"So, you work together... somewhere?" I feel a bit confused. "A law firm, maybe?"

Bill doesn't answer. Mark steps forward.

"We do."

"And, if I understand correctly, you might have a position for me."

"Maybe," he answers nonchalantly.

"Great." I smile. "And I really appreciate your help. But I was dead serious about getting a job by tomorrow. Any kind of job. I need money as soon as possible. So, while I'd like to do something meaningful... I don't know. Even if I submit my CV tomorrow, it can be weeks until your firm makes a decision. Or... is it very small?"

"No," says Mark. "It's a large company. Called Warren Group."

"Sounds good," I admit, "but I don't have time to wait for your boss, or recruitment manager, or whatever."

"I own it."

I know I shouldn't stare that hard at him, but I can't help it. He doesn't seem to care, anyway.

"I'm Mark Warren."

He offers me his hand.

I say my real name while shaking it. Not the shortened version, I decided to use for the sake of saving fellow humans from a fourteen syllable long heap of incomprehensible letters. I do it as a revenge. For his flawless performance of playing the fool, while listening to my childish explication of law systems.

He looks properly intimidated. That's good. Maybe I should ask him to repeat it, just in case he wants to contact me later. Or maybe not. That would be unnecessary cruelty.

"You can call me Mira. Mira Miller."

"I understand the Mira part," he says. "Your first name starts like that, right? But Miller is not even close."

I stare at him in disbelief.

"Can you suggest a faintly English-sounding name, that's any closer?"

"Miliaileiaery?"

"That's not a name. That's something you just made up."

"That's what I heard," he says.

"And that's exactly why I use Miller. Anyway. Let's discuss employment. Wanna sit down?"

I realize while asking that I don't have any chairs.

"Okay, I guess not." I shrug. "But I can offer you a glass of water. Is it drinking water, by the way? You know, the one coming from the tap, you just... honestly, I don't know what you've done to it, but it seems working."

"It is," he confirms.

"But only if I find the glasses. All the boxes look the same."

"In that one," he says, pointing at a box, which looks exactly the same to me as the other ones. "With the fragile sign on it."

"Okay." I nod. "But you should be asking the questions. It's a job interview, isn't it?"

Bill clears his throat and states that he's going to wait outside.

Mark sighs. Then he opens the box with the fragile sign and starts to arrange the mugs in the cupboard. I feel a bit puzzled. When he picks up another box and opens it, I'm more than perplexed. It's not the content, there are just some shoes in it. I put them away. The next box is the one with the towels. Then the mismatched cutlery. We work side by side in silence. The small apartment starts to look slightly better.

I find my voice after the sixth box.

"What the fuck are we doing here?" I ask him, trying not to sound hysterical. I'm half-successful at best.

"You need to get ready if you want to start working tomorrow," he says.

"What?! Am I hired? Without a single question?"

"What should I ask?"

"The usual stupid questions." I shrug. "Like strengths and weaknesses."

"Okay. Tell me about your strengths and weaknesses."

"Uh. I can't remember them. It was so long ago since anyone asked. Ah, okay, I got it. I'm fast. I mean, I work faster than anyone. No joke. And I'm able to work very hard. Those are my strengths, right? And for the weaknesses... um... I'm really hard to stress out. That's it."

"That's not a weakness," he states.

"Maybe not. But it can be annoying. For a boss, I mean."

He hums, sounding like he agrees with me. I can't decide for sure, though. If this was a real job interview, not just an absurd conversation I have no idea how and why we've got into, I'd probably care enough to ask. I've attended quite a few job interviews by now, so I really could do better than this. Okay, I was holding them, but still.

"Oh, I remember now!" I point at him.

"What?"

"My weakness. I used to say that I couldn't stand monotony. But that's bullshit. I can stand anything now. It was back when repetitive tasks were my greatest problems."

He shakes his head.

"Tell me a real weakness of yours, and you're hired."

"You know, I was serious with the first one," I tell him. "It's very hard to stress me out. In other words, no one can make me do anything I don't want to. It's annoying to people. Mostly to people with authority. Does it sound like a proper defect now, huh?"

"Then why are you telling me? Instead of the usual stupid answers that people give."

"Because it's true." I smile. "And I can. Without real consequences. I mean, what's the worst you can do to me? Not hire me, and that's it. You won't kill me. You won't beat me up. Probably, even if I give you the urge right now. See, if you don't give me a job, I'm still on a winning streak, because you moved my wardrobe into this heap of junk, called a house, which I'm really grateful for, just for the record. So no, I won't lie. A job is not a good enough reason for me to lie, anymore. Now I have the luxury of telling the truth. I'm high on truth, actually."

I expect some kind of reaction. Other than the nod he gives.

"So you're starting tomorrow. Let's talk about money."