When I walk out of my 8:39 a.m. meeting with my team of financial advisors, I'm reminded by my PA, Bru Sifen that the interview for a new law consultant is underway.
"The interviews are going as planned, Gerrard, right on schedule," she says, reading from her tablet as we weave through the main office building to the Interview Lounge. "The last two candidates are remaining to be met."
I pass by employee after employee as I go, Bru's words registering in my head. This last law consultant's position is important. My team of legal experts just needs one more person to complete the unit. And it's got to be the best person out there, because I have big plans, and I need a good team to keep all legal fixes out of the picture.
Get me through the loopholes, so I can focus on my business and not on fucking laws I got to adhere to or the defaults I've made as I climb higher on the success ladder.
I'm so wrapped up in my own head that I don't even remember to respond to Bru, that I've heard her, but at this point I guess she's used to it, because she doesn't try to repeat herself- mistakenly thinking I haven't heard her.
Well, all I can say is working closely with me for five years can do that to a person.
Get them used to me.
The Interview Lounge chairs are outnumbered when I get there; so many people applied for this job that I'm somewhat relieved, but not completely. Not before I find a competent motherfucker.
When I open the door to the Interview Room, my five most knowledgeable legal experts are interviewing a candidate, who I notice is a girl with a head of dark brown hair.
And it's open.
I immediately don't like her.
There's a sense of formality one's got to have in the way one dresses for office. And because she isn't dressed for the occasion, either she's disrespectful of rules, or she's a novice.
"...towards studying corporate law in a great deal of depth since I began studying, and I think working as a law consultant for your company, I will have a lot to add to the team..."
Judging by the sound of her voice, which sounds young, I'm guessing she's a novice.
I resist a scowl. Didn't I specify I don't want a first-timer? Why are these idiots even wasting their time on this girl?
"...and I love being a part of a team, and I think that my communication skills add a lot of value here. During my internship at JV Firms, I was working with offices in different parts of the state."
JV Firms? The fuck are they?
I'm mincing my teeth when I see the five oldies putting their heads together to discuss whatever this girl said. Because enough is enough. The fact that they're even considering her tells me they didn't understand me like they should have.
I don't want— a novice.
Walking towards the bench, I throw a glare the girl's way, and when she notices me, her face changes like she's seen a ghost.
It pisses me off even more.
Her eyes get even bigger by the second, to the point where I can see every speck of dark brown on her muddy brown irises.
She's checking me out; her eyes almost automatically fall to my neck, then my arms, and finally on my suit, and I know what she's seeing— my tattoos.
I swear it's a tick— the urge to shake my head. But I have to resist it; I can't give into it just yet.
So I shift my focus to the oldies again, who're watching me now that I've reached the bench. I nod at them, sliding the only file on the table my way.
Next to the girl's photo, it says 'Priscilla Gard'.
Smooth name.
But a bit old fashioned.
I flip through through the pages.
Grade A student. No troubles. No failures. Goody-two-shoes. In simple terms- a plain Jane. Not to mention a newbie, because that 'JV Firms' shit just doesn't count.
"Thank you, Ms. Gard. You may wait in the lounge while we ponder over our thoughts," I hear Morris say, and the girl gets up.
I can feel her looking my way when she's about to leave, but for some reason I dislike her very much. Needless to say, I don't feel the need to return her gaze.
I'm Gerrard Southerford for a reason.
As soon as the door closes behind her, I drop her file on the table. I'm about to say something, but Truman beats me to it.
"She's good, Gerrard."
Morris nods. "Her record's pretty good. Besides, JV's given her a serious recommendation."
I really want to tell him that a recommendation can be bought easily for just a night, but I keep their age in mind. They should seriously be thanking me for the gentleman that I am to them.
They can tell I'm not convinced, though.
Smith eyes me. "We need a few young people on the team, Southerford."
I resist the urge to stare him down at the use of my surname. Just because I'm 24 doesn't mean they're going to keep throwing that in my face.
But then Smith adds, "And you know better than anyone just how good young people can get."
I get the jibe. The old man's referring to me and my success. His jealousy is understandable, but not welcome.
So I prove his point. "She's on board, then."
It's difficult to keep my annoyance in check as I march off outside with the acceptance contract, eyes raking across every face till I find her. She's staring at me before I do, her eyes way too big for my liking.
I keep my voice hard. "Priscilla Gard?"
She nods shakily.
"Congratulations. You've been selected."
The words taste like tar on my tongue; heavy and sticky. I hate them. When she lifts her hand to take the acceptance from me, I'm already thinking of ways to get her out of my company, without having to undermine my success in front of the likes of Smith.
The gears in my head are still turning when I walk past her, but not without promising to myself that Gard isn't going to stay.
I won't let her. Because now, it isn't even about her.
It's between Smith and I.
And if there's one thing he should've remembered before doing what he did today, it's that I always get what I want. And that I never lose.