Chapter 4 #2
‘Erm, thanks,’ I reply, heading for the stairs, trying to walk off the pain in my ankle. I don’t think I’ve done anything bad to it, but it’s slowing me down a little.
By the time I reach my destination, I’m sweaty, hobbling still, and on my last nerve.
I’m here though – and, oh boy, I’m not the only one.
This place is like a holding pen for unemployed assistants; everyone here looks just like me.
It’s not like we all have the same physical features, but we’re all tired, desperate, in the same boat.
No one is chatting – I suppose because we all know we’re in competition with everyone here.
Only one person can get the job. A lot of people are going to be disappointed, to say the least. I’m sure I’ll be one of them.
I find a free chair and take a seat. Looking around, I don’t fancy my chances. Yorkshire is seeming closer and closer by the second.
I hear my name being called so I pull myself to my feet – I’m relieved to find they’re both working.
I head into the large corner office where a woman greets me at the door with a firm handshake.
‘Liberty?’ she checks.
‘Yes, hello,’ I reply, trying to match her grip.
‘Paige Pool, thanks for coming in today,’ she tells me.
‘Thanks for having me,’ I reply – so stupid, like I’m here for afternoon tea or something.
‘So, it’s my company – well, half mine, anyway, so I’m the one you need to impress,’ she jokes – I assume she’s joking.
So she’s funny, successful and beautiful.
Her cheekbones are high, her skin glows – in a flawless way, not like mine, because I’m sweating from a combo of nerves, adrenaline and stairs.
She’s wearing a cream trouser suit and I could never.
I spilt coffee on my leg, on the Tube, and if these trousers weren’t black, you’d be able to see it. I’m certain I can still smell it.
‘Please, take a seat,’ she tells me, gesturing to the chair at her desk. She sits at the other. ‘Impressive CV.’
Is it though? I guess she says that to everyone.
‘Thank you,’ I reply anyway.
‘So your last job was at a private investigation agency?’
‘It was,’ I confirm. ‘But I fancied a new challenge.’
And that challenge was not seeing my lying dick of an ex every day, but Paige doesn’t need to know that.
‘What was that like?’ she asks. There’s a sparkle in her eyes, like she’s truly fascinated by the idea, and honestly this might be the most interesting thing about me, even if I was only an assistant.
‘Very interesting,’ I reply. ‘Challenging, rewarding – no day was the same.’
But only in the sense that every day was the same. But, again, she doesn’t need to know that.
‘So, you were an assistant – assisting with cases?’ she checks.
I don’t want to lie but, really, it’s so obvious that the specifics of the agency are what she’s interested in, rather than me.
‘Yes, I assisted with the cases,’ I reply – technically true. ‘Gathering things, liaising with clients…’
And by that I mean gathering coffees, and giving them to the clients.
‘So you must know a lot about surveillance, covert operations, going undercover?’
‘I do,’ I reply.
I’ve seen every Mission: Impossible movie.
‘Very interesting,’ she replies.
‘I’m also great at researching, compiling evidence…’
AKA googling and writing things down.
‘You’re good at reading people?’ she checks.
‘Very,’ I reply. ‘But I think you already knew that.’
Okay, I’m getting cocky. I need to turn it down a notch.
‘Any experience with hacking?’ she asks. ‘What sort of clients did you have?’
I’m still using Ben’s Netflix – I low-key feel like a hacker every time I log in to watch old episodes of Gossip Girl . Wow, she really is more interested in my old job than she is in me.
‘I can’t really discuss it,’ I say, wondering if this is a test in confidentiality. ‘But everyone from businesses to people in relationships used our services.’
‘People in relationships – now that’s interesting,’ she says. ‘Then let me ask you this, and be honest – what do you think of Matcher?’
I can’t help but snort out a little laugh.
‘Something funny?’ she asks. ‘Come on, say what you think.’
‘I think we would have had fewer clients needing help with their relationships if Matcher never existed,’ I reply.
‘You sound like you hate dating apps,’ she points out.
‘I guess I do,’ I reply. ‘I’ve seen them hurt a lot of people.’
That might be the most honest thing I’ve said so far.
‘Very interesting, then, that you would apply for a job at Matcher,’ she muses. ‘Fascinating, really.’
I purse my lips and try to stop my eyebrows from lifting of their own accord. Shit.
‘You’re an investigator, you’re observant – you must have seen the sign on your way in,’ she points out.
Yeah, I most likely would have, if I hadn’t come up the emergency staircase… Probably. I’m not that observant, to be honest, not when I’m in a flap.
‘And yet you still want to work here?’ she continues. I’m not sure if it’s a question or an observation.
‘I’m a professional,’ I say – I’m not sure either of us believes that.
‘Well, thank you for your time, Liberty, we’ll be in touch,’ Paige says, clearly wrapping up our interview.
And I’ve blown it. My first interview in ages, and I’ve messed it up.
I figured I might need some practice but damn, me and my big mouth.
I was already exaggerating, fudging the truth, so why didn’t I just lie about Matcher?
Or say I had no experience with it? Why did I give an opinion – why, why, why?
As I head out, back towards the lift (which appears to be working again now – still, I think I’ll take the main stairwell) I notice the large pink Matcher sign by the door. Fair enough, even I wouldn’t have missed that.
So, I’m not going to get the job. I never get the job – but I’m reeeeally not getting this one, am I?