Formerly Fingerman by Joe Nelms

advertising. The walk through Red Light to Geoff’s office had been a luxurious indulgence. The supporting staff there were different from the ones at Overthink, and yet so very much the same.
    Hello skinny-jeans-chunky-glasses-web-designer-guy. Hi super-casual-account-exec-who-still-looks-like-an-uptight-suit-in-his-jeans-guy. What up, secretly-ambitious-asexual-intern. Oh, we’ve never met, but I know you all too well. And I already love you.
    True to their archetypes, no one had said a word or cracked a smile as Brad passed by. Fine with him. It felt good just to be back in the hive. He’d win the other bees over later.
    Geoff looked up and smiled.
    â€œGreat people at Overthink. Shame about the lawsuit.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œThey still have that little blonde receptionist?”
    â€œActually, she was the one that sued.”
    â€œBoy, she was a real piece of ass.”
    â€œWell . . . yeah.”
    Geoff continued to smile at Brad the way retirees stare at grandchildren before offering some freshly baked cookies or admitting they don’t recognize them.
    He was taking Brad in. Twenty-five years of interviewing people had made Geoff believe that he was a pretty good judge of character. He wasn’t. He had passed on several of the brightest candidates to come through his office for reasons as simple as a stray collar (not organized), a makeup covered zit (what else is she hiding?), and a Boston accent (you can’t trust foreigners). Many of these candidates had gone on to great success at Geoff’s competitors, but he was enough of an egomaniac to ignore this trend. He believed in his gut. Forget Golden Pencil awards, recommendations from friends, amazing portfolios. He looked into a person’s eyes.
    He was, after all, the mind behind the Actually, that is a banana in my pocket Moxoto mobile phone campaign. He knew what it took to be great.
    Geoff found Brad’s eyes to be particularly revealing. He sensed what he thought at first was a deep and profound desperation. A lost soul in need of approval. A man who was giving life one last chance before visiting a bridge and telling some passing stranger “It’s not worth it anymore.”
    The only thing was, Brad wasn’t sweating. Not a drop. Not like a desperate man should be. Geoff always turned the heat up for interviews. He thought it was a swell way to see how candidates handled pressure. An imposed anxiety. It was a great means of scaring up the highly resonant fumes of loser. But this Brad fellow was having none of it. Geoff started to question his initial judgment. Perhaps that wasn’t desperation in Brad’s eyes. He looked again and revised his original assessment. Well, well, well. This kid is a cold-blooded killer. Ice in his veins. Exactly who Geoff was looking for. After all, that’s what marketing was all about. The testicular fortitude of a veteran lion tamer. The oversized cashews of Seal Team 6. Stuttering John–caliber cajones. Someone who could look a client in the face and tell them, “You’re wrong and I’ll prove it to you.” It was maybe the worst way to handle an account, but Geoff had been rewatching the entire run of Mad Men and was considering a change in the way his company did business.
    Brad had prepared for every possible question Geoff could have asked. The one thing he didn’t prepare for was silence. Thank God he had remembered to put his cell phone on vibrate. A call going off in this vacuum would sound more obnoxious than farting while having your pants tailored. He could not have been more uncomfortable as Geoff continued staring/smiling at him. Was this a challenge? Was Geoff looking for some other response? An offer to set him up with the litigious receptionist, perhaps?
    Finally, Geoff shook himself out of his trance and affected a look that said I care.
    â€œTell me about yourself, Brad.”
    That was all Brad needed. He launched into the