The Delivery Girl

4. Interview

Julie

I jolt as my phone begins buzzing against the table. The caller ID reads, CS. I fumble a bit, scrambling to pick it up. "Hello?" I whisper. A couple students in the area frown at me. It's a strictly silent floor in the library, meant for people wanting to focus.

"Hi, am I speaking to Julie Leong?" A deep, calm voice responds.

I get out of my seat and head for the nearest stairwell to take the call. "Yes, that's me," I say cautiously. I can't remember the last time someone who wasn't dad called me. "Who am I speaking to?"

"My name is Callen, president of Sterling Studios. I was calling about your job application."

I pause and furrow my brows. I don't recall applying for a job there. "Sorry, what job application?"

There's a long pause before he clears his throat. "I came across your portfolio, Miss Leong, and I wanted to bring you in for an interview."

My eyes widen. Application or not, how could I pass up on an opportunity to work at my dream company?

Well,

Old dream company...

My current dream company is some ecommerce company downtown. They're expanding and looking for software engineers. Dad has a connection there that will almost definitely secure me a position. It's a safe, stable job that pays well.

It's my last year of grad school. I know I should be looking for engineering internships or volunteer positions, not leaning into a hobby.

"I... I'd love to."

"Ok, how about this Friday at nine?"

–

I approach the skyscraper once again, this time without carrying a paper bag of food. I'm still wondering who got my contact information, and how. I looked through my sent emails last night, and I haven't sent anything to them.

Maybe it's best not to question it.

The same woman in the lobby looks at me skeptically, no different from the first two times she's seen me. I try to give her a friendly smile, but she simply looks back down at her computer.

As the elevator heads up to the fifty second floor, I nervously smooth out my skirt and straighten my blazer. With less than two days to prepare for this interview, I was forced to go on an emergency shopping trip. I couldn't find clothing that fit properly and didn't have time to get anything tailored.

My sleeves are rolled up to hide the fact that they're slightly too long. The waist of my skirt is too loose, it's tightened and held up with a safety pin. When you ignore the details, it looks passable, I decide, studying myself in the mirror.

My portfolio is tucked under my arm - just a simple black, paper folder with some samples inside. I didn't know what a proper portfolio was supposed to look like, but I'm hoping this is enough to not look like I have no idea what I'm doing.

Even though I definitely have no idea what I'm doing.

I step out of the elevator. For once, someone is at the front desk.

"Hi, um, I'm here for an interview," I say, approaching her desk.

The woman arches a perfectly penciled brow and looks at me with her icy blue eyes. Without saying anything, she presses a button on a small phone sitting on her desk. "Callen, your nine o'clock is here." Her tone is monotonous.