The expensive leather bound seat lowered me further into its wicked comfort.
MY LAST
JOB INTERVIEW
By Lloyd A. Green
Her fingers danced feverishly across the glass section of her desk as she entered the information I had just given her. As her swan-like neck shifted to the right, so did her dark flowing hair. When it parted from its resting place on her shoulder, the smooth skin of her bare neck lay exposed to the soft overhead lighting. As her gaze lazily rose from her desk, I quietly swallowed, hoping that she hadn’t seen the heat in my face.
“I’ll try asking again,” the interviewer stated abruptly. “How long did you say you were at your previous place of business?”
It then dawned on me that I hadn’t answered her last question. "For thirty years,” I responded anxiously. “I worked with the mentally disabled as a director for residential facilities. I’ve always enjoyed the feeling that I was making a difference helping those that are less fortunate but there was always a part of me that wanted more."
“I see,” the interviewer said as she went back to typing on the desk.
For a short while, I swore there was a hint of disappointment in her voice. But instead of it bothering me, I felt a tingle of excitement. It was difficult for me not to feel a bit hot under the collar as the attractive woman spoke. I attempted to politely answer her questions but each delicate button on the front of her dress cried out for mercy as they gently resisted the surrounding material. Fantasies of supple flesh danced across my thoughts and I had to kick myself for being so weak. I needed to concentrate or I wasn’t going to get though this.
"What did you mean when you said a part of you wanted more?" the alluring woman asked.
As I was about to respond, an alert sounded from her desk. She quickly reacted with a light tap of a finger on the glass surface.
“Excuse me for a moment,” she said in my direction. “I’ve got to take this.”
“Certainly,” I quickly responded. “Take your time.” After touching the Bluetooth device on her ear, she walked away from her desk and moved to the nearest window for privacy. I was happy for the opportunity to clear my mind.
I closed my eyes for a second as the expensive leather bound seat lowered me further into its wicked comfort. The rich walnut walls and the dark red eucalyptus wood flooring convinced me that the company was bleeding money. Outside of the office’s towering picture windows, my eyes followed a lone crimson vehicle as it dropped through the clouds and faded from my view, close to where the interviewer was standing.
Her back was turned toward me and the sunlight blazed across her outline. She must have known that I can easily see her shapely silhouette through her short cotton dress, which under the circumstances wasn’t leaving much to the imagination. I wondered if this wasn’t this some sort of a tease on her part? As I shifted my position in my chair, she ended the call and returned to her desk.
“Sorry for the interruption,” she said with a smile. “What made you give up you previous line of work?
“I’ll try asking again,” the interviewer stated abruptly. “How long did you say you were at your previous place of business?”
It then dawned on me that I hadn’t answered her last question. "For thirty years,” I responded anxiously. “I worked with the mentally disabled as a director for residential facilities. I’ve always enjoyed the feeling that I was making a difference helping those that are less fortunate but there was always a part of me that wanted more."
“I see,” the interviewer said as she went back to typing on the desk.
For a short while, I swore there was a hint of disappointment in her voice. But instead of it bothering me, I felt a tingle of excitement. It was difficult for me not to feel a bit hot under the collar as the attractive woman spoke. I attempted to politely answer her questions but each delicate button on the front of her dress cried out for mercy as they gently resisted the surrounding material. Fantasies of supple flesh danced across my thoughts and I had to kick myself for being so weak. I needed to concentrate or I wasn’t going to get though this.
"What did you mean when you said a part of you wanted more?" the alluring woman asked.
As I was about to respond, an alert sounded from her desk. She quickly reacted with a light tap of a finger on the glass surface.
“Excuse me for a moment,” she said in my direction. “I’ve got to take this.”
“Certainly,” I quickly responded. “Take your time.” After touching the Bluetooth device on her ear, she walked away from her desk and moved to the nearest window for privacy. I was happy for the opportunity to clear my mind.
I closed my eyes for a second as the expensive leather bound seat lowered me further into its wicked comfort. The rich walnut walls and the dark red eucalyptus wood flooring convinced me that the company was bleeding money. Outside of the office’s towering picture windows, my eyes followed a lone crimson vehicle as it dropped through the clouds and faded from my view, close to where the interviewer was standing.
Her back was turned toward me and the sunlight blazed across her outline. She must have known that I can easily see her shapely silhouette through her short cotton dress, which under the circumstances wasn’t leaving much to the imagination. I wondered if this wasn’t this some sort of a tease on her part? As I shifted my position in my chair, she ended the call and returned to her desk.
“Sorry for the interruption,” she said with a smile. “What made you give up you previous line of work?
"Since my accident, I’ve never been the same so I quit that job and I began to take my writing more seriously,” I cautiously replied.
To my surprise, a few moments passed and she hadn’t questioned me about the accident that I had been so hesitant to bring up. I still felt as if I was in the hot seat but I breathed a sigh of relief.
The interviewer lowered her darkly mascaraed eyelids ever so slightly, gave me another enticing smile and made her next request.
“Please. Tell me about your writing.”
“I prefer the darker side of fiction,” I said confidently. “I write mostly science-fiction and horror stories with always a romantic angle and a touch of deception.”
I knew it was stupid for me to flirt with this woman but the yearning in my gut was difficult to ignore. I couldn’t resist staring into her piercing brown eyes, hoping for a similar reaction as I continued.
“My writing philosophy is that once the seed of an idea is exposed to its inviting surroundings and then given tender care, it will slowly grow into something superb that certain people can’t help but hold dear.” I smiled confidently at what I thought she’d see had a deeper meaning but what I received in return was an indifferent twist at the edge of her mouth.
“Have you ever been published anywhere?” she flatly asked.
“One of my short stories was published in Sanitarium Magazine,” I said quietly and exhaled heavily.
The interviewer quickly typed as I spoke, not addressing what I had just said.
“Any other interests?” she spat out mechanically.
“Photography and videography but those are just hobbies.” I replied quietly.
“You are too humble,” the interviewer said curtly. “Your hobbies are obviously connected to your writing.” As she spoke, her eyes never left her desk. “What is this outlet called again? YouTube? Some of this material looks devilishly good.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, gripped by panic. Had she seen something on social media that would stop me from going this job? I’ve blown it, I thought to myself. I could only hope that she didn’t notice the pain of disappointment behind my eyes.
She suddenly spread her arms, lightly gripped either end of the cool flat surface that separated us and leaned forward. As her eyes bore into me, I drew back slightly, feeling like a trapped prey.
“I think we definitely have a place for you in our organization,” she said with a wide smile.
“Thank you so much!” I said exploding with unexpected excitement. “You will not regret this.”
As I stood to shake her hand or perhaps give her a warm hug, my chair and the platform it was mounted on were slowly being lowered into the floor. Just below me, I could increasingly hear a multitude of screams that sounded like men and women crying out for mercy. I felt an intense rush of heat quickly surrounding me and suddenly there was a pervasive and inescapable smell of charred flesh. I was about to give out a strangled cry, as my eyes shot up and stared into the woman’s blood-red pupils. Through my paralyzing fear, her jubilant words were the last that I would hear.
“No, thank you, Mr. Green,” she replied. “And you’re right, we will not regret this. But you might.”
There was only a wisp of gray smoke as that area of the floor where I once sat, was neatly resealed.
End