Page 98 of Saved By the CEO

I close my eyes. “Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.”

“Annie.”

She ignores me and smooths the paper over her knee. “Miss Michaels, why are you interested in the Communications Coordinator position?”

“We’re not doing this.”

“Answer the damn question before I hit you.”

“You’re so violent.”

“Yes,” she says, and glares at me, “so answer the fucking question.”

I sigh and look down at my hands.

Fine.

I start answering the question. I tell her I like the work and give examples of similar things I’ve done in the past, but it ends up too long. My mouth keeps moving, adding details nobody asked for, while my brain stands in the background, waving both arms and screaming,Stop talking.

When I finally do stop, I look at Annie.

“I’m rambling, aren’t I?” I groan, pressing my hands over my face. “I’m never getting another job ever.”

“You think you’re rambling because you’re inside your own head,” Annie says. “From the outside, you sound competent.” She taps the job description with one finger. “Also, you have actual examples. Laker, Green House, Westbrook. I’d hire you.”

I lower my hands and give her a weak smile. “You couldn’t afford me.”

She laughs, but I can’t quite hold on to the joke. I still feel that sickly dread sludge around in my belly.

I’m not enough. I’ll never be more than this.

Annie nudges my knee with her foot. “You know they called you in because they want to hear from you, right?”

I nod. I know. I know it in the same way I know airplanes usually stay in the sky and that ghosts aren’t real. Technically true, but it does nothing to reduce my anxiety levels.

“What if I say something stupid?” I ask.

“Then you say something less stupid after.”

I lean back against the couch and close my eyes.

Please don’t fuck this up.

I knowI didn’t get the job before I even made it back to my desk.

Not officially, obviously. But I know. I can feel it.

The interview is already replaying in my head, every answer worse than the last. I talked too much. Then I realized I was talking too much, which made me nervous, which made me talk even more. At one point, I’m pretty sure I corrected myself three times in the same sentence. I also tried to be funny, but I don’t think it landed at all. I just looked unprofessional.

Ugh.

By the time the elevator reaches the executive floor, I have accepted it.

I am not getting the job.

The thought settles over me, heavy and dull.Of courseI’m not getting it. Did I honestly think I would? I don’t even have a college degree. Why onearthwould they pick me? They probably just felt sorry for me and invited me to an interview out of pity. That’s all.