confused: a rory and jess fanfic

Seventy Two Hours:

The sweet smell of flowers floats around the room.

The walls are white, and there are large windows all the way down the right side of the room.

The desk that I sit in front of us grey and organized, a jar for pens and pencils, a vase of pink and purple flowers, and some files on the desktop.

The breeze is causing the sheer curtains to fly out farther into the room.

In front of me sits a dark haired man, he can't be older than thirty. He has blue eyes, quite attractive.

He's on the phone, talking with someone. He continues to talk while he scans over a file that he's pulled out from under his desk.

I'm at the job interview that Jennette set up for me.

If I get the job, I'll be helping publish books, reading constantly, and have the opportunity to write articles for the paper that Padelecki Corporations owns. My dream job.

The offices are beautiful and modern, there are computers for writing, there are multiple rooms for books that the staff have to read over to publish.

Padelecki Corp. is a big name, and if I could land myself a job here, I could basically do anything.

I wouldn't be here if it weren't for my connections. Being hired would be the most accomplished I've ever been.

I've heard around town that they have interesting ways of deciding who to employ.

The man, Mr. Ventimiglia puts down his phone.

I feel my hands shaking, out of nerves.
Even though we're already half way through the interview, I don't know what to expect.

"So Ms. Gilmore. You may have heard rumours floating around that we have different ways of deciphering who's skills are more complex, and deciding who we'd like to invite to work for us." He says, stating at me.

When I nod, he nods back, and begins flipping through my résumé.

"So I'm going to start off by saying that this will not be easy, we have designed simply to see who has the most unique writing skill, and the most creative flare to their writing. We want to see only the best books enter the world, and the most well structured articles being published in our paper."

I begin to get even more nervous.

"So, we ask that you write us a book. Can you do that?" He asks.

All my tension and nervousness dissolves.

"Of course. I'm sure I can-" I begin, but I'm interrupted.

"Don't answer too quickly Ms. Gilmore, the catch is..." He leans back in his chair, looking about thirty years older.

"You must complete this stellar novel in seventy two hours."

My mouth falls open. Seventy two hours? To write a novel that has creative flare and uniqueness?

"I'm sorry, did you mean hours? Maybe days? Or weeks? Years?"  I ask , beginning to panic.

"Seventy two hours Ms. Gilmore."

He gets up from his desk, tucking my résumé away.

He opens the door to the office, assuming I'll walk swiftly out.

I stay seated, unsure whether I should even try.

"I hope to see your novel in my inbox by the deadline." He says.

I get up slowly, and walk towards the door.

***********

As soon as I get in the door, I throw my keys on the counter, pull of my shoes, rip off my sweater, grab my phone and my laptop and run to the couch.