I take two steps and find myself at the main entrance. I thought it would be harder to find. Glass doors part in front of me, at which there are two decorative trees and a fountain. Rather, not a fountain, but such a thing: water runs along the glass and is highlighted. The air smells of freshness and leather armchairs. Reception is right in front of me. On the left is the hall - Katyukha works somewhere here, but I don’t see her. I should have called her before I went in, but that's okay.

I take a deep breath, trying not to worry. I see an inscription on the wall, the name of the company in English. It is so long that by the fourth word I already forget the first.

“Forever, these capitalists will call the company so that you can’t pronounce it,” I recall the joke of an unknown blogger.

I exhale, close my eyes with my chic cilia and take a step forward.

- Do you have an appointment? - the pleasant voice of a sweet girl, very young.

I open my eyes and see the secretary. Legs from the ears (this is putting it mildly), in these heels she seems to me two meters tall. Fitted skirt in golden color. The same snow-white blouse with a sheen and hair, white, dyed with keratin, do not exist in nature. And the look is bitchy-bitchy. Matte lipstick with a sheen, chic eyelashes, the perfect make-up. I see traces of hyaluronic acid. Here, clearly a beautician or even a surgeon worked. Slightly puffy lips. Not such flat cakes that it’s already disgusting to look at, namely a little bit in moderation. I even like it. And she smells good. In her presence, I feel even worse. Here everything is so sparkling, shiny, and it is in the middle, like a pearl in a mother-of-pearl shell.

- Do you have an appointment? she repeats again. In front of her is a golden iPhone on a glass table. Apparently I pulled her away from a “very important” matter.

“Yes-ah-ah,” I exhale excitedly and look at the badge.

"Secretary Alyona" well, who would doubt it.

- To whom? - I see how she gives me an appraising look, and by the tension in her eyes, I understand that she sees me as a competitor. It's always nice to see this.

- I'm at an interview for a vacancy ... - Damn, what kind of vacancy is there, what kind of vacancy ... just called her neighbor, and now it flew out of my head. And yes, exactly. “SMM,” I say.

“Sit down, I’ll call you now,” she tries to be as friendly as possible. But with all his nature he shows contempt.

“Girl, what a competitor I am to you, you’re young and beautiful, and I’m already“ a lame duck with a broken wing, ”I’m getting a job not to cost my personal life here. I don't have enough doctors. And not on plastic surgeons, as in your case, but on ordinary ones. But for a moment I remember my diagnosis, and I just want to cry, I even stop worrying about the interview.

“And this, by the way, is an idea to distract and not worry. After all, this interview is a breeze."

Alena comes back and looks at me again, looks at my legs for a few seconds, and then rises higher. This is a masculine view of women, well, or bitchy, evaluating. I'm a little behind in such things and forgot what we mean. I haven't met anyone for a long time, I haven't talked to anyone for a long time. Although such ladies are frequenters of the place where I work. It’s just that they don’t look at me as a competitor, but rather as a friend with whom it’s fun to chat. And it’s not fun for me to talk to myself, so I listen to them. For them, it's even better.

“Denis Vladimirovich is on site and ready to receive you,” she will inform me, and my heart instantly sinks into my heels, like in an exam. I take a deep breath and try to calm down. - Come on ... those. - She just tried to talk to me on "you", but apparently professional ethics does not allow it.

“Thank you, thank you,” I smile, and I don’t know why I thank her. I'm so worried that I'm trembling like an aspen leaf, my lower jaw is even trembling and my teeth are chattering, it's good at least quietly.

Neither alive nor dead, I approached the director's office.

“Denis Vladimirovich,” I read on the sign to remember his name. Just in case, it might help. I take another deep breath and close my eyes, and then the door opens and in front of me is him. No matter how much Katyukha says how perfect he is, he is even better at life. A strict suit without a tie, the top button on the shirt is undone. Light, barely noticeable unshaven, short pitch-black hair, the same black expressive eyebrows. Volitional chin. His face is as if carved from granite or marble. He himself is so tense, focused, as if preparing for a blow. Lips are slightly full. But only slightly, and the eyes, so bright, gray and piercing, you want to drown in such.

I look at him and I'm afraid to even breathe. It seems to me that I have already flowed, how long have I had a man.

In these heels, I'm only half a head shorter than him, but he seems to me so huge, tall, slender, broad-shouldered. And under his jacket, a mighty torso, biceps and, ideally, an eight-pack abs are guessed.

Are you for an interview? He looks me over from head to toe with his predatory gaze. And out of habit of all men, the look at my legs is delayed a little longer. - Come on.

‍​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌‍

It seems to me that only one muscle twitches on his handsome face for a millisecond when I see something like a smirk. But after a moment, he again became severe and formidable.

"Mommy, I'm scared, I'm afraid of him."

“Come in, come in, don’t stand,” he says to me in “you”, does not want to be tactless. He is such a gentleman, unlike his secretary Alena, who just about poked me here.

I flap my cilia and cast an appraising glance at Alyonka. Damn, they're the perfect couple, I can just imagine them walking down the aisle. What am I doing here?

“You get a job, you fool,” I bring myself to my senses.

Denis Vladimirovich does not move, and I see how tense every muscle of his perfectly athletic body is.

He moves a chair for me, and he returns to his workplace at a huge oak table.

A couple of seconds of silence, I think I even hear this obsessive squeak of silence in my ears. I just need to get out of my stupor, but only at the same time I don’t want to look stupid. I force myself to take two steps, and at the same time I control my every movement, every breath. If only you didn’t stumble and fall on these “Louboutins”, if only you didn’t accidentally push something and break it, there’s too much here: some kind of vases, a huge wooden globe, antiques, books. It is immediately obvious that the owner of the cabinet has his own unique taste.

I go to the chair and sit down in it, instinctively pulling the skirt down to my knees, unsuccessfully trying to hide them. Although, if you think about it, I would like them not to be visible - I would put on a longer skirt. But Katya advised me to go to this one. I squeeze my legs, open my mouth, like I was going to say something, but I forgot what, and I look at him frightened.

“Resume,” Denis says without looking up from his papers and holds out his hand to me, not even looking in my direction. And I see what kind of watch he has on. Ulis Nardin. Maybe it's not the original, it's just that the original costs more than my car ... Yes, I know not only Rolexes, I'm smart.

“Now,” for some reason I open my purse and remember that I don’t have any resume. Che-yo-yo-rt, well, why am I stupid so at the wrong time.

“You should have it…” I swallow.

Then he raises his eyes and looks at me attentively. And I can’t even breathe under the “sight” of his piercing blue eyes.

- Do you have a copy with you? To me not to look, is a reasonable question.

“Yes, yes,” I swallow and take a deep breath, trying to calm down. I must have left it in the car. I try to put on a smile, but it doesn't work. Well, I got locked up. He hypnotized me like a boa constrictor. If he tells me now: “Undress,” I will undress, even if the door to the office is open. If he says "on your knees," I will obey. These thoughts make me even excited. Lord, why did you create such men so that now I would think about him and suffer?

“Okay,” he presses a button on his laptop. - Alena, come in.

Almost instantly, the door opens and this arrogant blonde appears in the office. Alyonka, like a top model, defiles around the office, shaking her hips, approaches the table and erotically bends over it.

“Yes, Denis Vladimirovich,” she says languidly.

And he still sits and not a single muscle flinches, like Stirlitz, like James Bond.

“We have a resume…” He turns to me and tries to remember my name.

“Yulia,” I say, but I immediately correct myself. - Julia Savash.

“Yes, Savas,” my future (I hope) boss will repeat. “I think I saw it in our papers.

“I’ll look,” Alyonka hangs over the table. She is so diligently making eyes at him that I myself would have slept with her (just kidding, of course, I hate bitches).

Alena turns around and leaves, swinging her hips invitingly. Her skirt is even shorter than mine (well, here, but I was worried, there, probably, such a dress code). But Denis Vladimirovich does not even look after her. Instead, he glares at me, causing me to flutter my eyelashes and look down.

- SMM, right? - He clarifies the vacancy, apparently deciding to conduct an interview without a resume.

“Yes, yes,” I nod. I'm less worried, a little more used to it. And it's pretty nice here, and not as scary as I thought a minute ago.

- Education? He looks like he's doing an interrogation. And I, under the gaze of his bottomless eyes, simply cannot lie. He looks straight into my soul, and everything inside me trembles and froze.

- Higher - I should have finished here, but I'm honest. “Unfinished…” I lower my eyes shyly. Looks like I already failed that stupid interview. Why did I just come here? What for?

Why unfinished? Are you learning, baby? - I like this appeal to me on “You”, especially in his performance. It's like I'm a princess at a ball at some fairy-tale king or prince.

- I left the institute and got married and ... - I don’t know how to talk about it. - And she went on academic leave for pregnancy.

He sees that I'm worried and pours water from the cooler next to the table into a perfectly clean crystal glass.

“Thank you,” I took a few sips.

So are you family? - one can feel a barely perceptible human warmth in his words.

“No,” I shake my head. I'm divorced and don't have a child. - I'm so embarrassed now. I pick up the glass again and take another sip.

- Work experience ... - knicks. This is another question that I would lie to, but ... that's exactly what but ... I look him straight in the eyes and answer the truth.

- There is no experience, but I studied well, I'll figure it out ... - but he does not let me finish.

- No experience at all, or have you worked somewhere? He furrows his brows. And I have from this inside increasingly direct shudders.

“Why is he so handsome, why is he so perfect? Why is this all for me? God. Have you decided to make fun of me?" I feel sorry for myself again. It was like I saw a life that I would never have.

- I worked in a nail salon ... - from this cop, my interview can be considered officially failed.

He leans back in his chair and listens carefully to me. And I don't know what to say anymore.