Page 24 of Another Lucky Number

I feign indignance at his wind up.

Cheeky! Just as well I’m easy going – these days. Sounds like an exciting trip. Is this something you do regularly with your friends or is it for a special occasion? x

Ping.

I kind of liked your oversensitive side. Made things interesting. It’s sort of a joint birthday milestone thing. But our big 3-0s are quite far apart. Mine was already two years ago! x

Ping.

Hang on, mister. Only I’m allowed to bring up my flaws. Pleased to find out that you’re older than me though. x

Ping.

How much older? x

Ping.

How old do you think I am? x

Ping.

I’m so not entering that minefield, lady… x

I laugh and gasp with fake outrage as we continue to flirt and chat, until I realise the time, and – with a day of interview prep looming tomorrow – reluctantly say goodnight.

Snuggling down in the bed, my mind is bursting with romantic scenarios for my second date with James. These pleasant thoughts push all worries about the job interview from my mind: the last one before I drift off being how nice it is that James already wants me to himself. And how much I want the same in reverse.

Chapter Eleven

On Friday morning, I’m greeted by another white envelope under my door, only this time I know what’s inside. My cautious optimism from my conversation with Cat and Amber the previous night scarpers the second I lay eyes on it.

Resisting the temptation to go back to bed and pretend this whole job interview thing isn’t happening, I pick it up, open the patio doors, and step out onto my balcony terrace in the hope that my amazing tropical surroundings will lessen the impact of whatever torturous process I’m about to find inside it. However, I’m so sick with nerves, I barely register the pleasant breeze, sparkling sea, and clear blue horizon. I want the job – more than anything – but I’ve never been one of those people who sails through interviews without breaking a sweat. I’m more of a kitchen roll wedged in my armpits while popping (homeopathic) anxiety pills like they’re Smarties kind of girl.

After a few deep breaths, I plonk myself down at the table, rip open the envelope and extract the documents inside. There’s not much there: just three printed sheets of paper, which I hope is a good sign.

Unfolding them, I start to read. The first page contains the job description. It’s brief, but succinct. The job title – Head of Growth and Acquisition – simultaneously fills me with terror and fervour. It’s a big step up and even just imagining having that title is petrifying. The thought that, if successful, I’d be exposed for the imposter that I might well be is wholly nauseating. But at the same time, another part of me is bubbling with determination, ambition and a feeling that this is something I’ve always been capable of achieving in the right workplace with a decent boss.

This inner conflict, as unpleasant as it is, further fuels my belief that I have to go for this. I need to push past the uncertainty and self-doubt and prove to myself that I am worthy.

I quickly read through the description of the role, heartened by the presence of familiar language. There’s nothing particularly alien there. All I need to do is believe in myself and win a chance to put what’s there into practice. Setting the job profile aside, I then scan the selection process details. The interview themes are based around the company values, which I’m pleased to note are an inspiring and energising read: making me want to grab a pen and get started, rather than reach for the TV remote. However, my optimism is short-lived, because on turning my attention to the third page, my eyes zoom in on a single – terrifying – word in the text: ‘presentation’.

Fuck. Public speaking is an area I need to improve in, and I’d hoped to have some time to do so ahead of actively seeking my next job. Reading through the details, the words swim in front of my eyes.

The second part of the assessment is a twenty-minute presentation on your plan for your first ninety days in the role, followed by a question-and-answer session.

Beads of sweat appear on my forehead as I continue to read. Then comes the knockout punch.

People are the beating heart of our business and we like to include them in our decisions where possible. As such, we will be inviting a carefully selected group of resort staff and regular hotel guests with a keen interest in our company to attend your presentation and provide feedback on your performance.

Oh my god. A presentation to an interview panel is bad enough. But to a whole crowd, including the resort’s most valued clientele? The pressure isn’t just on, it’s about to blow – and if I’m not careful I might just lose my head in the process.

Massaging my temples, I take some slow deep breaths to calm myself. I need to stay focused and take things one step at a time. The interview shouldn’t be too bad, provided I’m well prepared and can keep a lid on my nerves. The presentation topic is also not too scary. I know my stuff and have worked with senior leaders and their plans. Plus, the internet is a job seeker’s best friend.

But the other stuff – presenting, taking (probably very challenging) questions in front of an audience – fills me with dread. I literally have no words to describe the panic instilled by this request. The painful truth being: when it comes to public speaking, I’m a complete flake and about as engaging as an annual tax audit.

Realising I’m late for breakfast, I stuff the printed sheets back in the envelope, then go back inside and quickly throw on some clothes, before rushing to the breakfast buffet to join Cat and Amber.

‘Where have you been?’ Amber eyes my forehead suspiciously when I arrive and collapse into a seat, perspiring and panting, envelope in hand. ‘No, strike that,whathave you been doing? You look like a sack of shit.’

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