The oppressive heat clung to my skin like a stubborn shadow as I stood before the towering glass building, its mirrored surface gleaming under the brutal midday sun. Sweat beaded on my forehead, threatening to trickle down my neck, but I silently thanked the choice of my airy sundress—it was the only thing sparing me from wilting in this relentless heat.
Each step forward felt heavier than the last, a mix of nerves and determination propelling me through the revolving doors into the lobby's cool, conditioned air. The sharp scent of polished wood and faint perfume met me, alongside a flood of voices that ebbed and flowed like a restless tide.
"Alright, Amelia, you can do this," I muttered under my breath, fingers tightening around the strap of my worn leather bag. "This is your moment to step into the world you never thought you’d belong to. No more hiding, no more running."
Honestly, the thought of presenting myself as professional made me want to laugh—more like a clumsy monkey fumbling through an entirely foreign dance. But today had to be different. Today was my chance.
I navigated through the crowd toward the reception desk, the buzz of conversation mingling with the faint hum of air conditioning and the occasional clack of heels on marble. The receptionist, a poised blonde woman with sharp blue eyes, glanced up as I approached, her expression a mix of mild curiosity and practiced indifference.
"May I help you?" she asked, voice crisp.
"I’m here for the interview," I replied, my throat dry but steady.
"Your name, please?" she prompted, fingers already poised over the keyboard.
"Amelia Primrose," I answered, swallowing the bitter taste of old memories attached to my birth surname. My father’s name was a chain I was desperate to break, so I clung to my mother’s, to the life she dreamed for us.
"Top floor," she said, eyes flicking back to the screen as she printed a visitor’s pass. "Elevators are just around the corner. Good luck."
Thanking her, I made my way to the elevator banks. Two gleaming shafts stood side by side—one for the general public, already lined with impatient faces, and another private one that remained unused, its polished doors reflecting the anxious crowd.
I joined the queue for the public elevator, shoulders brushing against strangers, the heat suffocating despite the air conditioning. As I waited, a hush fell over the crowd, causing me to glance around in confusion.
"He’s here," whispered a voice behind me, low and awed.
"Wonder what changes he'll bring," another murmured, eyes fixed ahead.
Curiosity pulling me on tiptoes, I tried to glimpse the source of their attention. Through the sea of heads, only a flash of dark hair was visible right before it disappeared behind the private elevator doors. The silence shattered as the elevator slid closed, swallowing the mysterious figure.
When it was my turn, I squeezed inside the packed elevator, the press of bodies forcing me against the polished metal walls. My hands moved almost automatically, pulling my thick red hair into a loose bun at the nape of my neck. People often envied my hair’s fiery hue, but to me, it was just hair—nothing extraordinary, just like anyone else’s.
The ding of the floor arrival was a relief. I slipped out, my legs unsteady from the close quarters, and headed directly toward the restroom, desperate for a moment alone. The space was surprisingly expansive, with gleaming white sinks lined neatly against one wall and stalls on the other, the cool tile beneath my feet offering a small comfort.
At a sink, I stared into the mirror, meeting a reflection that felt both familiar and strange. Strands of hair escaped the bun, curling wildly as if taunting me. My cheeks glowed red from the sweat and nerves, freckles peppered across the bridge of my nose like tiny constellations, marking the real me beneath the façade.
Summers had never been my friend, and today was a merciless adversary. The stifling heat only amplified my anxiety about the interview. Not that I was unemployed—I tutored local children in the evenings, a job I cherished. But this position was different. It was a chance to rewrite my story, to distract myself from the shadows that relentlessly chased me.
Dark memories clung to me like a second skin, reminders of past mistakes and people I still owed apologies to. Every day was a battle between burying those ghosts and stepping forward into a future I could claim as my own.
I washed my face with cool water, the splash invigorating, then dabbed at my skin with tissues until my reflection softened. No makeup masked the freckles or the tired lines beneath my eyes. This raw version of me was scarred but real, and I decided I didn't want to hide it today.
Straightening my sundress, I tightened the bun once more and grabbed my bag. My footsteps echoed softly in the quiet hallway as I searched for someone—anyone—to help me find where the interview would take place.
Spotting a woman at a distant desk, I quickened my pace. Her dark brown hair framed a kind face, and her white suit contrasted sharply with the sterile walls. Approaching, I cleared my throat gently.
"Excuse me," I began, my voice a little shaky. "I'm here for the interview." I glanced at her nametag: Bianca Moore.
"Interview? Which one?" Bianca’s brow furrowed in confusion.
"The interior design position," I said, hoping to sound more confident than I felt.
Her eyes flicked to the clock behind me. "I'm sorry, but you're late."
"Late? No, it's only eight-oh-three," I protested, turning my wrist to show the watch.
She shrugged, a hint of impatience in her tone. "Exactly. Three minutes past the scheduled time."
"But I really need this job. Could there be any way to—" I pleaded, desperation creeping into my voice.
Before she could answer, Bianca reached up to the discreet earpiece nestled in her hair. A short nod later, she pressed a button, and her voice softened.
"Good news. The interviews are postponed. The company was just bought by a new owner. They'll contact you when they reschedule."
A heavy breath escaped me, relief washing over the tension I'd been holding tight all morning. Nodding, I turned toward the elevator, the weight of waiting settling back on my shoulders.
Why today? Why now? If only the new owner hadn't arrived, I wouldn't have missed my chance by mere minutes. Yet, fate had other plans—a new chapter was unfolding, whether I was ready or not.
I jabbed the elevator button with more force than necessary, the sharp pain in my finger barely registering as I tapped my foot anxiously on the cool floor. A sudden voice behind me made me startle.
"That elevator is for private use," said a deep, husky voice.
Turning sharply, I met the gaze of a man whose presence was impossible to ignore. Dark brown eyes glittered with an intensity that felt almost electric, and his tall, muscular frame was impeccably clad in a tailored Armani suit that highlighted his broad shoulders and firm jawline shadowed by light stubble.
He seemed carved from marble, like a figure the gods might envy, with hair tousled just so, as if crafted by a master sculptor. My breath caught at the familiarity of him—he was no stranger.
My eyes drifted to his clenched fists, the tension in his biceps undeniable beneath the perfect fabric. I met his gaze again, braver this time.
"You're the boss?" I asked, unable to hide the mixture of curiosity and skepticism.
My subconscious chimed in mockingly: obviously. Why else would he be using the private elevator?
His brows knit together as he exhaled sharply, clearly annoyed. Then, from behind him came Bianca’s voice, tinged with a mixture of respect and caution.
"Yes, he is," she confirmed, her eyes sparkling as they lingered on the back of the man.
He didn’t bother to turn, rolling his eyes with a subtle growl of displeasure. I mirrored his gesture with a small, defiant roll of my own and stepped aside as the elevator doors slid open, swallowing him inside.
As they closed, the hum of normalcy returned to the lobby. Bianca grabbed my arm, pulling me to the side with a sharp whisper that carried an edge of warning.
"What were you thinking? That was the new owner! If you want this job, you don’t antagonize him before you even start!"
I blinked, momentarily stunned before shrugging off her grip. "I was just confused. And besides, maybe a little honesty doesn’t hurt."
She sighed, exasperated but unwilling to argue further. I offered a half-smile, masking the turbulent thoughts swirling beneath my calm exterior.
Stepping back towards the other elevator, I reminded myself that this was just the beginning—a messy, unexpected start on the road to reclaiming my life. Whatever lay ahead, I was ready to face it, one uneven step at a time.