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The only person allowed to barge into my office, besides Glen the CEO, is my direct assistant, Miles. From my desk, I see Miles making his way through the maze of cubicles with a determined stride, tablet clutched to his chest, and a mischievous wink in his eye.
Miles’s curly mop of brown hair is temporarily blown off his forehead as he pushes my door further open with a whimsical whoosh. “The applicants for the intern position are waiting in the lobby,” he reminds me.
Holding a finger up to shush me, he says, “And I picked up your favorite.” He sets down an iced coffee in front of me.
Miles is wearing his signature bowtie, a red plaid print shirt, and brown suspenders that match his stylish shoes. He’s the one that keeps me on task, runs my schedule and probably knows me better than my best friend, Georgie. Well, not quite, but he’s the one that schedules my bikini waxes and pap smears, so I’d say he knows me pretty damn well.
“That’s today?” I sigh, slumping back in my chair and scooping up my coffee. Fitting my feet back in my heels under my desk which I’d kicked off earlier, I sigh. “I don’t have the energy for that today.”
“It’s only nine o’clock in the morning,” Miles sighs, but he knows I’ve been here for a couple of hours already, as well as staying late last night. This prospective acquisition has me on edge lately, and more than a little stressed out.
“Your point?” I glare at him while taking a sip of my coffee.
“I emailed the résumés to you last week,” Miles continues, ignoring my comment.
“Yes, I know.”
“Did you look at them?” he asks, hand on his hip with an accusing stare aimed my way.
“Skimmed,” I say, casually. “Top of their classes, stellar backgrounds, blah, blah, blah,” I recite, waving my hand in the air dismissively.
“Should I start bringing them in?” he asks.
“Do I have a choice?” I ask, sarcasm evident in my tone as I blink innocently at him.
“Be nice,” he warns.
“What? I’m always nice,” I say, offended.
“I’m serious,” he points at me. “I’m the one that has to hand them tissues when they exit.”
I wave him away. “Let’s not be dramatic.”
“Did you forget about Aspen Holloway last year?” Miles asks.
“Who names their kid Aspen?” I ask, opening my email to pull up the résumés.
“Umm, have you looked at your birth certificate,Lake?” Miles retorts, clutching his tablet to his chest.
I laugh. “I’m sureyouhave. Lake is a family name, and I reserve the right to hire whomever I want.”
Miles has been dealing with me long enough to know when I’m joking, although I like to trip him up occasionally.
“That’s not the point! You can’tnothire someone because of their name,” he reminds me.
“Michael Clark was an excellent intern last year,” I remind him, “and a good strong name, too,” I tease.
“You’re impossible,” Miles gripes while shaking his head, making a point of grabbing the box of tissues off the side table and looking at me pointedly as he exits. I don’t know how I got so lucky to find an assistant as great as Miles, but he gets bonus points for putting up with me.
A few moments pass before Miles brings in the first candidate.
“Blaine Robertson, this is Lake Kennedy,” Miles introduces us, directing Blaine into my office.
He’s a young man with short blonde hair, a nice smile, and cunning blue eyes. He’s wearing a tailored dark suit with a red tie. I remember his résumé, top of his class, glowing recommendations from his professors and his previous internship.
When he walks in, it’s not the confident stride I notice but it’s the briefcase he’s carrying in his right hand. On the side of the briefcase are his initials, BR, embroidered into the leather. Before he can even set it down to shake my hand I say, “Next!”
“What?” he says, clearly confused, looking from me to Miles who discretely hands him a tissue and escorts him from my office.
