My Journey To You

Chapter 2: Seven Sharp

Adeline was awake long before the alarm.

She lay in the gray light and listened to the radiator knock twice, the way it always did before the heat came on. The night before felt like a dream: the snow, the knife, a pair of dark eyes. She pushed it away.

Interview first. Everything else after.

She dressed slowly. A dark red blouse with a neat collar. A black pencil skirt that sat just above the knee. Then she took out the one thing she had splurged on that month, a matte lipstick in soft burnt sienna, the color of dried leaves, and pressed it on lightly. It made her look older. More certain.

She left her hair loose, brushed over one shoulder, and picked up her old brown leather bag, scuffed at the corners but clean. Inside, in a clear folder, were her résumé, her thesis summary, and a letter from her mentor.

In the mirror, a pale girl with shadows under her eyes looked back at her.

"You can do this," Adeline whispered.

The girl did not look convinced.

The Wilder Bros. building stood on the corner of Fifth and Thirty-Sixth, forty floors of dark glass and pale stone. The snow from last night had been pushed into gray heaps along the curb, and people hurried past with their collars up.

She stopped on the pavement and looked up. Over the doors, in heavy steel letters, was the company name.

WILDER BROS.

Wilder.

Her chest gave a small, strange skip. James Wilder.

It's a common name, she told herself. A man with a wrecked car and a ruined hand did not have an office to go to this morning. She shook her head, laughed softly at herself, and walked in.

The lobby was enormous. The floor was pale marble that clicked under her shoes, and the ceiling rose three stories overhead. Behind a curved desk, two guards in dark suits watched everyone who came in. One of them handed her a visitor's badge.

"Twenty-second floor, miss. Human Resources will meet you."

"Thank you."

She turned toward the elevators.

At the same moment, a tall man in a long charcoal coat crossed the hall in the other direction, toward the glass doors. His collar was up and his head was bent over his phone. One hand was tucked into his pocket, wearing a black leather glove, as if he didn't want anyone to see it.

They passed each other with barely an arm's length between them.

She was watching the elevator numbers. He was watching his screen. Her hair stirred in the small wind of his coat, and he caught the faint smell of lavender soap, and did not turn his head.

Then the revolving door took him, and the lobby closed over the place where they had been.

Neither of them knew.

The elevator stopped at twenty-two.

A receptionist in a navy dress showed her to a waiting area, where two other candidates sat with polished portfolios and calm faces. Adeline took the farthest chair and kept her eyes on the carpet.

She hadn't even meant to apply. The salary was more than she'd earned in three years at the store. But her mentor had pushed her to send the form the night she graduated, saying she was far more capable than she believed.

Please don't let me embarrass her.

"Miss Adeline Hart?"

The interview room was long and bright, with windows over the whole gray spread of the city. Four people sat behind a heavy oak desk. Behind them hung a large black screen with a small label in one corner: T. WILDER, connected.

No face. Just a name.

He's listening, Adeline thought, and a chill ran across the back of her neck.

She sat in the single chair facing the desk, knees together, hands folded in her lap.

"So, Miss Adeline," said the woman in the middle, the HR director, Margaret Cole. "You graduated recently, and this is your first job interview. Tell us about yourself."

They were all looking at her.

Her mouth was dry. She thought of her mentor, and of a snowy window, and of a man's finger against her lips. She lifted her chin.

"I'm Adeline Hart. I graduated from New York University, majoring in Psychology, with a scholarship. I've been working a part-time job at a convenience store on Maple Street to support myself. And yes, this will be my first-ever job if I get it."

Margaret turned a page. "From your CV, I see you did a project on how to support children with neurodivergence, especially ADHD and autism. It was your undergraduate thesis. It's quite impressive. I wonder why you didn't expand it on a larger scale."

"Well, our funding was quite low," Adeline said, "and there weren't many people who could carry it further. One of my teammates couldn't even show up on presentation day because of an emergency. One thing led to another, and we ended up not getting the funding. The judges needed more convincing."

"Yes, I understand." Margaret glanced at the screen. "Thomas, would you like to ask her anything?"

For a moment, there was no sound at all.

Then a voice came from the speakers.

"Hi, Adeline."

It was male, low, and a little dangerous. It was smooth, yet sharp at the edges, and it made the skin on her arms prickle.

"Hi, Mr. Thomas."

"My job demands 24/7 availability. Do you have a boyfriend, a husband, or family commitments that will distract you from me?"

Margaret shifted in her chair. "Thomas, you don't have to—"

"I'm asking."

Adeline kept her hands folded.

"No, sir. I have no boyfriend. I'm single, and my parents died when I was seven." Her voice trembled on the last word, and she held still until it passed. "So, zero distractions."

The room went very quiet. One of the panel looked down at the table.

When the voice came again, it was colder.

"You look soft. This corporate environment will chew you up and spit you out in a week. Why shouldn't I hire someone with real corporate grit instead of a fresh graduate?"

Heat rose behind her eyes. She pushed it back down. She had been underestimated all her life, and she knew the feeling like an old scar.

She folded her hands neatly in her lap, and her voice came out entirely calm and even.

"Appearances can be deceiving, Mr. Wilder. A high-turnover corporate environment requires emotional intelligence and strict data management, both of which I mastered during my literature review and observational studies. While someone with 'corporate grit' might try to fight your fire with fire, my training allows me to remain objective, protect your schedule, and keep this office running like a clock while you focus on the board. I'm not here to be chewed up. I'm here to ensure no one wastes your time, including myself."

Nobody breathed.

Then, from the speakers, came a short sound, soft and low. It might have been a laugh. It might have been only a breath.

"Predicting my chaos? I'll hold you to that. You start tomorrow at seven sharp. Don't make me regret it."

There was a click. The label on the screen went dark.

Margaret Cole let out a slow breath, and smiled for the first time.

"Well," she said. "In eleven years, I've never heard him say 'sharp' to anyone that instantly. Congratulations, Miss Hart. Come with me."

In her small office, Margaret slid a thick folder across the desk. Inside were a contract, a building pass, a confidentiality agreement, and a week of color-coded appointments.

"Thomas Wilder is the second of four brothers, and he is exacting," Margaret said. "He reads everything twice and he forgets nothing. He has gone through six assistants this year."

"Six?"

"Seven, if you count the one who lasted a morning." Margaret's mouth twitched. "But he's fair. Be here at a quarter to seven. His coffee is black, no sugar, from the café across the street he prefers, not the one downstairs. Don't ask me why."

"Understood."

"And Miss Hart?" Margaret studied her over her glasses. "He chose you himself. Remember that on the hard days."

In the elevator, alone at last, Adeline leaned against the cold glass wall and let her bag slide to the floor.

I got it.

She pressed both hands over her mouth. A shaky laugh escaped, and then another, and tears stung her eyes.

Mom. Dad. I got the job.

She wiped her cheeks carefully, picked up her bag, and pulled out her phone. There was only one person she wanted to tell first.

She dialed as she crossed the lobby, hurrying toward the glass doors.

"Addy?" Her friend's voice crackled on the line. "Did you—"

"I got it, Mina! I got the job, I start tomorrow, and—"

"What? You're breaking up. Say that again?"

"I said I got—"

She walked straight into someone.

It was like hitting a warm wall. A hand caught her elbow, light and quick, and steadied her before she could fall. She smelled something clean and expensive, like citrus and cedar.

She looked up.

Damn, Adeline thought. He is so good-looking.

He had thick, dark gold hair that fell a little over his forehead, warm hazel eyes, and a navy suit that fit as though someone had made it with love. His lips curved into a slow, playful smile.

"Sorry," she said, flustered. "I'm so sorry."

He didn't answer. He only tilted his head, as if she were a small, interesting puzzle, and let go of her arm. Then he walked on, unhurried, and was gone into the crowd.

"Addy? Can you hear me or not? Hello?"

"Yes," Adeline said, a little breathless. "Yeah, I'm listening. So, I think..."

She hurried out through the revolving door into the bright winter air, still smiling, and did not look back.

Across the lobby, the man in the navy suit stepped into a private elevator. A guard nodded to him.

"Morning, Mr. Wilder."

That was Charles Wilder, twenty-eight years old, the third of the four brothers and Managing Director of Marketing. He was, by common agreement, the most spoiled and most charming of the Wilders, and women tended to look at him twice.

The doors began to close. Charles glanced back through the narrowing gap at the revolving door, where the last flash of long dark hair was disappearing into the light.