He had counted the chairs in the room five times, already. Who needed 20 chairs in a politician's waiting room? He hated waiting. He wiped the face away the second he heard the door handle jiggle and planted on a small smile when the person walked in.
Oh, great. He was reminded of the name his once-superior Sgt. Rolland called him every single day under his command. He hated how the man wanted him to correct him every time he got his name wrong, and how he punished him with push-ups and other tedium when he "had the insubordination as to correct his superiors". He had always hated Sgt. Rolland.
But that concern faded in a shiver down his back as he stood up. This wasn't Blaine Anderson. This was Sebastian Smythe. "Jolson. Jordin Jolson, sir." Stupid habit from military he basically had tattooed in his mind when talking with superiors. He even typed it without thinking. "I am correct in assuming you are, in fact, Sebastian Smythe, correct, sir? I was expecting just Mr. Anderson for the interview. This is quite a pleasant surprise, I must say." 'Fuck, I slightly hesitated saying "pleasant". Remember: be believably nice. Not obviously facetious, Jordin!'
They walked into the office and Jordin took the seat in front of the Hobbit's desk, flashing his teeth again. "Hello, sir. Thank you for your time." 'Just hire me, already, dammit. I hate being near you.'