I sighed in relief as I finished painting the last toenail. How many people can say they paint their toenails before an interview?

Probably lots, actually...

I quickly waddled to the bathroom, hoping not to get any polish on my floor in the process and began checking my hair in the mirror to make sure that every piece of my medium-length dark brown hair was curled to perfection. I made sure to also hairspray the ends a little more because this Texas humidity is no joke.

Trying not to obsessively check my makeup once more, the anxiety wouldn't let me not obsess over the fact that one of my eyeliner wings was slightly longer than the other, but I pushed the feeling away because at least they were the same shape.

I stared at my eyes for a few more seconds before I gave up and hoped that no one would be able to notice.

Walking back into my bedroom, I sat on the foot of my queen-sized bed and touched my toenails to make sure they were dry before I slipped on my black high heels.

I stood and walked over to the full-length mirror on the outside of my closet door, running my hands down the sides of my torso to smooth any wrinkles in my dark red v-neck long sleeve blouse.

I paired the top with a black high-waisted leather pencil skirt that stopped just above the knee with a small cut on the outside of my right thigh.

Knowing I looked a little more sexy than professional, I hoped that whoever was conducting my interview today would appreciate the effort I put into this outfit. It was edgy but still appropriate, I felt.

Anxiety hit me hard in the gut, almost like an alarm, and I made the final few adjustments to my outfit: a small gold band around my wrist and a pair of onyx earrings lined with diamonds to match the necklace that currently lay on my chest accentuating my very tasteful cleavage.

′You look good, kid.'

I let out a sigh and grabbed my keys before stepping out the door, locking it behind me, and walking to the elevator.

Once I had made it down to the parking garage and located my car, I slipped inside, turned the key and checked the clock on the dash. I had 15 minutes to make it to the interview.

***

I pulled up to the building with about five minutes to spare, stepped out, and handed my keys to the valet before making my way inside.

The double glass doors opened, revealing a large lobby with a white ceiling and white marble flooring. The walls were made of a rich milk chocolate-colored wood and off to the left sat a small lounge area with a few white cushioned armchairs all centered around a black marble coffee table.

On the far side of the lobby stood a glossy black marble counter with a chipper looking young brunette on the other side who, as I walked closer, had a name tag that read 'Dariah'.

"Hi, welcome to Blackstone Incorporated. How may I help you," she asked with a smile that didn't quite meet her eyes.

She seemed friendly enough but she had a face that would make one question whether this person was sincere or not.

"I'm here for an interview. The person I spoke with over the phone about the ad, Marie I believe, didn't specify who I was interviewing for, but that I should come at this time," I said hesitantly, the statement coming off more like a question.

"Ok, that's great. Your name, please," she asked, her fingers poised and ready over the keyboard.

"Genevieve Carlyle," I bit my lip and my hands were shaking with the anxiety coursing through my veins. Sure, I've had jobs before --flash back to the dingy fast food restaurant in high school-- but this would be my first real 'big girl' job and I wanted this interview to go off without a hitch.

One of Dariahs' perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose and she slid a sticky notepad and a pen over the counter.

"Spell that out please," she said with what looked to be a sneer but I was probably mistaken. As I wrote my name down, I really hoped Dariah wouldn't be the mean girl at this job.

Handing her back the notepad and pen, she began typing for a moment, leaving me to note the small bits of decoration around the lobby such as the lamps on either end of the counter, a plant on the coffee table, and various different styled lighting apparatuses on the ceiling.

Her scribbling a number on a sticky note and holding it out to me took my attention away from the immaculate interior design of the building, "Take this. Press 25 and then punch in this code," she stated.

She looked me up and down and up again before she finished with, "And good luck, Miss Carlyle."

I took the sticky note with a shy smile and assumed she meant that I was to take the elevator so I walked, and tried not to trip, as confidently as I could to the far wall and pressed the button.

When the elevator arrived and I stepped on, I could feel my hands shake in anticipation of the unknown.

'Breathe kid, you got this.'

I inhaled and exhaled deeply, willing my stomach to stop knotting up as the elevator stopped on floor number four and a slim, short-haired blond man with a phenomenal jawline stepped on, grinned, and said, "Hey, you must be new. The names Jeremy, and you are?"

He stuck his hand out for me to shake after he pressed the number 12 button. I blushed and put my hand in his and shook, "Genevieve, but please call me Gen. How did you know I was new?"

"Well, Gen, you have that big doe-eyed look like this place hasn't sucked the life out of you yet," he smirked and leaned against the elevator wall.

"Is it really that bad," I asked in feigned surprise.

"It's not all bad, I guess."

His eyes raked over my figure, and I felt my cheek turn a darker shade, but his face quickly fell as his eyes got to my waist. He pointed to the sticky note in my hand at my side, "Is there a six-digit code on that," he asked and stood up straight.

"Uh, yeah...why," I questioned.

He took one last look at my face and then turned his body to the doors of the elevator, "Good luck, Gen."

I could feel my body quite literally start sweating as my heart began racing, "What do you mean 'good luck'? Why does everyone keep saying that? Who's on the 25th floor?"

He chuckled and softly said, "You'll see," as the elevator stopped on his floor.

When the doors shut behind him, leaving me alone again, I had a sudden realization that I might just be in over my head.

But I only had 13 more floors to go.