I have come for a job interview. The offices are massive, modern and right in the heart of London. The company is called CDE Publishing Ltd, their email said that they produce magazines and periodicals, but I am not entirely sure what kind. I searched on Goggle for more information about them but could not find anything and their website was exclusively for paying members only. I feel a bit at a disadvantage, but conclude that anyone who comes for a job here will feel the same.
I sit in the reception area waiting to be called in and the young man behind the desk keeps catching my eye. He is very handsome and I smile nervously at him. He returns my smile, yet there is an expression in his eyes that I do not recognise. His attention is making me a little uncomfortable. I wring my hands together to stop them from shaking. I really need this job. I have been sending out my C.V., letters and emails for 18 months now, and this is the first interview I have been invited to. My credit card bill has got so high and my bank balance so low, that I dare not even open the letters they send me anymore. I'm desperate.
The phone on the young man's desk rings and he answers it. I look the other way; I would hate him to think I was listening in on his conversation. "Mr Davis and Mr Campbell, will see you now," he announces, snapping me back from my day-dream. "Third door on the left." He points a manicured index finger down a long, wide corridor.
I thank him, stand and head off in the direction he indicated. I'm conscious of him watching me as I walk towards the door. I can feel his gaze burn into my back. I am almost glad when I reach my destination, I am eager to be out of his line-of-sight. I knock on the heavy door and a deep voice behind it bids me to enter.
I open the door and step inside a spacious, plush office. Two men are sitting behind a huge wooden desk at the far end of the room. The air is cooler in here, but I can still feel that my panic is causing my skin to flush.
"Good morning," the blonde man on the right greets me, "Please, do come and take a seat. Can we get you anything, tea, coffee, water?"
"No, thank you," I splutter. Lowering my gaze I walk as quickly as I can over the deep, cream carpet.
I reach the desk and sit in the vacant seat in front of it, only then do I raise my eyes and look at the men sitting behind it. Both of them are incredibly handsome. They are older than I am, possibly thirty, and they look very important and distinguished. I am instantly attracted to them equally. Both men are wearing crisp white shirts and blue ties; they smile coolly at me but do not utter a single word.
In the few moments of silence, I feel very self-conscious and shuffle nervously in the chair, I want to bite my lip to stop it trembling, but I know I cannot. I muster all my strength, and will my body to be still.
"Are you okay Miss Bowen?" the blonde man on the right asks.
"Yes, sorry," I spurt, "I'm just a little nervous. I have not had an interview in such a long time. I will be okay." The fact that I am able to string a sentence together steadies me. I sense my body relax instantly, I can talk and therefore I am in with a chance of getting the job.
"Good," the brown haired man on the left says firmly. "I am Robert Davis and this is my associate David Campbell. You got our email, detailing the position, salary, working hours and holidays?"
"Yes," I smile. I cannot help look at his eyes, they are the clearest blue I have ever seen.
"And, these are acceptable for you?" He smiles, and I drop my eyes, immediately. I'm excruciatingly aware that I have been staring at him.
"Yes Mr Davis," I stammer, beyond embarrassment.
"Good. But please call me Robert. We were very impressed with your C.V. and grateful that you attached a picture. You are just the right kind of person we are looking for here at CDE Publishing."
His words are like music to my ears. After so many rejections, I am astounded that someone would even consider giving me a job, it does not feel real. I feel myself blush, but it is relief and not anxiety that brings the colour to my cheeks.
"Do you think that the hours and pay would be acceptable?" David asks.
"Yes." I have been struggling for so long on benefits; I can hardly believe someone is almost offering me a salary.
"Good," Robert interjects, "and you are aware of what we do here at CDE?"
Suddenly I'm lost for words, "I know that you are a publishing house," I offer weakly.
"Well, that's a good start," Robert continues smiling broadly. "Do you know what kind of material we publish?"
"No," I answer, feeling the job slipping through my fingers.
"Good," Dave states.
I look across at him, confused. "If you knew then we are not doing our job properly," he explains.
"Oh." I'm not sure what to say, and only realise I have made a sound when it reaches my ears.
"Allow me to enlighten you, Miss Bowen," Robert begins. "Here at CDE we publish material of a highly erotic nature. Our members pay a fee to be part of this organisation, and as such, we allow them to a certain extent, to direct what we do and where we go with our material. Do you understand?"
