"Dr. Mercer?" Her voice carries a faint Southern lilt, with Georgia soft vowels rounded just enough to warm the consonants. "I'm Amy Florals. I know you're closing soon, but traffic on Lake Shore was a nightmare. Anyway, I saw your advertisement for an assistant, and I'd appreciate the chance to speak with you if you haven't already filled it."
I step aside. "I can assure you that the position is still open. Come in."
"Great!" She moves past me with quiet grace, sets a slim leather portfolio on the edge of the desk instead of clutching it like a shield, and sits without waiting for permission. She leans back in the chair, resting her elbows on the arms, smiling patiently.
I close the door and take my seat across from her. "You're aware the position is administrative support for a private therapy practice?"
"Yes, sir."
The "sir" slips out naturally, not deferential, just a polite habit.
She continues, "I read the listing twice. Scheduling, correspondence, client coordination, and light billing follow-up. I've done similar work for three years in Warner Robins before I moved here last fall."
I open her resume. It's clean with no gaps. She has references listed with cell numbers. "Why did you move to Chicago?"
She shrugs. "My family's scattered. I wanted somewhere new. You know, bigger pond, more fish." She wiggles her eyebrows. "Plus, I heard winters build character."
I almost smile, but instead, I lean back. "Let's skip the small talk. I've interviewed six people today. Every single one quoted policy at me like it was gospel. I need to know if you'll do the same."
Her head tilts slightly, listening more than reacting. She steadies her brown eyes on mine. "Ask me what you really want to know, Dr. Mercer. I'll answer straight."
She's direct, without defensiveness. That's interesting.
I pick up the scenario I've been using all day, the one that makes most candidates freeze. "Let's say a high-profile client texts at eight forty-five p.m. on a Thursday. They need a session tomorrow morning at nine, but the slot is already booked by another client who pays the full rate and never cancels. The high-profile client is willing to pay double the fee to bump the other person. What do you do?"
She doesn't blink, purse her lips, or glance away. "First, I confirm the request came from the actual client via a text verification and a quick call if needed. Then I check the existing appointment's cancellation terms. If it's outside the twenty-four-hour window, I don't touch it without your explicit direction. But I don't say no outright either."
She pauses, letting the words settle. "I'd reply to the high-profile client that I'm looking into options and will get back to them within the hour. Then I'd call the scheduled client, explain there's been an urgent conflict, and offer three alternatives—later that day, next available, or a virtual slot the same time next week with no cancellation fee applied as a courtesy. Most people accept one of those. If they don't, I document the refusal, escalate to you, and let you decide whether to honor the bump or keep the original booking."
I study her, closer. She gave me no lecture on ethics or fairness. She focused on outcomes and practical steps. It's refreshing. So I ask, "And if the scheduled client gets angry and threatens to leave the practice?"
"Then they were already looking for an exit." Her tone stays even, almost gentle. "People who threaten usually have one foot out the door anyway. Better to know now than lose them mid-crisis later."
I let silence stretch. She doesn't rush to fill it or fidget. She patiently waits for me to speak.
I decide to push. "You didn't mention policy once."
"You didn't ask about policy." A tiny lift at the corner of her mouth. "You asked what I'd do."
Touché.
I shift tactics. "Okay, Amy. Let's say I hand you a stack of progress notes that need to be scanned and filed before an insurance audit tomorrow. One page has a handwritten margin note that could be interpreted as a dual relationship disclosure. It's vague. No names. Just an observation. What happens to that page?"
Her gaze doesn't waver. "I scan the entire stack as-is and flag the page in the digital file with a private note to you, along with the date, time, and page number so you can review it before anything goes to the auditor. I don't redact, I don't destroy, I don't mention it to anyone else. That's your clinical record. Your call."
Years ago, when I was interviewing Shirley, her answer would have eliminated her. Now, it's a breath of fresh air.
Amy doesn't moralize tasks. She reframes the problem rather than seeing it as a roadblock.
I lean forward. "You're careful with your answers."
"I'm careful with my words, Dr. Mercer. There's a difference." She uncrosses her ankles and recrosses them the other way. "I've workedfor people who want every decision wrapped in disclaimers. I've also worked for people who want results. I'm guessing you're the second kind."
I give her more points for being sharp and observant. So I decide to test her attention. Earlier, I'd told the previous candidate the cancellation window was twenty-four hours. Now, I change it on purpose, claiming, "The policy is forty-eight hours for cancellation. Does that change your approach to the bump request?"
She smiles again, small this time, polite but pointed. "Actually, Dr. Mercer, your listing and the intake paperwork I reviewed online both state twenty-four hours. Unless that changed since last week, I'd stick with the published terms."
She caught it. She's smart.
