can feel my cheeks blush.
"So," he starts. "What brought you here, Miss Storm?"
I gulp. My counselor , would be the honest answer. But of course I cannot say that. What on earth am I doing here? I know I don't want this job. I have no idea about PR, I don't fit in here. And I wouldn't feel comfortable to work for someone like him anyways.
So, I just say it. "My counselor."
He laughs. A well controlled chuckle, very professional. Something I have never managed to do. I either don't react at all or burst out in a childish giggle that is hard to stop once started.
"Your counselor, huh?" he asks. "Could you tell me a little more about that?"
I look at him, absolutely aware that my cheeks must have changed to that treacherous red color I loathed so much. There is no make-up in the world that could hide the blood rushing to my face every time I was embarrassed - or drunk.
"I'm sorry," I say. "That wasn't very... erm, I am just a little surprised. I hadn't realized that you were... you."
You were... you ? Brilliant. I should just excuse myself and leave the room. There is nothing to win in here.
He seems to enjoy my brainless stuttering, though. His smile has widened with every stupid syllable that has left my mouth.
"I am me," he finally says. "Sorry to surprise you, Miss Storm."
I frown, unsure what to reply. This is a joke. And why does he keep mentioning my name? It's like something he has learned in business school. Unnatural. Intimidating.
"The thing is," I say. "My counselor wants me to go job hunting - so do my parents."
"Yes?" he asks. "You're about to be done with your Bachelor's, right?"
I nod.
"So," he continues. "Doesn't it make sense to go look for a job? Isn't that what people do?"
Again, I nod, but hesitantly this time. "Sure."
He leans forward, placing his elbows on the desk he looks at me intensively. "But, it's not what you want?"
I shake my head. "No. I'd like to go to Graduate School. Get my Master's and maybe even a Doctorate."
He shrugs. "What's stopping you?"
I look up and catch his gaze. These weirdly captivating eyes. His expression is stern, but not unfriendly.
"Money," I say eventually. "My parents can't afford it - and it doesn't look like I can get the scholarship I applied for."
Why am I telling him this? Isn't this supposed to be a job interview?
"I see," he says, without taking his eyes off me. "That's unfortunate."
Yeah, and something you probably never had to worry about , I think.
"I don't know if our internship program pays well enough for you to save money for school, though," he says. "If that's what you're planning to do."
I look down at my hands and study the nervous fiddling of my fingers. "No, that's okay."
"So, what do we do now?," He asks. "I don't see why I should waste my time with someone who doesn't want to be here."
I look up, shaking my head apologetically. "I am sorry! I completely understand."
Again, I can't help but glance at the photos behind him. For a moment I wonder, if he might have taken them himself. If he knew his way around Shibari . I shiver at the thought of him handling rope. I bet he knows how to tie the knots just right, not too lose, not like luggage on the roof of a car...
"Do you like them?" he asks, interrupting my stream of thoughts. I jump in surprise and look at him - my cheeks fiery red, my eyes widened in embarrassment.
"I'm sorry, I didn't..."
"Why do you keep apologizing for yourself?" he asks. "That's a bad habit you should get rid of."
"Um... okay."
"So? Tell me what you think of the pictures?" he repeats his question. "You have obviously noticed them more than once. I would like to hear what you think."
I nod and have a closer look at the pictures. He is observing me while I do, which does not make it easier for me to give him an answer.
"I like them," I simply say. "Very artistic and beautiful."
He smirks. "Yeah? You wouldn't say inappropriate or perverted?"
I shake my head in protest. "Inappropriate... maybe,
"So," he starts. "What brought you here, Miss Storm?"
I gulp. My counselor , would be the honest answer. But of course I cannot say that. What on earth am I doing here? I know I don't want this job. I have no idea about PR, I don't fit in here. And I wouldn't feel comfortable to work for someone like him anyways.
So, I just say it. "My counselor."
He laughs. A well controlled chuckle, very professional. Something I have never managed to do. I either don't react at all or burst out in a childish giggle that is hard to stop once started.
"Your counselor, huh?" he asks. "Could you tell me a little more about that?"
I look at him, absolutely aware that my cheeks must have changed to that treacherous red color I loathed so much. There is no make-up in the world that could hide the blood rushing to my face every time I was embarrassed - or drunk.
"I'm sorry," I say. "That wasn't very... erm, I am just a little surprised. I hadn't realized that you were... you."
You were... you ? Brilliant. I should just excuse myself and leave the room. There is nothing to win in here.
He seems to enjoy my brainless stuttering, though. His smile has widened with every stupid syllable that has left my mouth.
"I am me," he finally says. "Sorry to surprise you, Miss Storm."
I frown, unsure what to reply. This is a joke. And why does he keep mentioning my name? It's like something he has learned in business school. Unnatural. Intimidating.
"The thing is," I say. "My counselor wants me to go job hunting - so do my parents."
"Yes?" he asks. "You're about to be done with your Bachelor's, right?"
I nod.
"So," he continues. "Doesn't it make sense to go look for a job? Isn't that what people do?"
Again, I nod, but hesitantly this time. "Sure."
He leans forward, placing his elbows on the desk he looks at me intensively. "But, it's not what you want?"
I shake my head. "No. I'd like to go to Graduate School. Get my Master's and maybe even a Doctorate."
He shrugs. "What's stopping you?"
I look up and catch his gaze. These weirdly captivating eyes. His expression is stern, but not unfriendly.
"Money," I say eventually. "My parents can't afford it - and it doesn't look like I can get the scholarship I applied for."
Why am I telling him this? Isn't this supposed to be a job interview?
"I see," he says, without taking his eyes off me. "That's unfortunate."
Yeah, and something you probably never had to worry about , I think.
"I don't know if our internship program pays well enough for you to save money for school, though," he says. "If that's what you're planning to do."
I look down at my hands and study the nervous fiddling of my fingers. "No, that's okay."
"So, what do we do now?," He asks. "I don't see why I should waste my time with someone who doesn't want to be here."
I look up, shaking my head apologetically. "I am sorry! I completely understand."
Again, I can't help but glance at the photos behind him. For a moment I wonder, if he might have taken them himself. If he knew his way around Shibari . I shiver at the thought of him handling rope. I bet he knows how to tie the knots just right, not too lose, not like luggage on the roof of a car...
"Do you like them?" he asks, interrupting my stream of thoughts. I jump in surprise and look at him - my cheeks fiery red, my eyes widened in embarrassment.
"I'm sorry, I didn't..."
"Why do you keep apologizing for yourself?" he asks. "That's a bad habit you should get rid of."
"Um... okay."
"So? Tell me what you think of the pictures?" he repeats his question. "You have obviously noticed them more than once. I would like to hear what you think."
I nod and have a closer look at the pictures. He is observing me while I do, which does not make it easier for me to give him an answer.
"I like them," I simply say. "Very artistic and beautiful."
He smirks. "Yeah? You wouldn't say inappropriate or perverted?"
I shake my head in protest. "Inappropriate... maybe,
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