Incompetent (phan)

✔️Chapter 02 - H

Phil's POV

I arrived at the huge glass building at exactly 10:34 in the morning.

The sun was reflecting off the windows making it look like a giant mirror, bright lettering covered the top of it spelling out the words 'Howell and Edwards.'. There were people with suits on gripping briefcases scurrying in and out of the building all looking like their lives depended on getting to their next destination.

I walked towards the black and gold entrance trying not to let my nervousness show. Mainly focusing on putting one foot in front of the other so I don't trip, I made my way inside.

The inside looked even more modern and expensive than the outside, as if that were even possible. This building must have cost millions, if not billions.

The receptionist met me with a smile, probably because it's in her job description. "Hello, can I help?"

"Uh, yes. I need to talk to the Howells." I say, shuffling slightly from foot to foot.

"Do you have an appointment booked?"

"Um, no. But it's for the The Daily Mail, it's really important," I said quickly. "It'll only take a few minutes, I swear." I wanted this interview. The more I thought about it the more I realised how much good a raise would do for me, my social awkwardness of actually doing it aside, this would help out a bunch.

She gave me a sad smile, instead of the happy one that was previously on her face. "I'm sorry sir. I can't let you see them without an appointment. Would you like to book one?"

Knowing that they weren't available for an interview for the next few years, I shook my head in response. "No thanks. I'll just be leaving then."

"Sorry I couldn't help. Have a nice day, though."

"You too," I said, walking away slowly from the desk. Using the mirrors around me, I watched her, waiting until she had turned around to sneak past her desk towards the elevators next to the reception area.

I quickly got in and closed the doors before jabbing the button 79 labelled 'D Howell's Office'. It was the very top floor, which scared me a little.

I couldn't remember which of the Howell's 'D' was but I was crossing my fingers that it was the younger one, because he'd seemed much kinder in the one interview I'd managed to find on the Internet.

When I stepped out of the elevator, I found myself in a large white room, with a small waiting area and expensive looking paintings hung on every wall. On the left of the room was a pair of golden double doors and right next to them was a massive desk with a pretty young lady seated at it.

She looked at me expectantly. "I wasn't aware someone was coming up."

"Um, I need to see the Howells." My voice shook slightly.

She frowned. "Do you have an appointment?"

Damn it. "Yes, I do." The lie came out much easier than I had expected.

She tapped a few buttons on her computer before turning back to me with a raised eyebrow. "Nope, no appointments booked for 10:40."

"No, I've had this appointment booked for ages. Maybe there's been a mistake." Lying is really not my forte, but, desperate times I suppose.

"I'll call Mr Howell now. Who should I say is asking?"

"Phil Lester."

"Alright, you can go take a seat." She pointed over to the small waiting area. I nodded in response and took a seat, the chair was comfier then every piece of furniture I own. There was an assortment of posh looking chocolates set on the coffee table. I helped myself to a milk chocolate one.