I walk to the front desk in haste, I noticing the receptionist is well dressed and impeccably groomed, not a hair out of place.
She peers at me as I arrive to the desk and I introduce myself, “Hello, I’m Chloe Knox. I’m here for my 9:15 interview with Jordan King.”
She gawks at me, her eyes rolling over me from top to bottom making me feel just a little self-conscience at my appearance. Can she see the coffee stains? Oh god, even worse, is the aroma of coffee emanating off of me? I want to crawl into a hole and disappear.
She picks up the phone, whispering to someone on the other end of the line. “Please have a seat, Ms. King will be a few minutes. She had a last minute meeting with the Mr. Cross,” her nose wrinkles as she spews the information.
I take a seat, exhaling the breath that was caught in my throat, thanking my lucky stars that I was granted leniency, the boss decided she was needed at this very moment, buying me some time to gather my thoughts, composing myself for this interview. The past ten minutes have been filled with shock, anger and intense anxiety and I definitely need a minute.
Ten minutes later, I’m jolted back to the real world, when her voice slices the silence, “The interview has been moved upstairs on the 20th floor. Take the elevator up, once you get off let the receptionist know you are there for the financial adviser interview,” she expresses without as much as a smile or a good luck, her eyes return to her desk. Well, she’s just a delight isn’t she?
I rise from my seat, with fleeting feet to the elevator, press the button biting my lower lip, anxious for this meeting to go in my favor. The doors slide apart, I gingerly step inside, exhale a long, slow breath, relieved that I’m by myself to do a quick mirror check.
Taking out my mirror to examine myself,  my hair is a little messy, I attempt to fix it as best I can. I look decent, putting my mirror away as the bell rings, door sliding apart.
My eyes widen, mouth slightly agape, as I drink in the beautiful white and black receptionist desk, marble I think. Perched behind the desk is an equally beautiful woman, who just like the unkind one downstairs, is perfectly groomed and well dressed. Her clothes look like they cost more than my car.
I square my shoulders, steel my nerves, head held high, walk up to her, in my best confident voice, I introduce the new Financial Advisor, “Hello, my name is Chloe Knox. I’m here for an interview with Jordan King!”
Her kind eyes meet mine, an inviting smile spreads across her face, “Jordan King has left for a meeting. You’ll be interviewing with Axle Cross,” with a matter-of-fact nod she waves me to the waiting area in front of her desk.
My eyes pop open, heart skips a beat, eyebrows converge, lips form a straight line, I know Axle Cross is the owner of the company. I feel my cheeks flush a rosy pink from heat commandeering my face, if i imagined being nervous before, my nerves just shot off the richter scale.
I implore, “This must be a mistake. I’m interviewing for the financial adviser position; why would I interview with the owner of the company?” Could this day get any worse?
She smiles at me, “Honey, I don’t know. I just do what I’m told. Don’t be so nervous, he’s easy on the eyes.” Winking at me, clearly telling me how hot she thinks her boss is. She continues, “Besides, Mr. Cross WANTED to interview you. He had Ms. King take his place at his meeting just to interview you; you may already have the job.” She winks again busing herself with work.
I’m confused, my face contorts as different justifications ripple through my mind, unsure how to perceive this turn of events. Questions float briskly in my mind, mainly, Why would HE WANT to interview me?
One lazy foot in front of the other, I stroll to the waiting area, take a seat, back straight, calming my concern, chanting my self-fulfilling prophecy; I am worth this job, I am a financial advisor, I will get hired. I press repeat, waiting to be summoned for my interview.
My stomach does back flips, knowing a did research on the company and Ms. Jordan. I didn’t bother with Axle Cross, he’s the owner, I hadn’t fathomed I’d be meeting him for the actual interview.
With fidgeting fingers, from the corner of my eyes, the man who spilled coffee on me comes into view, walking towards the desk. A boyish grin plastered on his face, he turns towards me, “Ms. Knox, please follow me,” he extends his hand out to walk down the hall.
I shake my nerves, stand, smiling to the kind lady behind the desk. She reciprocates giving me a thumbs up as I disappear down the hall.
I shadow the tattoo hand man down the hall, opening the door for me to enter an office, his eyes dance with amusement, small grin appearing on his well sculpted face. Irritated with his smug look, I open my mouth, embarking on my verbal assault.
Before I have the chance to process any rationale thoughts, “Who do you think you are? You knew I was coming here. I told you I had an interview for the financial adviser position and now you’re the one who’s bringing me to Axle Cross. What are you, his bitch secretary?” I spew with hands flying in the air, venom in my voice, seething through my teeth.
A spark lights in his alluring grey eyes, “Such a mouth. Do you always attack people who bring you into your interview?”
I stare into his light grey orbs, feeling a twitch between my legs. Not now, damn it! “No, I don’t. Only to people who ruin my chances at getting a job I need,” I huff, finding the seat in front of the desk, planting myself down as he takes his throne behind the desk.
Our eyes meet, feeling a spark in my core from his enticing gaze, I avert my eyes, exploring the office, finding the desk, reading the name plate on full display ... AXLE CROSS!!!! I inhale a sharp breath, closing my eyes, raising my hands to cover my face, mortified, in complete disbelief.
Oh my god!!!!! What have I done? I just verbally assaulted my interviewer, the owner to the company! Way to go Chloe! What the hell am I going to do now? I’m so embarrassed, I allow my face to be revealed, finding Mr. Cross, inquiring, “I thought your name was Alexander, something or other?”
Chuckling, he explains in a husky voice causing my body to quiver, “I was going to tell you that I was joking but you stormed out of the coffee shop before I had a chance,” his eyes search mine for some sort of response.
All I feel is blood flooding my cheeks, images of tomatoes appear which I can only imagine how I  must resemble and how I will NOT be getting this job. I cursed out the boss, accused him of stalking me, then CONTINUED to verbally assault him in his very own office. I shake my head inwardly and outwardly, I get up from my chair, heading towards the door when his sultry voice stops me dead in my tracks.
“Where are you going?” His voice is like an audible orgasm. What is happening to me?
On the balls of my feet, I turn back, facing those enchanting eyes, “Well, I figured I called you a jerk, asked if you were a bitch secretary and accused you of stalking me. So I figured this interview is over and I can see myself out,” nodding my head with each verbalization, expanding and narrowing my eyes to heighten my exasperated explanation while scolding myself for being so impulsive.
He rises from his seat, stalks over to me, as if in slow motion, it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time. This man is gorgeous! He’s tall, light brown hair which complements his enticing light grey eyes. A face with beautiful strong lines, shadowed by a light beard. I notice for the first time the beautiful tattoos peeking out the top of his shirt that roll up his neck and head. His chest fills his shirt, straining against the fabric, displaying his fit body. Muscles stretching the material as strides towards me. This man could be a god. How did I miss all of this?
He stops, blocking me from leaving, raising his hand, I flinch, eyes fluttering, closing the door behind me. “I understand your frustration and I have to say,” a smile materializes across his face, “I was quite amused by how you spoke to me. People are usually intimated by me. It was a little refreshing ... to hear what someone actually thought and not what they thought I wanted to hear. Please take a seat and we can begin the interview,” he waves back to the seat before his desk.
In utter shock, my mouth slightly agape, blinking rapidly, he turns, stalking back to his desk when I finally come to as he gestures to the seat in front of him. I scamper over, perching myself on the seat. He commences with a wolfish grin, “And don’t worry, I won’t hold the coffee stained clothes against you.” I peer at my clothes, feeling self-conscience again. Breaking my concentration, “Besides, I love the smell of coffee.” I roll my eyes, witnessing his jaw jerk. What was that about? He clears his throat, “Let’s begin.”
I take out my resume and cover letter, handing it to him. Lifting an eyebrow, eyes falling on my face, “Resume paper?” He asks inquisitively. I meet his intense gaze, eyes feel as if they are boring into my soul, I almost get lost in them.
I explain, “My mother always taught me to be prepared for an interview. Bring paper copies even though everything is digital. You never know when technology will break down on you,” I state matter-of-factually.
His mouth twitches, seems as if a smile was about to appear but poker face materializes in its wake, “She sounds like a very smart woman.”
I respond in haste before I’ve had the chance to formulate my thoughts, “She was.” Damn it, I hope he didn’t catch that it was in the past tense. That’s not something I want to discuss, definitely not interview conversation.
He must have noticed my unease, his eyes fall back to my resume. I sit, patiently waiting for him to ask questions, fingers fidgeting, legs slightly bouncing as my nerves get the better of me. Hoping I know something from the minor research I did on the company.
His head rises from the paper, “You just graduated from college, have no experience, how can you bring something useful to my company?”
Before I speak, I think contemplate a strategic answer that will encourage him to want to hire me. “Well, because I do not have experience, it benefits the company. I have no bad habits to break. I am a clean slate, for you to do with me what you want!” I made that last part sound way more exciting than intended.
His jaw tremors, realization smacks me in the face when it registers, what I said and how it sound. Damn it! Did I just say that! What was I thinking? It sound so much more better in my head.
Too embarrassed to correct myself, I remain quiet hoping he did not hear it the way I did, anxiously waiting for the next question. “Why a job here at Cross Enterprises?” I close my eyes, thankful he let that slide.
I search through my catalog of interview responses in my head, looking at Mr. Cross. I give a pleading look, “Can I be honest with you Mr. Cross?” He simply says, “Please,” while waving his hand at me.
“I’m fresh out of college, I need a job in my field. I want to one day own my own financial firm. But having no experience stops people from hiring me. How am I supposed to get any experience if I don’t get hired to work in my field? It’s a catch 22. I can’t prove my worth to a company if they are unwilling to give me a chance.”
“I did some research on your company, what I applaud is that you help companies that are in financial trouble, restoring them. That’s something I want to be a part of. I want to help others achieve their dreams as I achieve mine. If you give me a chance, I can guarantee you will not regret it. I’m worth the risk.” I’m proud of my response and the fact that nothing sexual was referenced.
He seems pleased with my answer too, seeing a smile grow on his face. “Thank you for your candor and not just telling me what you think an interview response is what I wanted to hear. Honesty really is the best policy with me.”
A small smile claims my face. Standing up, extending his hand towards me. I reach for his hand, feeling a bolt of electricity flow through me as we shake hands. Does he feel it too? That’s crazy. I’m crazy. I need to get out of here.
He escorts me to the door, opening it for me. Turning around, staring him in his intense light grey eyes, expressing “I’m sorry! I’m sorry for how I acted earlier today and for the names I called you. It’s been a rough few weeks and I was completely nervous about this interview. I was out of line. It’s not an excuse. I just want you to know that I’m sorry and I hope you can look past my brash behavior. Thank you for this opportunity to interview with you.” I turn my head, body following, strutting out the door.
I hear his irresistible voice as I saunter down the hall, “We’ll get back to you by this Friday if you have the job or not.”
I silently wish I do. But I can’t decide if I want the job so I can be a part of something bigger or if it’s because I want to see him again?

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