It’s a good thing I’ll never see that woman again. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything else.
“Excuse me, Mr. McCord. Sally Hutchinson is on line one for you.”
The voice of the receptionist whose name I can never remember comes through the intercom on the phone on my desk. Irritated by the interruption, I jab my finger onto the speaker button. “Take a message. I don’t have time to talk to her.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but she insisted. She says it’s urgent.”
Sally Hutchinson is the executive headhunter my brother Callum hired to find me an assistant. What could be so fucking urgent? What constitutes a recruiting emergency? The pool of candidates willing to work for the notoriously grumpy Cole McCord suddenly shrunk from zero to minus one?
Irritation makes my tone hard. “I said take a message.”
I can almost see the receptionist wilting in her chair when she responds, her voice going from merely hesitant to downright meek. “Um. It’s about, um, the opening for your assistant? She says she found someone perfect.”
Perfect? Sure. I almost laugh out loud. But as that’s not something I do, I growl instead.
The receptionist whispers, “I’ll take a message, sir,” and hangs up.
If only people obeyed my orders without question, the world would be a much better place.
Shay
The interview process is ridiculous.
And when I say ridiculous, I mean insane.
First, I meet with a junior recruiter at the executive search agency responsible for filling the position. I complete volumes of paperwork. I sign a nondisclosure agreement. I take a barrage of tests. Once those tasks are done, I sit through an hour-long interview.
That’s round one.
Round two consists of another visit to the executive search firm’s office, but this time I interview with a nervous senior recruiter who seems very concerned with my conflict resolution skills. Which basically translates to “In this job, you’ll have to deal with dicks.”
Or one dick in particular, my potential boss.
Round three is another interview a week later, this time with the owner of the firm, a harried woman named Sally Hutchinson who asks me in a dozen different ways how I handle pressure.
“How do you prevent a situation from getting too stressful to manage?”
“How would you respond if your manager gave you negative feedback in front of your co-workers?”
“Can you give me an example of a time you felt overwhelmed at work and what you did to solve it?”
Each time I answer, she peers at me doubtfully from behind her glasses. After a moment of silence, she asks the same question a new way.
She still doesn’t reveal the name of the company I’ll potentially be working for.
Or the name of her client.
What she does do is tell me she’ll send my resume to Mr. Mystery Man for review. If I pass that final hurdle, I can have the job.
“I’ll need to interview with him too, I assume?”
“No,” says Sally, very solemnly.
“But how will we know if it’s a good match? Personality wise, I mean.”
Sally sits back in her chair and removes her glasses. “Ms. Sanders, I’ll be frank with you. I’ve worked in this field for more than thirty years. For fifteen of those years, I’ve owned my own firm. And in that time, I have never had a client as challenging as the gentleman for whom you’d be working.”
“Challenging,” I repeat warily.
“Yes. He’s very demanding. He expects perfection. And he’s brusque to the point of rudeness.”
I say drily, “Sounds like a real charmer.”
“A charmer he is not. But he is a brilliant businessman, and you can learn much from him. If you can endure his personal shortcomings, that is.”
Picturing a crazed man in a business suit throwing a screaming fit in the middle of a meeting, I grimace. “Does he throw things?”
“No.”
“Does he verbally harass people? Call them names, that kind of thing?”
“No. If he were violent or subjected his employees to any kind of harassment, he wouldn’t be a client of mine. But I have met him, and I can tell you that he gives the impression that internally, World War III has erupted, the troops are all deserting their posts, and chaos reigns.”
Thinking of Cole, I smile. “I’ve met someone like that. And I really liked him.”
Sally arches her overplucked brows. “Did you now.”
It’s not a question. It’s a statement of disbelief. But something about the way I spoke must convince Sally that I’m a good match for her client, because a few days later, she calls and tells me the job is mine if I want it. Then she lays a bombshell on me.