Right Number, Wrong Girl

“I will do that,” I replied, scribbling ‘call whenever’ on the notepad. “Is there anything else?”

“No, that will be all for now, thank you very much. I look forward to hearing from Miss Hopkins.”

“It was lovely to speak to you,” I lied. “Have a lovely day.”

“You, too. Goodbye.”

“Bye!” I hung up and put the phone down, huffing as I threw the pen on top of the notepad.

Now I was running late.

“Balls to it!” I said, yanking the dress up as quickly as I could. It took some manoeuvring, but with the help of the ribbon I’d threaded through the zipper, I was finally able to secure the dress so there would be no random escapes from my boobs.

Thank God for that.

Thanks to the phone call, I had no time to curl my hair like I’d planned, so I had to settle for running the brush through and doing some kind of random updo that was kind of neat.

Ugh. Maybe it wasn’t as neat as I’d like.

I was going to have to start charging Camilla for the time I spent answering the bloody phone.

I quickly grabbed all the things I’d laid out in preparation for the interview, shoving both a copy of my resume and my passport into my bag as I simultaneously slipped my feet into a pair of heels. I had everything I needed except a hefty dose of confidence, but I wasn’t sure this was an appropriate time to start drinking.

I could do that in misery after this interview was over.

Would.

I would do that in misery after this interview.

I rushed out of the flat, locking the door behind me, and down the two flights of stairs. There was no time to wait for the lift—not that my heels meant I was moving any faster than I would be if I were waiting, but it was nice to be proactive.

After making it out of the building, I took a left towards the nearest Tube station and rummaged around for my card so I could get on the next train. I only had a few minutes, and there were far too many people around for me to be able to make it.

I walked down the steps to the underground station, pushing past people in the bustling crowd, and only just managed to make it through to get on the train. I barely managed to get a seat and found myself sandwiched between an unfortunate-smelling gentleman and an old lady who occasionally gave off wafts of Blue Stilton as she snacked on cheese and crackers from a small Tupperware container.

Great.

I was going to smell like I hadn’t showered in six years.

This day couldn’t get any better, could it?

***

“How did your interview go?”

I slammed the door behind me and stared at Camilla, then threw my heel-less shoe on the floor.

She dropped her chin and looked at it. “Oh.”

“Oh.” I tugged off the other heel and dropped my bag, then walked over and dropped myself on the opposite sofa. “Your phone call from the fancy farmer made me late. On the train, I was stuck between two of the smelliest people I’d ever been around in my life, then when I finally get to the interview, I’m told I’m too qualified.”

Camilla swallowed.

“Too qualified!” My voice raised in pitch as I got back up and walked into the kitchen. “To sell fucking clothes! Do you think I care how qualified I am? I need a job! And then, on the way home, I was knobbed about across the bloody tube station like a fucking ping pong ball on methamphetamine!”

“Soph, I’ve told you—”

“I am not going to sponge off you!” I held the wine bottle out in her direction. “It’s bad enough you paid most of the rent on this place when I had a job, never mind everything else you do for me. I need a job, Cam. I need to work and pay my own bills. I know I joke about being your assistant, but shit, I’m getting tempted.”