Four

Olivia:

“Thank you, Ethan, I was able to get here on time thanks to you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m just really glad I got to see you again,” he said, one hand on the steering wheel as he parked in front of the building, looking at me.

Walking like a child in her mother’s heels, I rushed over to the Hayes Industries building, mumbling incoherent prayers along the way, half lost between hope and relief.

If it weren’t for him offering me a ride, I would have been doomed before the day even began. The thought made me smile faintly. My shirt was still a little damp from earlier, but somehow I didn’t care anymore. I’d made it.

I stared at my reflection on the glassy building, home to one of the most prestigious companies in the world, my own image staring back at me with silent judgment.

I did my best to tame the wild nest my hair had become from the morning breeze and the run to get here, but I could only do so much. Still, I looked a lot better than I felt. Maybe Ethan was right when he said luck was finally on my side.

My confidence wavered a little, but I straightened my shoulders anyway. I wasn’t here to give up.

I took a deep breath, drawing strength and hope from deep within my gut as I walked into the pristine space with my head held high. Well, fake it till you make it.

The massive foyer swallowed me whole as I took in the grandness of the triple-height ceiling space.

White marble coated the floor while light wood accentuated a feature wall right across the entrance, where a slim stainless steel sign hung proudly behind the reception counter: Hayes Industries.

No expense had been spared here, that much was clear. I was the opposite of all this opulence—a small-town girl with less than fifty dollars to her name, clinging to nothing but a love for motorbikes, an instinct for PR, and the determination to work my ass off if someone would just give me the chance.

That definition seemed to have a new name as of today.

Spinning on my heels, I lost myself in the grandiosity and purity of the light-filled place for just a couple of seconds, my head tilted back, framing every detail in my mind. I had consumed so many pictures of this place it was as if I had been coming here my whole life. Yet nothing prepared me for the overwhelming feeling I had once I was standing here.

This was it. This was my dream. I was just one teeny tiny step away from having it come true. Nothing major—just being hired among a lot of other applicants, probably more experienced and more suitable than I was for the role. Not to mention on time.

“Ma’am.”

The mid-fifties lady sitting by the edge of the counter snapped me out of my reverie.

“Do you have a purpose for being here, or should I call security?”

“What? No, no.” I walked toward the desk, realizing I had wasted even more time, as if I had any to spare. She met my gaze with a raised eyebrow, still waiting for my full reply.

“Uhm… I have an interview here today,” I said.

“Under what name?” she asked.

“Olivia Hawthorne.”

“Thirty-seventh floor. Check in with the front desk. They’ll tell you where to wait.”

“Thank you.”

I got nothing more than a curt nod and a finger pointing toward the pair of stainless steel doors to my right.

Even the simple elevator matched the rest of what I’d seen of the building so far—luxurious and high-tech, all covered in white glass, light wood, and stainless steel.

The numbers were displayed on a touchscreen to the right, where I typed in the floor number to start my ride.

I took a step back, leaning against one of the walls, both my hands gripping the metal bar so tightly it felt like we almost fused together.

Almost without a struggle, my mind drifted back to Ethan.

It felt surreal, seeing him again after all these years. The boy who once waited for me after school had grown into a man with soft eyes and a voice that could melt the tension out of anyone. He hadn’t changed much—still kind, still grounding.

The doors finally opened on the thirty-seventh floor, pulling a sigh of relief from my chest.

I quickly strode over to the reception area, where a dark-haired, green-eyed woman was standing behind a desk exactly like the one in the lobby. She had a professional look going on with her dark blue pencil skirt suit, high heels, and a chiffon blouse under her open suit jacket.

She was extremely beautiful and fit right in with the surroundings.

The whole place was impeccably decorated, a lean but luxurious look to it. Again, light woods and white dominated the style, covering everything from the walls to the furniture. It had a Nordic decor feeling to it all.

Much classier and definitely more expensive, but still simple. That was the word. And so was she—the personification of corporate elegance.

“Good morning,” I said as I approached the desk. “My name is Olivia Hawthorne. I have an interview scheduled for today?”

I was wrong when I thought I had the jitters before. I was literally shaking right now.

“Good morning, Miss Hawthorne. I’m sorry, but we are a little bit delayed today, so I’ll have to ask you to please wait your turn in the waiting room. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience. It’s right down the hall to your left,” she said, flashing me a bright white smile that contrasted with her red lipstick.

My heart flipped in my chest at the sound of her words. I never thought the word delayed would ever sound so good to me in my whole life.

“Thank you,” I smiled back before turning toward the hallway, my walk gaining a new springy effect as I contained the victory dance I wanted to break into. I wasn’t late, and my once-in-a-lifetime opportunity wasn’t lost. Thank goodness.

The waiting room was, shockingly, a men’s-only club. There were five of them waiting, most of them around my age, maybe a little older, except one who was surely in his late forties.

Funny enough, he was the only one who made me uncomfortable. His gaze was deep and unsettling, sending a frozen shiver down my spine. His blue eyes clung to me like leeches, sucking the blood from my face and draining me of all color.

The crooked smile that crept onto his lips was too suggestive of the thoughts running through his mind. Such a red flag.

I started to touch the pendant out of nervousness. I didn’t hesitate to take the most isolated seat I could find, still next to another one of the men waiting, but if push came to shove, I’d sit on a pile of needles if it meant being away from that man.

Pervert.

I wasn’t sure why my palms had started to sweat while my knees danced to the pace of my uneasy heart. Reality hit me like a ton of bricks. If I didn’t get this job, I wouldn’t be able to stay in New York much longer.

I’d been through enough already. The past was something I was trying to bury, not relive. This city was my fresh start. My second chance.

“Olivia Hawthorne,” a tall blonde interrupted my thoughts. “Mr Hayes is ready to see you.”

I nodded once, getting up from my seat and walking toward her, fixing my shirt again, trying to look as conservative as it would allow me while purposely ignoring the pair of eyes I felt following me.

The lady looked at me with a warm smile and an amused expression on her face, waiting to guide me through the double doors behind her.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Olivia Hawthorne. I’m Caddy Parker,” she greeted, holding her hand out for me to shake. “Your name is quite ambiguous, you know? They were expecting another man, because so far we’ve only had male candidates willing to meet Mr Hayes Jr himself and learn a few things from him. I’m glad we have a lady applying today.”

“Ohh, I see,” I said, smiling at her remark, finally understanding why so many men were suddenly interested in PR.

I followed behind her into the place where my fate would be sealed. I was practically fangirling internally at finally meeting a living legend’s son in the flesh and bone.

As soon as I stepped into the conference room, my eyes landed on an extremely handsome man standing near the head of the table, arms folded, wearing a leather jacket that somehow didn’t look out of place in a room full of suits.

From afar, I couldn’t see his face properly, so I moved closer to get to my seat.

Holy shit on a stick.