Page 247 of Mario
Or no instinct for self-preservation.
Possibly both.
“You may start on a probationary basis,” I say. “Thirty days. If you find you are not suited for the position, you will let me know. If I find you are not suited for the position, I will say so.”
“I would expect nothing less.”
“Human resources will handle the formal paperwork. You will work directly outside this office. You will have access to information you do not discuss. Under any circumstances.”
“I can handle that.”
“Yes,” I say, studying her. “I suspect you can.”
Something in her expression shifts. I wouldn’t label it relief exactly.
But a small loosening, as if she had prepared herself to be dismissed, doubted, questioned past the point of dignity.
I do not give comfort for free, and I certainly do not give it in interviews.
But I understand pride.
Especially wounded pride.
“I expect punctuality,” I say. “More importantly, honesty. If you do not know something, say so. If you make a mistake, say so before I find out myself.”
“Understood.”
“And Ms. O’Brien?”
“Yes?”
“I do not care who your father is, who you nearly married, or what people in those circles think of your choices. I care whether you can do the work.”
Her throat moves.
For the first time since she walked in, something unguarded reaches her eyes for just a moment.
Then it is gone.
“I can do the work,” she says confidently.
I nod once.
“Good.”
The interview is over.
We both stand.
I come around the desk and gesture toward the door.
I open the door for her.
Ricardo is already coming down the hall.
His attention is on his phone, thumb moving over the screen, but he looks up before he reaches us. He always does this. Ricardo has never walked into a space without knowing who occupies it.
His steps slow.
