Falling for Mr. CEO

ANDREA As the train came to a stop at Pennwood Station, Manhattan, I pressed my palm to the frosted glass. “This is it,” I told myself,“No more Mellow Creek, no more small-town parties, and definitely no more him.” I exited with the crowd, one hand clutching the handle of the only suitcase I could afford to bring, the other attempting to shield me from the light drizzle of rain. Everything I owned fit into that tattered blue case: a few clothes, a half-empty notebook, and a photo of my parents smiling in front of their tiny house in the country. My entire past zipped shut in a twenty-inch nylon case. The air in the station smelled like wet metal and burnt coffee, sharp and electric. I liked it. It smelled like a place that didn’t care who I used to be. My phone buzzed. Layla Torres, the new roommate I’d found through an online ad. Layla: Welcome to chaos, roomie! Text me when you’re out. I’ll send you the address. I typed back: On my way. Thanks again. Then I hesitated, watching the message hover on the screen. Gratitude still felt strange on my tongue after last year. Brian, my ex, the man I believed I would spend forever with, had duped me out of my entire savings all in the name of a “business venture”. He promised me the world and I ate it all up. At the end of the day, he ran off with my money, my car, and another woman. At least he taught me one thing, never hand over your heart or bank account without collateral. Outside, a chill breeze whipped my hair into my face. I smiled anyway, breath caught by something between terror and excitement. New York stretched above me as I struggled amidst the rush hour. It was all loud, fast, impossible. Perfect. “All right, Bennett,” I mumbled under my breath, tugging my coat tighter. “Let’s try again.” The apartment was smaller than the pictures; I had expected that, but at least the view made up for it. The living room windows faced a brick wall with graffiti sprawled all over it, as well as the edge of a water tower. “Welcome to one of Manhattan’s finest!” a voice called from the kitchen. Layla Torres appeared barefoot, wearing silk pajamas and a smile too wide to be harmless. Her dark curls framed a face built for pictures. I smiled back, shifting my suitcase inside. “Thanks for letting me move in early.” “Oh please. You pay rent on time, you’re family.” Layla poured coffee into two mismatched mugs. “Cream, sugar, or self-loathing?” I chuckled before I could stop myself. “Self-loathing is fine.” The coffee was bitter, just the way I liked it. I perched on the couch while Layla talked; about her PR job, her ex who texted at 2.a.m., her plans to network her way into Manhattan. I nodded, half listening, half studying the apartment’s scraped floor, and the flickering bulb in the hallway. It was nothing like home, which was exactly the point. “So, got a job yet?” Layla said finally. “Uhh… yes, I got a job in Operations at Vance Corporation.” I replied. Layla immediately sat up, her coffee almost spilling. “Wait, wait, Vance Corporation, like, the Ethan Vance? The billionaire tech guy?” “That’s the one,” I said. “I start tomorrow.” “Girl, you’ve gotta introduce me to your boss. I could use a rich friend.” Layla winked. I smiled, yet something in the joke stung. I hadn’t even met Ethan Vance yet; I doubted I’d get close enough to shake his hand, let alone play matchmaker. Later that night, after Layla left for a date, heels clicking down the stairwell and scratching the already scuffled floor, I unpacked. Each folded shirt felt like a promise to myself: this time I’d be careful, I’d be smart, I’d build something that couldn’t be taken away. I placed the photo of my parents on the windowsill. My mother’s eyes squinted from the blazing Texas sun; my father’s arm wrapped around her like a shield. He’s late now, passed away 2 years ago and left a truckload of debt that neither my mum nor I knew about. Brian helped pay most of it off. I guess scamming me later was his way of taking his pound of flesh. “Just remember who you are, and you’ll always be fine.” My dad would always tell me before he died. I did remember. That was the problem. Remembering made my chest ache. The city noise drifted in through the glass; sirens, laughter, the hum of a thousand separate dreams. I let it lull me into a restless half-sleep. My alarm screamed at six the next morning. I wore a decent-looking skirt suit with the only blazer that didn’t wrinkle, I added a pair of thrift store heels, and told myself I looked professional, not desperate. At the corner coffee shop, I ordered a latte that I couldn’t afford. The barista misspelled my name, “Andria”. I didn’t correct him. Outside, the chilly air made me more nervous than I already was. I pulled up the HR email on my phone: Welcome to Vance Corporation. Please report to the 42nd Street office by 9 A.M. “Alright,” I muttered. “Let’s try not to get fired before lunch.” A taxi splashed through a puddle behind me, dotting my skirt with muddy water. I swore under my breath, dabbing at it with a napkin. Typical. First day and the universe was already testing my resolve. Layla’s text popped up on my phone screen. Layla: Knock ’em dead, boss babe. I typed back: Survive first, slay later. I smirked to myself before sliding my phone into my bag. By the time I reached Midtown, my nerves were buzzing louder than the traffic. Then I saw it, Vance Corporation. Multiple floors of steel and sunlight. The building beamed so brightly it almost hurt to look. I paused on the sidewalk, heart pounding in my chest. “This is it,” I whispered. “The door between who I was and who I might become.” With a deep breath, I adjusted my bag, stepped forward, and pushed through the revolving door. The marble lobby caught my reflection; wide-eyed, anxious, determined. Somewhere above that beaming ceiling, Ethan Vance signed contracts that shaped the world. I didn’t know it then, but our paths would soon cross, and nothing about my life would be the same again.