“Mr. Green is for you at reception, Miss Smith.” Receptionist Number Three says. Is it even legal to make executive assistants cover reception I muse to myself. Gathering up my notebook, I abandon my mug of coffee, a fine triple shot latte, and make my way to the ground floor. I wipe my mouth to make sure there are no biscuit crumbs remaining.

I ask him to come to my office. As I open the door I trip over the bin. Such a clutz! Why did I leave it there? Suddenly two large hands are round my waist helping me to stand. I am so embarrassed. He must have felt the ribs of my support underwear. I look up and see a snigger cross his face. To be fair it looks bad.

“Miss Smith.” He extends his hand to me once I’m upright, knowing that in this power struggle he is already ahead of the game. “I’m Mr Green. Call me Bob please. I’m hoping you can shed more light on today’s session” I don’t know why but I shudder. Maybe it’s the cold room, or the effect of the coffee suddenly gripping me.

So middle aged – and yet his CV says he did GCSEs. He’s of medium height, with pointed Europhile shoes and a stripy shirt. I lose myself in his scrabble cufflinks. It takes a moment for me to compose my thoughts.

“Um. Of course—” I mutter. This is what living in the suburbs does to you. Gathering myself, we shake. As our fingers touch, I feel myself recoil as I feel his moist palms. I withdraw mine hastily, slightly disgusted. Must remain open-minded. There is so much more to a person than their handshake and shoes.

“I have some questions, Mr. Green…. Sorry .. Bob.” I smooth a stray lock of hair behind my ear, drawing down the left side of my cheek with my biro, a mistake I am not to pick up on until later. “I thought you might,” he says, defensively. I sit up and square my shoulders in an attempt to look taller and more intimidating, though realise my skirt has ridden up past mid thigh and is probably ruining it all by flashing my knickers. I start taking notes and try to look professional. Why does he stare so intently at my face?

“Have you done much development in the past, and if so what would you like to get out of today?” I look up at him. He looks vaguely confused. First basic question and he’s stumped.

“Success is all about developing yourself, Miss Smith, and I’m very good at judging myself and others. I know what makes me tick, how to engage and motivate others. My team think I’m a great leader.” He pauses triumphantly.

“How do you know? Have you asked.” This isn’t on my list—but he’s so arrogant. His nostrils flare momentarily in anger.

“I don’t need to ask, Miss Smith. I can tell. I think it was Zig Ziglar who said, “People often say that motivation doesn’t last. Well, neither does bathing – that’s why we recommend it daily”.

“You sound like a narcissist.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Anyway, what would you like to get out of today?”

“Of course it’s always interesting spending time on one’s own development needs,” he says without missing a beat. I look at him, bored already as he wheels out more predictable bland commentary and only in the first five minutes. My heartbeat quickens, and my face flushes again. Damn that coffee.

Why is this so difficult? The way he stares at my cheek? The way he strokes his index finger against a ripening spot on his jaw? I wish he’d stop doing that. God it’s annoying.

“So what do you think you need to develop?”

“Everyone needs to develop yet we all need to align that with a healthy self-concept. I focus on managing my strengths,” he continues, his voice slightly high-pitched. The pressure is on.

“Do you feel you have many over-played strengths?” Narcissist.

“I have a team of over 12 people, Miss Smith. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility—power, if you will. If I were to decide to go on holiday that’s 12 people who would struggle for two weeks not knowing what to do.”

My mouth drops open. I am staggered by his lack of basic delegation skills.

Next week: Part 2, in which Miss Smith starts to realise there is more to Mr Green than poor managerial skills