The interviewer arrived early Cats and Mice chapter 3 by aquarelle

It was not Sana. Thank God, it was not Sana. Rose would have recognised her old boss even from just her bottom half; after all, in the last few weeks at Small World she'd barely had the courage to lift her eyes from the floor. No; these legs belonged to someone else. Rose's gaze travelled from the floor and towards the edge of the table: there were fleshy feet clad in glossy white slingback mules, then hard, toned, tan calves, round knees, white skirt; she also glimpsed a sizeable, tote-style purse and a well-manicured hand, nails dipped in crimson, thin ring crowned with a glistening, but humbly sized diamond...

She moved quickly. As Rose stared, the newcomer pushed that giant chair next to the wall, then sat down, inadvertently giving the tiny woman beneath the table a short-lived lewd glimpse of crimson Victoria's Secret underwear. Who was she? The interviewer? Rose forced herself to look at the terminal screen again. She moved the cursor over to her personal messages, scrolled through a list of names and pictures, wincing as she was reminded of all the barely concealed disdain she’d received on LinkedIn. There. The consultancy, Horizonte, was supposed to send someone named Ioana Purcell. Was that her? Rose couldn’t see her face! She scrolled through Ioana Purcell’s LinkedIn profile, agitated, hoping to see full-height pictures, but didn’t come across any as she got through the loaded batch of posts, and then was left staring a little “loading” indicator.

Stupid, stupid. Should have asked in advance: What shoes will you be wearing, Ms. Purcell? Rose returned to the personal messages menu. She typed in: “Hi! Excuse me, may I ask if you’ve there yet”, almost hit send, then caught herself: it was barely past 9:40, so if this wasn’t Ms. Purcell, it’d seem like Rose was hurrying her with no good reason.

Or, worse, it’d read like Rose was going to bail on the interview entirely.

No.

Don’t make a bad impression, Rose.

Got to get the job.

Then it struck her. Marissa! Surely Marissa would do something soon. The coffee shop’s buzzing, and it might take Marissa a second or two, but she’ll come round and point out that the table’s reserved, and then Rose will get her answer. Sure, it feels stupid to just wait here, but, on the occasion that this is the interviewer sitting above her, it’d be best for Rose to make her presence known at 9:55 at the earliest, to show she’s punctual. And if it’s not Ms. Purcell, then Marissa will kick her out soon enough, because she knows Rose’s expecting someone from Horizonte.

Easy!

Rose laughed, feeling relieved. She found it challenging to navigate interactions with normal-sized people, certainly much more so than when she was normal herself. And being unemployed didn’t help. So many people made her feel like a pest begging for scraps. Her brain sometimes went into panic mode over the simplest, everyday encounters with those who were now so much bigger than her. So stupid…

She felt the air rush before she noticed the incoming… not even a shadow, a flicker of light, a change in how bright LED light reflected off the dark floor. Rose looked away from the screen of the terminal just in time to see the woman’s legs, crossed in ankles, swinging forward. Her muscular calves looked hard as marble. The tips of her elegant mules barrelled towards Rose like exotic predators lunging at their prey, smooth leather rising to show worn soles scuffed to a dull mix of grey and brown. The upper foot was high enough off the floor for the tip of the shoe to pass just above Rose, but the lower foot – oh, the lower foot was at just the right height to smash into Rose’s side, sending her a few tiny-feet along the wall. She didn’t even scream she was so shocked at the impact and the dull pain that flared up instantly in her ribs.