"She's compromising her own personal beliefs and morals, putting her heart on the line just because he asked her to. She feels slightly sick at her stomach when she thinks about it, so she takes a page from his book and tries not to.
But trying not...
As I look down at my watch, I notice the numbers tick away. I feel like I've looked at my watch for the thousandth time in the last four minutes, and it's starting to make the flurry of doubts swirling around in my head even worse.
Trying to regain control of my mind, I smooth my hands down the blazer of my dark blue suit jacket in hopes that I could keep the polyester / rayon mix from wrinkling. I play with the hem of my matching skirt, eyeing my bare legs with a curse.
Can you do a job interview with bare legs? Did I even shave my legs today?
I can't tell what I hate myself more for -- for putting a hole in my last pair of nude stockings, or for only having one pair of stockings to begin with. Maybe it was me not even knowing what was acceptable or not on a job interview. At this point, with time continuing to tick down, the options were endless.
Even though I've lived in Los Angeles for nearly six years, I still haven't gotten used to the traffic or the extreme cost of living. If it didn't take 20 minutes to go half a mile, it would be infinitely easier to shop for simple things like stockings in times of crisis; and if it weren't for the high cost of living, I could probably afford more pairs of stockings. Life certainly is a big game of Catch-22.
Which is why I'm in desperate need of this job. And as I glance down at my watch again, my thoughts return with a vengeance. Maybe I mixed up the times, maybe my watch was wrong, or maybe I was too early or too late. Ugh, I don't need another reason to hate myself before such a big interview.
I hear the shrilling sound of a phone ringing, which jolted my attention to the young receptionist in front of me. She's the epitome of Hollywood chic, her trendy hair matching her pointed nails with custom designed jewels on perfect polish. Her glasses set perfectly on her face, and her clothes are as on point as a New York Fashion model.
"Eleanor Baker's office."
Her tone was chipper, yet curt. The longer I stared at her, the longer I started to doubt if I could even fit in here. The best piece of my outfit came from Macy's. I wasn't exactly the shining star of fashion. What was I thinking?
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I was about to get up and either tell the receptionist that I had made a mistake, or to check the time to see if I just had it all wrong; but before I could, the massive glass door of the very modern waiting room shot open.
"Stacey, please call Thomas and reschedule our meeting for tomorrow. That investor meeting took far too long."
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