Terms and Conditions Apply

***

*Andrea*

***

“If you’re easily intimidated, you can leave now."

For some seconds, there was heavy silence. Yet, no one moved.

Everett Langston leaned back on his chair still scanning the four of us like a man weighing apples for freshness. With one ankle rested casually on his knee, his fingers drummed once against the armrest before he looked away.

How arrogant!

"Good... That saves me time. You could have your seats" he ordered.

He reached for the four cream envelopes sitting in a neat row on the polished table and slid them toward us. "One of you doesn’t belong here. Decide."

What? My brows knitted.

"Decide? Based on what?" The other male candidate whispered nervously to his neighbor.

The eyes of the lady who had been staring a little too openly at Everett sparkled with excitement as she shifted in her seat. It was as if the challenge only heightened her interest in him.

I ignored her. I wasn’t here to gawk.

"Everything is part of the interview,” Everett replied calmly. “Five minutes."

The man at my right cleared his throat. “Based on what criteria?”

He shrugged. “Any you like.”

He goes on to rotate his chair slowly, folding his arms as his eyes tracked every reaction.

"This is ridiculous," the third candidate muttered. "We don’t even know each other."

“Exactly,” Everett replied. “That’s what makes it interesting.”

They turned on each other faster than I expected.

The same man spoke first, “She came in late,” he pointed at me, nodding. “That alone should count against her."

All eyes swung to me.

I blinked, trying to keep the irritation out of my face. I wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t cared earlier when he pushed past me just to get to the front.

“Excuse me?” I shot back. “Traffic happens, and I never arranged for my car to quit on me.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you were late,” the woman said lightly, flipping her hair. “Excuses or not, I was here an hour early.”

“And I don’t see how a few minutes defines whether someone can handle clients professionally,” I countered, hoping logic still counted for something.

Everett's eyes lingered on me just long enough to make me uneasy, before returning to the others. "Confidence doesn’t mean competence. We'll see how you hold up under real pressure."

He removed one from the envelopes, tossing the others aside like they had already served their purpose.

I clenched my fists under the table, her giggle audible enough to be heard.

Lucky her! I was so happy to know she had been waiting for this moment. Hilarious.

“Next."

“Let’s make this interesting." He continues, clasping his hands together. “I want to see who can handle responsibility. Someone who can execute a task flawlessly, anticipate problems, and act without supervision. You’ll pitch me a plan to manage a high-stakes client scenario. Convince me you can handle it. Begin."

All of us exchanged awkward glances. I almost wish for a fire alarm or a sudden earthquake to save me.

Just immediately, the first male candidate launched into a rehearsed speech about questionnaires and client profiles, stumbling slightly over jargon he clearly didn’t understand. The lady babbled a little, trying to charm her way through instead of focusing on a plan.

I stayed back, observing and waiting for my turn.

Then my phone chimed.

My stomach did a flip, and the tick of the clock suddenly amplified.

I knew it was probably a message from Tahlia. Maybe I shouldn't have told her to give me an update on my car. I shut my eyes briefly in embarassment, muttering softly, "I'm sorry."

Everett’s head snapped towards me, “Well, at least your phone is punctual. Next time, keep it quiet during meetings like this.”

His tone was dry, cutting and arrogant all at once.

Heat crept up my cheeks, and I swallowed. I saw the lady's grin widen, and a pang of disgust follows. Her delight at someone else’s embarrassment was painfully obvious.

I opened my mouth to apologize properly, but Everett didn't pause. He turned his attention to the group.

"Now. Who among you can personally find me a match? I don’t mean general matchmaking. I mean… someone who can manage the entire process. Meetings, introductions, schedules —every single detail, from start to finish, until it’s done. Someone I can rely on completely. A female."

The lady raised her hand almost too quickly, a smile lighting her face as she spoke. “Absolutely! I’d love the opportunity"

"Good. Get to it." He said in response.

Her gasp of delight made my chest tighten further. I almost scoffed, too stunned at his decision. She had literally swooned over him since we walked in, and now she was rewarded with a small, deliberate gesture that confirmed she would be his Personal Strategist?

“Interview’s over,”he said, and it hit me like a wall. I hadn’t expected that.

He sat up in his chair with a casual arrogance that made my skin crawl. "I'm pleased to inform you all that we have our selections, too."

I felt frustrated. I wanted to speak, to protest, to remind him that I had arrived late for a reason beyond my control. But his presence was oppressive. Late or not, I had the skills. I had insight. I could read people, handle clients, organize meetings flawlessly. Tahlia was right when she said all that.

“Actually,” he went on, “I only need two of you."

My stomach twisted.

Just two? Out of all of us?

A familiar hush fell over the room, just like when he first introduced himself.

Everett didn’t hesitate.

“Marina Prescott” he said with a faint smirk, relishing the moment.

Her face lit up like a candle in the dark. She rose gracefully, excitement dancing in her eyes. Meanwhile, I was still flustered, my pride simmering in a way I didn’t want to admit.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, almost matter-of-factly, as though she had expected to hear those words.

I should've seen that coming.

Of course. She’s exactly the type he wants. Every glance she threw his way seemed designed to inflate his already enormous ego.

My pulse raced as he glanced down at the envelopes, then slowly lifted his eyes to scan the rest of the room.

“And…"

He hesitated now, letting the words hang in the air.