THE WRONG GARRETT
1165 Words
THE WRONG GARRETT
This is bad. Like, really bad.
The same Garrett I dumped kitchen grease on, called a broke fraud, and shoved twenty pounds into is the Project Director of BBS.
What type of cosmic coincidence is this?
I'm so dead. I should have just apologized this morning and accepted bankruptcy.
I fix my eyes on my hands, rubbing my thumb over my fingernail as my heart refuses to settle.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Mr. Garrett says as he takes his seat, his voice entirely calm. "First of all, congratulations on making it this far. Today's interview won't just be about qualifications. We're looking for someone who can work under pressure, solve problems, and adapt quickly. Your experience matters, but so does the person behind it." He closes the file in front of him. "So, let's begin."
Mrs. Hayes smiles at the candidate beside me. "We'll ask each of you a few questions about your experience before moving on to situational questions."
The first candidate answers flawlessly, flowing from one corporate buzzword to the next. I hear maybe half of it over the deafening sound of my own heartbeat.
"Miss Ellis?"
I don't move.
"Miss Ellis?"
I look up at the sound of my name. Mr. Donald smiles politely. "If you don't mind, Miss Ellis... could you look up? We'd like to see who we're speaking to."
I slowly lift my head. His gaze settles on me.
For the briefest moment, recognition flickers across his face.
Then, the corner of his mouth lifts into the faintest knowing smile.
“Well then, Miss Ellis," he says evenly, his deep British accent practically dripping with amusement.
Mrs. Hayes adjusts her glasses, completely missing the silent execution. "Tell us a little about your work experience."
I swallow hard. I'm going to lose this job anyway, so I might as well go down swinging. "I completed my internship with a logistics company in Birmingham as an administrative assistant, supporting the branch manager directly."
"So what's your current role?"
"I currently work at a small food service facility."
"And what exactly do you do there?"
"I'm part of the operations team," I reply smoothly, keeping my face deadpan.
"I manage customer requests, coordinate complex orders, work under high-volume pressure, and make sure service runs as efficiently as possible."
Mrs. Hayes looks thoroughly impressed. "Those are all transferable skills."
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Garrett glance up. He lowers his eyes back to the paperwork, but not before the corner of his mouth twitches again. He dips his head, rubbing a thumb lightly across his lips to hide a full-blown laugh.
Thankfully, Mr. Donald continues. "So why BBS?"
"I've always wanted to work in an environment where organization actually matters. I enjoy planning, solving problems before they become bigger problems, and making sure things run the way they're supposed to."
The room falls quiet as Mr. Donald makes a few notes.
From there, the panel dives into a series of rigorous situational questions. They grill us on how to handle sudden corporate emergencies, delicate scheduling conflicts, and costly errors made under pressure. One by one, we all offer our best answers. I keep my answers practical and careful not to slip up under Garrett's heavy stare.
Mrs. Hayes smiles at the three of us. "Well, that concludes today's assessment. Each member of this panel has made their recommendation. Those recommendations will now be forwarded to the President, who will make the final decision. As this role involves serving as his personal secretary, he will ultimately decide who he believes is the best fit.“
Mrs. Hayes stands. "Human Resources will contact the successful applicant. We wish you all the very best."
I step into the corridor and lean heavily against the wall, letting out a long breath. But I don't leave. I stay exactly where I am. A few moments later, the heavy oak door opens and Mr. Garrett steps into the hallway.
"Excuse me... Mr. Garrett?"
He stops. "Miss Ellis."
"Can I have a minute with you?"
He steps closer, fixing his intense gaze on my face.
I swallow hard. "Ermm. I would like to apologize properly….regarding this morning, I'm really sorry."
He regards me quietly.
" For which part, exactly? Miss Ellis. The grease? The accusation that I couldn't afford lunch? Or the twenty pounds you very generously tucked into my pocket?"
Heat rushes straight to my face. “...all of it.“
He takes a step closer, his deep British accent dropping to a cool, sharp edge.
"You know, Miss Ellis, for someone who works with people everyday, you were incredibly quick to judge someone after a three-minute interaction. Surely you were trained better than to let assumptions get in the way of professionalism."
The words hit me like a physical slap. He wasn't questioning my apology. He was questioning the person I'd chosen to be this morning. And this time, I couldn't argue with him.
I drop my gaze, the defensive fire inside me completely dying out.
"You're right." I swallowed. "I really am sorry for all of it.… I genuinely didn't know who you were."
One of his dark brows lifts. "So... had I not been sitting on that panel today, would we still be having this conversation?"
"...That's not what I meant."
"No?"
I rub my forehead, letting my real frustration show.
"Mr. Garrett... I've worked really hard to get here. I earned my place in that room. What happened this morning was completely my fault, but please... don't let something that happened outside this company affect how you judge me professionally. Everything on my resume is accurate."
He glances down at my résumé.
"You described your current role as operations?"
"Yes. I do oversee customer requests and work under high-volume pressure to ensure things run smoothly."
“Would your employer describe it that way?“
I hesitate.
"Miss Ellis... interviews rely on transparency."
"I apologize if it lacked transparency," I counter, narrowing my eyes.
"I just didn't think 'waitress' covered the sheer chaos of everything I actually do."
Something shifts in his expression. "Well, that's certainly... a creative description." He turns to leave.
"Mr. Garrett?" . He pauses, glancing back.
"I just... hope we can leave this morning where it belongs. I'd rather keep personal misunderstandings separate from professional ones."
"Miss Ellis," he says, perfectly composed. "The panel has already submitted its recommendations, and the final decision rests entirely with the President." With a polite nod, he turns and walks away.
I watch him disappear around the corner and let out the deepest sigh of my life. What an unbelievably difficult man. Would it kill him to reassure me?
By the time I finally get home and collapse onto my mattress, every single part of me aches.
Everything depends on tomorrow.
I just have to pray that the President is a reasonable man who values hard work and favours my application.
Either way, it's not in my hands anymore.
- Writer
