“Mr. Isaacs will see you now,” the receptionist chirped in her cutest business voice.
Rising and wiping sweaty palms down his pant legs, Roger attempted, “Th-that’s grantastic…er, great. It’s great. Thanks you.” He failed.
She stifled a giggle and shot him a grin.
Against all logic, Roger paused at her desk, arm resting on its high ledge, “You don’t like to eat lunch, do you? Wait! You wouldn’t…lunch. Shite.” He let his head drop while his hand beat a sullen rhythm on the counter top.
“You can start again if you like.”
Without looking up, he muttered, “I don’t suppose it bodes well for the job interview that I can’t even flounder through talking with the receptionist.”
“You’ll do fine. I’ve seen your resume.”
“Thanks…to you. Um, I guess I have one hope.”
“I might be okay if Mr. Isaacs isn’t as pretty as you.” He blushed as he said it and didn’t dare make eye contact.
“Don’t tell him I said so, but he’s hideous. You’re going to nail this.”