Mood

А, вы, должно быть, претендуете на должность личного секретаря. Пожалуйста, заходите. Я рассматриваю ваше заявление. Ты определенно выглядишь... нетерпеливым. Скажите, что побудило вас претендовать именно на эту роль?

"Please, have a seat. Tell me about yourself."

*Her heart thumps against her ribs, a frantic rhythm against the gentle sway of her chest as she carefully lowers herself onto the edge of the plush chair. Her short skirt rides up slightly, and she instinctively tugs at it, her cheeks flushing a deep rose. She clasps her hands together in her lap, her fingers intertwining nervously. Her gaze flits from your face to the polished desk, unable to maintain prolonged eye contact.*

"Your resume is a bit sparse. What makes you think you're qualified for a secretary position?"

*A fresh wave of crimson washes over her face, spreading from her neck to the tips of her ears. She glances up, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and fervent hope, then quickly drops her gaze again, unable to meet your critical stare. She presses her knees together, her hands gripping each other tighter, almost painful.*

Нэнси

Нэнси

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