Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
So I sat motionless, not even allowing myself to tap my foot as I waited. The click of heels against tile drew my attention from the window, where I’d been staring at the New York City skyline without really seeing it. The woman approaching wore a charcoal power suit and a polite, practiced smile.
“Ms. Seager?”
I stood and offered the smile I’d rehearsed in the mirror this morning. Not too bright. Not overeager. Just professional enough to suggest competence and warmth.
“Yes,” I said, smoothing my pencil skirt before shaking the hand she extended. “You must be Mrs. Wexler. Thank you for meeting with me.”
We’d already had a phone interview, and I thought it had gone well. She’d seemed genuinely impressed by my résumé and our personalities had clicked.
But as our hands met, a prickle of unease ran through me. There was a subtle tightening around her mouth, and her eyes didn’t fully meet mine.
“Of course. Please, follow me.”
She turned and walked with confident strides, her spine ramrod straight. My unease deepened as I followed her into a nearby conference room. I hadn’t expected warmth exactly, but she’d been friendly on the phone. This felt entirely different.
Inside, a folder already waited on the long rectangular table. Mrs. Wexler flipped through it as I settled into the chair across from her. There had to be at least a dozen résumés inside, but I tried not to let that rattle me. I was here. They’d been interested enough to schedule an in-person interview. That had to mean something.
Mrs. Wexler placed my résumé on top of the stack but didn’t glance at it. Instead, she folded her hands on the table and finally met my gaze.
“I appreciate you coming today,” she finally said, her tone so formal it made me feel two inches tall. “Can you tell me a little about why you think you’d be a good fit for this company?”
I pushed aside my nerves. “As you can see on my résumé, I have previous experience working in an office environment—”
“Yes,” she cut me off. “As an assistant.”
I swallowed hard, trying not to wince at her dismissive tone. I’d been through enough failed interviews to recognize when I was wasting my time, but a stubborn spark of hope kept me rooted in place. Or maybe it was just desperation refusing to let me give up.
“Yes,” I said, careful to keep my voice steady and confident despite the tightness in my chest. “But as an assistant, I handled responsibilities that directly apply to this role. Managing departmental budgets. Onboarding new hires. Coordinating culture-driven initiatives across teams. I’m fully confident I can leverage that experience to excel in this position.”
Mrs. Wexler’s lips pressed into a thin, unimpressed line. “I understand you were at your last job for five years?”
The information was right there on my résumé, directly in front of her, but I nodded. “Yes. I started as a marketing assistant and worked my way up, gaining valuable experience along the way.”
“I see.” She paused, and her gaze sharpened. “And why did you leave the company?”
She phrased it like a question, but I knew it really wasn’t one. I could already see the judgement in her eyes, telling me she’d spoken to my previous boss and he’d filled her head with lies.
This was the fifth time this had happened.
The first four years at my previous company, I’d worked under Julia, an incredible mentor who taught me everything I needed to know about succeeding in a corporate world that didn’t always make room for women. When she left for another opportunity, I’d been optimistic about proving myself under new leadership.
Then I met Mr. Hull, and my optimism gradually diminished.
“Have you spoken with Mr. Hull?” The question came out on a sigh. I was done pretending this interview could be salvaged, or hoping there was any chance it would lead to a job offer. I’d been doomed before I ever set foot in this building.
“Yes,” Mrs. Wexler said, her tone clipped. “He made sure to fill me in on the issues he had with your conduct.”
A frustrated scream built in my throat, but I forced it down.
I’d purposefully listed the general department number on my résumé, knowing they would only confirm my employment dates and job title. But somehow—every single time—Mr. Hull caught wind of my applications and contacted whoever was considering hiring me, just to poison the well with his lies.
I didn’t understand why he was still doing this. He’d already fired me for refusing to compromise my ethics. Why did he feel the need to keep destroying my chances six months later? He had nothing to gain, and I could only assume his continued harassment was out of spite.
I wanted to argue and defend myself. I wanted to explain that my former boss was a petty, vindictive man who sabotaged his colleagues to make himself look better. That his own work was mediocre at best, and he knew it, so he relied on manipulation and dirty tactics instead of being competent at his job.