Page 11 of A Lot to Unpack
‘Come on, you know the drill,’ she tells the man, all smiles.
‘You should be less on the ball, it would give me a chance to sneak a nap,’ he jokes as he hops out of the lift. He nails the landing because of course he does.
‘Only two floors off today,’ she tells him, like she’s impressed. Then she turns to me and her smile drops. ‘You’ll have to use the emergency stairwell, over there. This takes time to reset.’
‘Erm, thanks,’ I reply, heading for the stairs, trying to walk off the pain in my ankle. I don’t think I’ve done anything bad to it, but it’s slowing me down a little.
By the time I reach my destination, I’m sweaty, hobbling still, and on my last nerve. I’m here though – and, oh boy, I’m not the only one. This place is like a holding pen for unemployed assistants; everyone here looks just like me. It’s not like we all have the same physical features, but we’re all tired, desperate, in the same boat. No one is chatting – I suppose because we all know we’re in competition with everyone here. Only one person can get the job. A lot of people are going to be disappointed, to say the least. I’m sure I’ll be one of them.
I find a free chair and take a seat. Looking around, I don’t fancy my chances. Yorkshire is seeming closer and closer by the second.
I hear my name being called so I pull myself to my feet – I’m relieved to find they’re both working.
I head into the large corner office where a woman greets me at the door with a firm handshake.
‘Liberty?’ she checks.
‘Yes, hello,’ I reply, trying to match her grip.
‘Paige Pool, thanks for coming in today,’ she tells me.
‘Thanks for having me,’ I reply – so stupid, like I’m here for afternoon tea or something.
‘So, it’s my company – well, half mine, anyway, so I’m the one you need to impress,’ she jokes – I assume she’s joking.
So she’s funny, successful and beautiful. Her cheekbones are high, her skin glows – in a flawless way, not like mine, because I’m sweating from a combo of nerves, adrenaline and stairs. She’s wearing a cream trouser suit and I could never. I spilt coffee on my leg, on the Tube, and if these trousers weren’t black, you’d be able to see it. I’m certain I can still smell it.
‘Please, take a seat,’ she tells me, gesturing to the chair at her desk. She sits at the other. ‘Impressive CV.’
Is it though? I guess she says that to everyone.
‘Thank you,’ I reply anyway.
‘So your last job was at a private investigation agency?’
‘It was,’ I confirm. ‘But I fancied a new challenge.’
And that challenge was not seeing my lying dick of an ex every day, but Paige doesn’t need to know that.
‘What was that like?’ she asks. There’s a sparkle in her eyes, like she’s truly fascinated by the idea, and honestly this might be the most interesting thing about me, even if I was only an assistant.
‘Very interesting,’ I reply. ‘Challenging, rewarding – no day was the same.’
But only in the sense that every day was the same. But, again, she doesn’t need to know that.
‘So, you were an assistant – assisting with cases?’ she checks.
I don’t want to lie but, really, it’s so obvious that the specifics of the agency are what she’s interested in, rather than me.
‘Yes, I assisted with the cases,’ I reply – technically true. ‘Gathering things, liaising with clients…’
And by that I mean gathering coffees, and giving them to the clients.
‘So you must know a lot about surveillance, covert operations, going undercover?’
‘I do,’ I reply.
I’ve seen everyMission: Impossiblemovie.
