Allison jumped up and ran to the door. “I’ll get some paper towels.”
“I’mso sorry,” I said in a rush. I stood up, but didn’t know what to do. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “I’m a bleeder.”
“Everyone is a bleeder,” I blurted out. “That’s how blood works!”
Michael blinked at me. “Are you seriously yelling at me after you sliced my hand open?”
“Shit. Sorry for cursing. And sorry for yelling.” I grabbed my purse and began rummaging around. “I have Band-Aids in here somewhere. I cut my hand on the folder earlier.”
“So youknewyou were bringing a dangerous weapon to the interview.”
My eyes were probably as wide as they could open as I stared at him in shock.
“Relax,” he said. “I was joking.”
“I’m sorry.” I found the box of Band-Aids and hurried around the side of the table. “Here, let me help.”
“You really don’t need to do that.”
I peeled off the protective wrapping and grabbed his hand. I was running on panicked instinct at this point. I pressed the Band-Aid horizontally across the gash. “That’s not enough. You’ll need another.”
“Ginny…”
“Two should be plenty, but maybe a third…”
“Ms. Hanover,” he snapped in a voice that commanded attention. “This is not helping.”
I looked down at his hand. The blood covering his palm kept the first Band-Aid from sticking, so it was just sliding around on his skin. I lowered my second Band-Aid helplessly.
Allison returned with a stack of birthday napkins. “We’re out of paper towels, but we still had some of these in the break room from Lisa’s birthday!”
Another man shoved in behind her. Unlike everyone else in the office, he wasn’t dressed casually—he wore slacks, a dress shirt, and a vest over that. He barked a laugh at the scene in front of him.
“Allison said the interviewee cut open your hand, but I thought she was joking. Bold move, drawing blood in a job interview. Holy fuck.”
“Language!” Allison scowled at him.
“Right, becausethat’swhat matters right now, and not all of this.” He gestured broadly at the man dripping blood all over the table.
Michael glared at him. “Thanks, August. Did you come to rubberneck, or to help?”
“Rubbernecking, please and thank you!” The man—August—ran a hand through his dark hair and then crossed his arms. “Man, you’re bleeding like a stuck pig.”
“It’s fine,” Michael said while pressing a wad of birthday napkins against his palm. “I’ve always been a bleeder.”
August gave him a confused look. “Isn’t that, like, how blood works?”
“That’s what I said!” I chimed in.
August laughed and pointed at me. “I like her. Better sense of humor than that walking dry-erase marker you interviewed on Tuesday.”
Michael removed the bloody napkins and grabbed a fresh handful. “We should probably end the interview here.”
“No, you think?” August said.
Michael rolled his eyes at him, then turned to me and forced a smile. Somehow he still looked dashing despite the circumstances. “Thanks for coming in. Allison will show you out.”