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“I found it in the want ads. You outlined that you needed a daytime nanny for your six-year-old son and the hours are workable for me right now as I am on a summer break.”
“I see where you have a few years’ experience working with this age group. Have you always wanted to be a kindergarten teacher?” He looks at me then.
My face lights up as he enters familiar territory. “I’ve always wanted to work with children. Even when I was a child. I always knew I wanted to teach.”
“But why kindergarten?” he insists, now appearing more interested, “You could have chosen elementary or middle school. Even high school.”
“I love working with younger children. It brings me joy to see them discover things for the first time and to know that I helped them along that path of discovery.”
“Okay. How long have you been teaching?”
“Four years.”‘It’s on the resumé, isn’t it?’is on the tip of my tongue, but I keep silent and just smile.
He cocks his brow, “So, you went to teach straight out of college? You’ve never had another job?”
I shake my head, “Never. Unless you count working part time at a bookstore and a coffee shop while I was in college.”
“That’s not on your resumé.”
I’m confused for a second. Is he mad about that? “The nature of the advertisement called for a targeted resumé. Therefore I included only what would be relevant to the post for which I am applying.”
“Suppose I do not offer you the position for nanny. But I happened to have a coffee shop or bookstore in need of a manager? Judging from this,” he shakes the sheet of paper, “I would never have guessed that you had those skill sets and you would have missed out on a potential position. I prefer a reverse chronological resumé. And if it is not too much trouble, I’dlike you to redo it accordingly, for my files.”
“For your files?”
“Yes. I keep a copy of all my potential employees’ resumés on file. Just in case I have openings in other areas that can utilize them. For example, my gardener is also one of my club bouncers.”
I cannot stop my mouth from falling open and he laughs.
“I know it’s hard to picture it. A hefty bald ex-football player who can pick you up with his pinkie finger, on his knees delicately manicuring and pruning flowers. I found that out when I asked if he had any hobbies and he proceeded to show me pictures of his prized roses. So,” he pushes the paper back to me, “fix it please. This part of the interview is over.”
“This part?” I ask in surprise.
“Of course you have to meet Ryan. And since he will be in your care, I have to observe your interaction with him before I make a decision. He is out today at a doctor’s appointment and it usually takes a while as he can be very high strung when needles are involved. Can you come back first thing tomorrow morning?”
“I can.” I stand and extend my hand. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Forbes.”
He stands and takes my hand and I feel a sudden heat move up my arm as he squeezes my fingers. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Madison. I look forward to seeing you in the morning. Let me show you out.”
Without relinquishing my hand, he comes around the desk. Only when he is beside me does he slip his hand to the small of my back. I am shocked to feel the heat from his touch almost burning through my dress. I have to admit that it makes me a little, um, tingly.
I take a deep breath as I try to get a hold of my thoughts. It will not do to be thinking about my prospective employer as though I am a horny teenager lusting after some hunky heartthrob. He ushers me back down the same corridor and through the foyer. As we get to the door, the bell rings. He pulls it open and there is a girl around my age standing there. She is heavily made up and her bleached blonde hair shows black roots. Even from here I can smell the perfume in which she obviously bathed herself in. Her blouse is at least a size too small and her breasts seem like they are a deep breath away from popping the buttons off her shirt. Her skirt is like a second skin. She balances precariously on six-inch stilettos.
“Hi-i!” she squeaks in a grating voice, making the single-syllable greeting sound like a double. “I’m Margo! You must be Mr. and Mrs. Forbes! Aren’t you both gorgeous! I can’t wait to meet your son! He must look like a dream!” She punctuates her gushing with a pop of her chewing gum. I am stunned speechless. But a sideways glance at the man beside me has me biting my lips to stem my laughter. He looks absolutely thunderous. I turn and smile once more. “Thank you again for seeing me, Mr. Forbes. I’ll make the changes.”
“She’s not yourwife!?” I can almost hear the wheels turning in her head. She looks quickly from me to him, glancing at our hands. Her smile widens, presumably from the discovery that we are not wearing rings.
I leave him standing at the doorway with the Barbie wannabe to his Ken, picking my way carefully down the steps. I cannot risk having his last impression of me be the same as his first – ass up with my dress over my head.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I arrive on the flat surface of the walkway without embarrassing myself. Warmth overcomes my body as I feel the heat of someone watching me. Turning around, I find Mr. Forbes standing at the door staring back at me.
He raises his hand in farewell before ushering in the other woman. I slide into my car and leave the premises, allowing myself to chuckle at the thought of howthatinterview is going. Perhaps she will not qualify for the nanny position. But maybe he has a few positions in his club that would be up her street. Nowthatbore potential.
I had made plans to meet my friend Lola for lunch and I am early, as usual. I order some cold brews and check my messages while I wait.
“Hey girl, sorry for being late!” Lola rushes to the table, “But you know those last-minute clients who just take forever to decide whether or not they want a house with a picket fence in suburbia or a condo in the heart of the city. You haven’t been waiting long, have you?”
I look at my best friend as she slides into the seat across from me. Lola Beckett is one of those people who enters a room with ‘presence’. And she is always oblivious to the effect she seems to have on people. But who would not turn to look at a stunning six-foot-tall model-thin redhead with bright blue eyes who insists on wearing stilettos or platforms with every outfit. I stand out in stark contrast with my average five-foot-seven stature, pale blonde hair and green eyes that changed to a murky brown at times. She dominates a room. But she is the sweetest and humblest person I know.
