Chapter 19: The Interview
Monday morning, bright and early, Cassie was awake and ready to take on the day. She had her interview at ten in the morning with a mid-tier firm. She had spent most of Sunday night applying to everything she could think of...again.
This was her first interview, and she was hoping there would be many more.
She made coffee and tea. She preferred tea. Nothing too fancy for breakfast. Eggs, sausage, and toast. She had been eating Stacey’s food, and there wasn’t much left. After the interview, she would have to go shopping.
She arrived at the firm at 9:30. She still had half an hour remaining. Her stomach was in knots. Stacey returned to the apartment while she was getting ready and offered to do her make-up. Knowing she wasn’t as skilled as Stacey, she accepted the offer.
Now, she was standing outside the firm with her hands gripping the bag Stacey had lent her and her breakfast, feeling like it would make itself known.
She stepped in with cautious steps, trying not to look like a frightened deer and failing miserably.
Stepping through the revolving doors, she released a breath; the first step was done. She made her way to the receptionist, gave her name and reason for being here, and was led to a section of the hall where others were sitting.
"Sit here and wait for your name to be called."
She nodded with all the solemnity of meeting an emperor. And so for the next half an hour, she sat and waited. Person after person was called. Even when ten had come and gone, she hadn’t heard her name.
Finally she went to the person who had been calling names.
"Excuse me. I have a ten o’clock interview. I’ve been here for an hour, but I haven’t heard my name."
The woman looked at her, not the least bit moved. Her expression was placid like still water.
"Cassie Collins."
To verify, she took out her confirmation email and such. She checked it when she arrived, and there was no cancellation. She was so nervous she checked everything multiple times. She wasn’t wrong.
The woman saw everything she had then scanned her list. She pursed her lips and asked her to wait.
Ten minutes later, she came out and gestured for Cassie to step in.
Cassie stepped into the room. It was a glass-walled office. A man sat on an iron chair, a desk before him and another chair on the other side. Cassie stepped up to the empty chair.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the seat.
She sat, offering a good morning.
His hand was folded on the desk as he looked down his nose at Cassie.
The man was dressed in a tailored suit. He reached out his hand to take her portfolio. He scanned it, making small humming sounds. Cassie wasn’t sure what to make of it. She found there were other folders on the desk.
As she glanced, she glimpsed a watermark from a university she knew she couldn’t afford to attend. He closed the portfolio and slid it across the desk towards her using one finger.
"Miss Collins," he began, finger tapping the desk. "Your ideas are passionate. But based on my understanding and what I’ve seen in your portfolio, you have never attended any design-intensive environments. The type of work we take on requires a rigorous understanding of spatial dynamics, structural engineering, and historical theory. For someone...such as yourself, I haven’t seen any such credentials. Why is that?"
Putting it nicely, he was saying she didn’t qualify. Sweat formed on Cassie’s palm, but she remained outwardly composed.
She sat up straighter in her chair, hand gripping the bag sitting on her lap even tighter than before. "I’m aware I haven’t learned in such an environment, but I know how to look at space and choose what works. You’ve seen it from the drawing."
He raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
She opened her portfolio, finding a drawing to describe. "Look at this. This is a design reminiscent of a high-roller suite in a casino. If you ask a traditional architect, they’ll tell you it needs a bed, sitting area, and a view. MY design integrates a private gaming nook next to the panoramic window. The lighting I’ve imagined," she moves to another page, touching specific points, "mimics golden hour. It gives the player the feeling as if time has stopped. It makes them nostalgic; they feel young. Once they feel young, they want to play. They have been caught in the emotion of their youth and spend more."
The man glanced at the page. Cassie couldn’t understand his expression; it was unreadable. She bit the inside of her cheek.
"And what about the materials? Based on your schematic, it required brushed brass and smoked glass. That’s a bit costly, don’t you think?"
"The cost would never outweigh the gain. As long as it is marketed well, the concept will work," Cassie countered. "The brushed brass catches the ambient light and scatters it. This way the room will feel warmer. The smoked glass adds depth. When they look in the glass, they see themselves and the opulence around them. It’s not about the materials; it’s about the visual."
The man leaned back in his chair. His gaze held now warmth, and a condescending smirk touched his lips. "You have an intuitive view. It’s admirable. But the clients we deal with don’t want intuition. They want guarantees, they want results. They want to see qualified individuals who actually know what they’re doing. They don’t need fanciful ideas; they need to see people who have the qualifications and standards they need."
Cassie’s jaw tightened. She hadn’t expected that after all her explanations, this would be the result. The contempt in this man’s eyes was growing by the second.
"My designs aren’t fanciful. They work. Regardless of where I went to school, they are good designs."
He tapped the desk, eyes hooded. His finger flicked the portfolio, forcing it to slide off the table. Cassie caught him. Her fingers tightened around the portfolio, and she lowered her eyes.
"Maybe, but in this industry being a good designer doesn’t mean much. This industry needs people who have done their due diligence. We can’t put a self-taught designer on a fifty million dollar luxury bid. The liability is staggering. No one would be willing to stick their neck out for someone with no experience.
Your concepts are striking, I will admit that, but without the credentials and pedigree, they’re at most... a dream. Some might go as far as to say they’re doodles. And let me tell you the honest truth in all this, Miss Collins, so you don’t waste your time interviewing elsewhere.
The only reason you received this interview was because of a clerical error. It was also our oversight that you did not receive a notice of cancellation. But I can assure you, no matter what firm you go to, they will never accept you."
He stood up, a sign that the interview had ended.
"I wish you the best of luck if you decide to apply to... a server position. I believe something like that would be more suited to your...references."
Cassie held down her head. Her eyes were red. She didn’t want this man to see how much he had affected her. She bit her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. The metallic taste filled her mouth.
Releasing a ragged breath, she willed herself not to cry. She didn’t say a word. Licking the corner of her lip to remove the blood, she stood and met her gaze. Her eyes were as hard as steel.
She refused to let him see how much she was affected. She met his eyes and walked out without saying another word. Her hand gripped the portfolio until her knuckles turned white.
Getting into a taxi and made her way home. She didn’t cry. She refused to cry. She kept repeating to herself that she was fine. She arrived at the apartment, paid the driver, and walked up the stairs.
The click of her heel sounded in the empty corridor. Her body must have realized she was home because her breathing came out in ragged breaths. She made her way to the door and fumbled around with the keys.
Her hand shook so much she couldn’t open the door.
"Stupid door. Open!" She pounded on the door; tears fell as she rattled the handle. The keys slipped from her fingers, and she sank to the ground.
She kept telling the door to open, but it wouldn’t move. Whether other neighbours heard no one was sure, but Max, who was right next door, definitely heard.
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