"I hope my answers are good," Bella said nervously, then berated herself inwardly for sounding stupid. "I had one of my roommates check everything over for typos. But she didn't find many." Bella added this last part quickly, trying to make herself seem capable.
"How many roommates do you have?" Taylor asked. Bella couldn't tell if the answer mattered for the interview, or if he were just making conversation. With his eyes on her, she almost forgot how to speak. She coughed.
"There's six of us," she said. "They're all going to the University, but I... I'm taking a semester off. To get some work experience."
