HR, it turned out, was a liar.

Not a malicious liar. Not even a particularly creative one. Just the kind of liar who said, “They’re ready for you now!” and then immediately abandoned Risa in the lobby like an emotionally fragile houseplant.

Amanda’s heels clicked away toward the elevators. Risa followed for exactly three steps before Amanda turned and said, “Oh—actually, they’re running just a bit behind. Why don’t you have a seat, and Brad will come get you?”

A bit behind.

Risa glanced at the time.

9:31 a.m.

She smiled politely, nodded like a functional adult, and sat back down in the same chair she had just escaped. Her knee began bouncing immediately, as if trying to tunnel its way out of the building.

The lounge looked different now that she had been in it twice. Less mysterious. More judgmental. A woman walked by with a latte and glanced at Risa with mild curiosity, the way people looked at dogs tied up outside stores.

I belong here, Risa told herself. I am employed in spirit.

She scrolled through her phone, pretending to read emails she had already read six times. She checked LinkedIn again, just in case Brad’s face might magically appear on her screen like a wanted poster.

9:38.

Okay. Fine. Delays happened. She was Filipino. Waiting was practically genetic. She’d survived late family parties where “we’re leaving now” meant “someone is still frying lumpia.”

9:42.

Her politeness began to crack.

If I were late, she thought, I would be dead.

At 9:45, a tall man strode into the lounge with the confidence of someone who had never once worried about being late in his life.

“Risa?”

She stood immediately. “Yes! Hi.”

“Brad,” he said, extending a hand. He was white, tall, and looked exactly like someone named Brad should look: pressed button-down, neutral expression, vague aura of management. The handshake was firm but not aggressive, like he’d learned it in a leadership seminar.

“Nice to meet you,” Risa said.

Likewise, her internal monologue was less gracious.

Oh, so time is fake now.

“Sorry about the wait,” Brad added casually, already turning toward the hallway.

“Not a problem at all,” Risa lied, following him with practiced enthusiasm.

They walked into a glass-walled meeting room that smelled faintly of dry erase markers and ambition. Brad gestured for her to sit while he connected his laptop to the monitor.

“We’ll have Rachel join us as well,” he said, clicking around.

The screen flickered, then split. A woman appeared, adjusting her camera.

She looked young. Like… actually young. Risa clocked it immediately—the clear skin, the casual confidence, the energy of someone who hadn’t yet been emotionally crushed by Excel.

“Hey!” the woman said brightly. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” Risa said, smiling. “Hi.”

“I’m Rachel,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”

Rachel had dark hair pulled into a low ponytail and wore a simple blouse. Something about her presence felt relaxed but sharp—like she knew exactly what she was doing and didn’t need to prove it. The accent was subtle but there, Latin American in a way that made Risa instantly more comfortable.

Brad cleared his throat. “Alright, let’s get started. Risa, I’m Brad. I’m the Director of Operations here at Shizz Company.”

Shizz, Risa repeated mentally. I am going to work at a place called Shizz.

“We’re a relatively small operations team,” Brad continued. “There are four of us total. Rachel here is one of our analysts.”

Rachel waved.

“We also have another analyst, Fred,” Brad said. “He’s been with us since the beginning—part of the founding family.”

Risa nodded.

Ah, she thought. A nepo baby.

She pictured Fred immediately. Polo shirt. Company logo. A strong opinion about things he didn’t actually do.

The interview began in earnest.

“So,” Brad said, folding his hands. “Why are you interested in working at Shizz Company?”

Risa activated Answer Number Three. “I’m really excited about the opportunity to work at a growing company where I can make a tangible impact. I love environments where teams work closely together and—”

Because I need money, her brain added helpfully. For food. And rent. And dignity.

Brad nodded approvingly.

“And how familiar are you with our products?” Rachel asked.

Risa smiled, professional and calm. “I’ve done some research, and I really admire the brand’s positioning in the beauty industry. I think it’s really interesting how—”

I have never used this, her brain whispered. I don’t even know where it’s sold.

“What do you know about the company?” Brad asked.

Risa nodded thoughtfully. “Well, from what I’ve learned, Shizz Company is family-founded and focuses on innovative beauty solutions. I understand that operations plays a big role in scaling the business efficiently, and that’s something I’m really excited to contribute to.”

Which was true, in the sense that she had Googled it fifteen minutes before leaving the house.

Brad leaned back slightly. Rachel smiled again.

“Alright,” Brad said. “Let’s move into the technical portion.”

Finally.

This was Risa’s territory. Numbers didn’t judge. Spreadsheets didn’t ghost you.

Brad slid a paper across the table with instructions while Rachel shared her screen. “You’ll have thirty minutes to complete the Excel assessment. Take your time. We’ll step out and reconvene after.”

They disappeared—Brad physically, Rachel digitally—leaving Risa alone with the spreadsheet.

She cracked her knuckles.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s dance.”

The first few questions were easy. VLOOKUPs. Pivot tables. Logical functions. She moved quickly but carefully, double-checking formulas, making sure nothing broke.

This, she thought, I can do.

She felt herself relax, shoulders dropping, confidence creeping back in. This wasn’t a guessing game. This wasn’t vibes. This was skill.

Twenty minutes in, she hit it.

The SUMIF question.

She stared at the screen.

The problem wasn’t impossible. It just… didn’t click. She reread it. Then again. She tried one approach. Wrong. Another. Still wrong.

Her heart rate ticked up.

Okay, she told herself. Breathe. You don’t need perfection.

She made an educated guess, structured the formula as best she could, and moved on. Everything else checked out.

With five minutes left, she reviewed everything once more and sat back.

Done.

When Brad and Rachel returned, Risa straightened immediately, face neutral.

They reviewed her screen silently.

Rachel’s eyebrows lifted.

Brad leaned closer to the monitor.

“Wow,” Rachel said finally. “You did really well.”

Brad nodded. “Honestly, this is the strongest technical assessment we’ve seen so far.”

Risa blinked. “Oh.”

“We’ve interviewed quite a few candidates,” Brad continued. “And your approach was really solid.”

Risa smiled, a genuine one this time. “Thank you.”

They chatted a bit more—about coursework, about how operations interfaced with finance, about what the day-to-day looked like at a fifty-person company where everyone knew everyone.

Brad stood and opened the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

As they reached the lobby, he turned to her. “You should expect to hear back soon. The next step would be a conversation with the CEO.”

Risa froze for half a second.

“The CEO?”

Brad smiled. “Yes. Since we’re a smaller company, you’d be working closely with leadership.”

Risa nodded calmly.

Inside, her brain was doing cartwheels.

THE CEO?
I wore a sweater.
Is that allowed?

“Well,” Brad said, extending his hand again, “thank you for coming in.”

“Thank you so much,” Risa said, shaking it. “I really appreciate the opportunity.”

She walked out of the building in a daze, stepping back into Old York noise and chaos.

She pulled out her phone and texted her mom.

Risa: It went well.
Mom: See? I told you about the sweater.

Risa looked up at the skyline, smiling despite herself.