Behind the Mask
610 Words
The hot splash of coffee stained my sleeve before I even realized someone had collided with me.
I glanced down, prepared to unleash the sharp retort that always came so easily. But the sight that met me made the words still on my tongue.
A young woman knelt on the marble floor, scrambling to gather scattered papers with trembling hands. Her dark hair fell like a curtain around her face, and her voice tumbled out in frantic apologies.
“I'm so sorry!” she stammered, her cheeks flushed with panic.
I studied her for a moment longer than I should have and only to realize it was Elena. The fear in her eyes was raw, but beneath it something else. A fire.
I could have dismissed her with a cold remark. But instead, I simply said, “Careful.” And walked away.
He told himself it was nothing. Just an accident.
But as he entered his office minutes later, preparing for the first interview, the memory lingered.
One by one, the candidates filed in.
They came armed with resumes lined in gold. They boasted about their Ivy League degrees, their influential families, their connections in high places.
The women tried harder, leaning forward, batting painted lashes, their skirts cut high, perfume cloying in the air. One even slid her business card across the desk with a coy smile.
“Get the f**k out before I call security. What do you think this is a brothel?” I shouted at her, and she started crying like i gave a f**k.
I didn't bother hiding my disdain. He cut them off mid-sentence, dismantled their rehearsed answers, made them squirm under his icy stare.
He saw no hunger. No truth. Just ambition dressed in vanity.
By the time they left, some were crying, some fuming. He was already tired of the charade.
Then the door opened again.
And she walked in.
My pulse shifted the moment he saw her. The girl from the lobby, Elena. The one who had spilled coffee on him.
For a fleeting second, surprise flickered in her eyes as she recognized him. But then impressively she steadied herself. She didn’t crumble. She didn’t run.
She sat, clutching her folder, her knuckles white.
The questions began.
At first, her answers were awkward, too careful. She admitted she lacked the degrees others boasted. She admitted her experience was limited.
But as the minutes passed, her voice steadied. She spoke with honesty, with conviction. She didn’t pretend to be someone she wasn’t. She didn’t try to seduce, or to flatter.
Instead, she talked about surviving. About working harder than anyone else. About learning quickly, refusing to give up, no matter how many doors slammed in her face.
I leaned back in my chair, masking the satisfaction curling inside him. She wasn’t polished. She wasn’t perfect.
But she was real.
And in a world where everyone wore masks, her raw honesty was more disarming than he cared to admit.
When it was done, I closed the file slowly, meeting her gaze.
“You’ll report here tomorrow,” I said evenly. “Eight a.m. sharp.”
Her eyes widened, her breath catching. “Did I get the job?”
“Don’t make me regret it,” I replied, my voice flat as stone.
She nearly stumbled to her feet, gratitude spilling from her lips in a rush of thank yous. Her face glowed with relief, her entire body radiating hope.
I kept my expression cold, unreadable, until the door closed behind her.
Only then did he allow himself the smallest of smiles.
Because the truth was undeniable.
Elena Rivera had passed his test.
- Writer
