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And she's still here. No matter how afraid she is, she didn't run.
And I respect that.
"You work with women who are already married," she continues, "and either their kids are already grown up or they don't have any. It's convenient; many companies work like that: you don't have to deal with problems when your employee’s child is sick and they need a week off, and you don't need to give them time off to get married."
This woman is playing with fire, and she knows it.
And she's still doing it.
No one ever tells me what they really think. They all tell me what I want to hear. Most people I work with will say that black is white if I ask them to say so.
But Crystal Wilson is obviously a different type.
A very attractive type, with that long dark hair, tanned skin, small nose, and full rose lips.
Shit, even her puffy cheeks are so cute that I want to touch them.
And the way she speaks, I don't know why, but I could listen to her forever.
"So, you thought that the only thing left to do to get this job was to create a fake résumé, right?" I move a little bit closer.
"Yes," she says, barely audible. "And I'm sorry, it's just…"
"You're hired," I interrupt, reaching out and taking the documents she brought with her.
I open the first page, and I already see graphics that I'll ask her to make after our conversation.
But I see she’s already done them in advance.
For a couple of seconds, she stays still, except for her mouth, which opens and then closes again.
"Are you serious?" she asks after a long pause.
"I hire people according to their abilities, Ms. Wilson, and nothing else." I look at her again. "I like your idea about expanding our income. That's why I want to work with you."
"Thank you…I guess," she mumbles, biting her lip.
This woman is calm and a firework, all in one person.
"Now you may go." I return to the documents again in an effort not to stare at her lips, because the more she bites them, the more I want to bite them myself.
She stands up and walks to the door, and I can't help but look at her body. She’s wearing a tight pencil skirt, which only emphasizes her slim waist and hourglass figure.
"And Ms. Wilson," I say before she leaves. She turns around to look at me again. "We're leaving for New York in two days to meet with one of our new investors, so be prepared."
"The day before Christmas Eve? For how long?" she asks in surprise, her eyes round.
I just made that up. I’m going to New York for real, but I don't really need her there. I only wanted to see how ready she is to sacrifice her personal life for this job. She was the one telling me a minute ago that women can work as hard as men do, and now I want to see if it's true.
And I also needed to find a reason to take her with me to New York.
"Three, maybe four days," I say easily, trying to make her understand that it's not a big deal for me to work during Christmas.
Which is true. I don't like the holidays, which is why I never notice when they come.
She still doesn't leave, and I ask, "Is there a problem, Ms. Wilson? Do you need to stay because of your family? Because you told me five minutes ago that family isn’t an obstacle in carrying out your duties.”
I know I’m provoking her with this question. And I know in advance that she'll pass the test. But I still want to know: is there a man she cares about so deeply that she'll reject my offer for his sake?
