The Job — a short story for English reading and speaking

I sat at the desk opposite the two men.

They’d asked me a few questions about my previous employer—my time working for the airline. Nothing too heavy. Just the usual stuff.

Every now and then, they exchanged glances. But it felt positive. Their expressions said I was doing well, saying all the right things.

Then a third man entered the room. He was well-built and dressed simply—in a T-shirt and jeans.

He was carrying a case, like a computer bag, and placed it by the side of one of the men behind the desk.

“Well, Mr Brooks—”

I raised my hand.

“Please. Call me Joseph. Joe.”

The man smiled. “Joe. Well, I think you’re a suitable candidate for this position. In fact, I think you could be perfect.”

“That’s great,” I said. “When do I start?”

I let out a nervous laugh. The two men gave a kind of staged chuckle in return—one of those laughs people do in polite situations, full of sympathy or agreement.

In truth, I hadn’t worked in over two years.

Before that, I’d been with a courier company for years. I was good at my job. Really good, to be honest.

Then that one fatal mistake. And it all went south.

Just a simple document. I never saw it properly—just knew it was inside one of those diplomat bags. Felt light, maybe only three or four pages.

But I lost it.

I thought it had made it onto the right flight. But somehow, between departure and arrival, it vanished.

To this day, I’ve no idea what happened to it. But the company couldn’t let it slide.

I got the call to go up to the office of the higher-ups. It was a short conversation. That was it.

“We have to let you go,” they said.

Let go. Let you go.

That age-old euphemism. You’re fired. Get out.

Same day, the security guard handed me a cardboard box and escorted me out. The walk of shame to the lift, everyone watching me go.

After that—nothing. No regular work. Just the odd temp job here and there.

I applied everywhere I could think of in the same industry. No bites. My name was mud.

Then, out of nowhere, an email from this company.

A personal invitation to a “casual meeting”. First one in a coffee shop in a hotel in the city centre. I didn’t know what to expect.

They asked for my full CV. Some other personal details too.

Then they dropped the bombshell about the salary.

I couldn’t believe how much they were offering.

My wife was thrilled. So was I.

Back in the interview room, the man on the left leaned forward slightly.

“Joe, we’re very impressed with your CV and experience. I’ll be frank—you seem like the ideal candidate.”

I kept my face composed. No big reaction. I didn’t want to seem overeager. Stay professional.

“That’s good to hear,” I said, with a polite smile. Nothing over the top. Just enough.

“The only question is,” he continued, “when can you start?”

“I can start soon,” I replied. They knew I wasn’t working. “Shall we say… Monday?”

He turned to the man beside him—the one I’d first met at the hotel. I suddenly realised I didn’t know his name.

The man tilted his head and gave me a long look.

“We were thinking more along the lines of this evening.”

My jaw dropped. I caught myself and shut my mouth again.

“This evening?” I repeated.

When I was with the courier company, it wasn’t unusual to be called in last-minute. But to be asked to start the same night—during the interview—something about it felt off.

“We’ve got a special delivery,” the man said. “It has to go tonight. It can’t wait.”

I didn’t want to throw away the opportunity. But I couldn’t help thinking it was all moving too fast. Shouldn’t there be background checks? Security clearance?

I may have passed the interview, but surely there was more to the process.

“What exactly needs delivering?” I asked, the words coming out faster than I’d intended.

The two men exchanged another look. The mood shifted. I could feel it. The air in the room turned thick—tense.

Then the man who’d walked in, still standing off to the side, nudged the case with his foot until it was by my feet.

“George here will drive you to the airport,” the interviewer said.

George—expressionless—just stood there.

It didn’t feel like an offer. It felt like something else entirely.

“I don’t think I can do that,” I said. “I think we need to wait for the background checks to clear first.”

The man didn’t blink. “Tonight, Joe. It’s tonight.”

I looked down at the case. It was no bigger than a laptop bag.

There could be anything inside it.