The interview had barely begun, and my eye was already twitching. Viktor Ivanovich had once again vanished beautifully from sight, leaving me to deal with everything alone.
One young guy wanted a salary worthy of the most in-demand Hollywood star. The second insisted on a flexible schedule. The third finished me off completely with his question:
“So… can we take home leftover food?”
My head was splitting. Now I couldn’t even understand how I had managed to sort through their resumes. Out of all the candidates, only two were more or less acceptable. One was a middle-aged, slightly overweight man with odd little mustaches. The other was a young guy, about my age. He was fairly quiet, but his answers were more than decent.
Now all that remained was to find out who was better.
The three o
