“Miss Giles? You can go in now.”I s

“Miss Giles? You can go in now.”
I stood slowly, a strange smile pasted to my face. I was so nervous my palms were sweating. I wiped them on the front of my skirt and then worried that I had left marks on the dark material. I walked down the narrow hallway, staring down at my skirt, pulling at it like it was giving me a wedgy or something, probably looking like a complete fool to the strangely bitter receptionist. Well, at least I was offering her a little comic relief, right?
As I turned the corner into the marked office—checking the nameplate on the door three times to make sure I was in the right place—a tall woman with such a severe ponytail that my scalp crawled at the sight, stood and held out her hand to me.
“I’m Joan Tarek, Mr. Thorn’s personal assistant.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I muttered, all while wondering if my palm was still too moist. She didn’t seem to react to it, so it must have been okay.
She gestured for me to take a seat in one of the chairs carefully placed in front of a heavy oak desk. She took the other, pulling a file folder into her lap and thumbing through it briefly.
“I see that you recently graduated from Baylor,” she said.
I nodded. “I did. With a double major in communications and business.”
Ms. Tarek nodded back, her eyes thoughtful as she looked at me. “Do you know a lot about environmental construction?”
I didn’t know anything about construction except what I saw on the DIY network. That odd smile came out again, as I tried to figure out what to say.
“I know that the company does some really great things for the city. I drive by the new Franklin Insurance building almost every day. It’s quite impressive.”
“It is,” Ms. Tarek agreed. “Have you ever been on a construction site?”
I shook my head. “No. But I’m a quick learner, and I am willing to do just about anything to advance the company.”
Ms. Tarek’s eyes continued to stare through me, a slow nod doing nothing to dislodge her concentration. “I’m sure you are,” she said softly, almost under her breath. “Your work experience is pretty vague. It says here that you worked for the Starbuck’s Corporation?”
I was a barista for five years. In fact, I was still a barista. I had a shift in twenty minutes. However, I hadn’t written that in my resume, hoping she would assume I worked at the corporate offices in some sort of executive-type role. I hadn’t expected her to ask about it.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t push for details. But, of course, I couldn’t be that lucky.
“And your role there was?”
“Drive-thru.”
She looked up again, her eyes slightly wider. “Excuse me?”
“I work the drive-thru at the Starbuck’s on Fifth Street.”
She just nodded. “Have you ever supervised a team of any sort?”
“Not officially, no.”
“And your other work experience? There doesn’t seem to be anything else here other than some volunteer work.”
“Starbuck’s is my only work experience. My aunts—they didn’t want me to work while I was in high school because they were worried my grades would suffer.”
Ms. Tarek smiled. I wasn’t sure that was a good thing, however. She didn’t seem to be the kind of person who would find doting aunts amusing.
“Do you know anything about aerated concrete slabs? Or bamboo flooring? Do you know how to take an inventory or how to order supplies on a large scale? Do you know how to interact with subordinates and how to diffuse difficult situations?”
“I took a class on conflict resolution,” I said, aware how lame that sounded even to my ears.
Ms. Tarek stood. “It was nice to meet you, Ms. Giles. Someone will call you next week and let you know what was decided.”
I stood slowly, well aware of what that meant. I didn’t need to be experienced at job interviews to know a brush off when I saw it.
“Thank you for your time,” I said softly, as I took her hand. We shook, and then she gestured for me to lead the way to the door. I wasn’t really looking where I was going, too lost in my own thoughts to see the tall, solid man—who was standing just outside the door. I walked right into him, pressing more of body to his side than I had any other man in longer than I cared to remember. He turned, grabbing my upper arm to keep me from bouncing off his solidity and falling to the ground, further humiliating myself.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled without looking up.
“No problem,” he said, his voice so deep that it seemed to reverberate through me. And it was filled with so much humor that I had to look up just to make sure he wasn’t laughing at me.
Damn, he was tall.