Crystal Clear

Chapter 3

"Not directly" I answered. "Umm, he ran between my legs and made me trip and fall on my face.  

"Hence the overpowering smell?" Ryan asked as he continued to stroke Sparky's fur, and the stupid dog was soaking up all the attention, actually purring. "Tell me the truth Callie"  

"You promise you won't throw us out of the house?" I gave him a pleading look. he pretended to consider my request. Just then, Amanda stuck her head round my door.  

" Ryan? sweetie you have a phone call from your mother" She called in that sickenly sweet syrupy voice I detested. Sparky peeked round Ryan's muscular arms and growled. Good dog.  

"Ok love, one minute." he set the dog down and leaned close to me till we were actually nose to nose.  

"I'm gonna let it go this time Callie Henderson, you've got two weeks to get that mutt housebroken. Till then, the two of you are banned from the den." He straightened and left.  

" Hey no fair!" I yelled at his retreating back.  

"Tough Love" He retorted and slammed the door.  

I groaned and glared at Sparky. "You little bugger". I said. Sparky barked happily and jumped on my lap to slobber my face with his saliva. "Don't worry about that big bad man, we can handle anything can't we Sparky?.

CHAPTER THREE.  

Tuesday morning saw me standing in front of the radio station in my three inch black heels, beige pencil skirt and cream colored Marks and Spencers stripped shirt. I had an interview with the guys in charge. I took a deep breath and pushed open the revolving glass door and found myself in a rather gaudy room, that had pictures of politicians and media bigwigs. The black and white linoluem floors reminded of a really bad horror scene in one of those B movies that Ryan and I loved watching every friday night. There were artificial potted plants everywhere and sleepy-eyed people bustled to and fro. I was definetly overdressed.  

I spied the receptionist's desk tucked away in one obscure corner of the room and walked over to it, now feeling self-concious. The girl seated behind the scarred mahogany desk looked up and gave me a disintrested look.  

"Hi!" I said brightly, trying to sound confident, bright and beautiful, like my Life coach had instructed me during our monthly sessions.  

"Can I help you?" the receptionist replied sounding bored.  

"Yes... ummm..... I have an appointment for nine 'o' clock with Ms. Reed?"  

"Do you have a card?" she asked.  

"Emmm... was I supposed to have one?" God! this was stupid. She made no reply, simply picked up the phone and dialled.... I'm assuming she was calling Ms. Reed and not security. She spoke into the reciever then looked at me.  

"Second floor, last door to your right."  

"Thanks."

Ms. Reed turned out to be a rather over enthusiastic bubbly woman pushing fifty with a huge bosom and wire rimmed glasses wearing a frumpy fuschia suit , who offered me a seat and produced a clip board.  

"Now then, Miss Henderson, I see from your resume that you've had quite an astonishing number of jobs in the last few years? What can you tell me about each of them?.  

I blanched. Each and every one? Each and every one of those jobs that I'd listed in my resume had been complete fabrications. From the three years as an accountant at Spring Bank, to a freelance writer for the New York Times, none of which were real. The job ad had simply said 'Copy writer, no qualifications required,' and Ryan and I had figured that the more impressive my resume, the higher the chances of getting the job with no questions asked. As he'd reasoned, they might be too much in awe of you applying for this crappy position to give a fuck about questioning you.