Chapter 3
1625 Words
The next afternoon, I was halfway through my third episode of Deadly Women and a bowl of cold cereal when my phone buzzed with a text from my best friend.
SOULMATE:
Talked to Daddy. You’re welcome.
Now put on pants. You’re meeting him tomorrow.
3 p.m. Sharp. And don’t you dare wear that tragic hoodie.
Love, ur fav friend.
The next day
I stood awkwardly outside a sleek office building downtown, nervously smoothing the hem of my only professional looking blouse. I’d paired it with dark jeans because, well, I wasn’t ready to sell my soul just yet.
Leah was sipping an iced matcha like she didn’t have a care in the world. “Relax. Dad doesn’t bite. Unless it’s at court, then he rips people apart for fun.”
“Comforting,” I deadpanned.
She flashed me a grin and looped her arm through mine. “Seriously. He’s a softie in dad form. Think Morgan Freeman with a law degree and a dad joke addiction.”
We stepped into the building, the air-conditioning slapping me in the face like a cold reminder that this was real. That I might actually get a job again. That I might have to rejoin society and God forbid, talk to people.
“Just be yourself,” Leah whispered as we reached the office door. “But like...the polite version. Don’t mention your obsession with murder documentaries and maybe don’t say the word capitalist swine unless he brings it up first.”
“Wow. Great pep talk. Very inspiring.”
She winked. “That’s what sisters are for.”
Leah’s Dad’s Office
“Faye!” boomed a warm, commanding voice as soon as we stepped into the office.
Leah’s dad rose from behind his desk, tall and broad-shouldered in a tailored navy suit, with kind eyes and a beard that made him look like he belonged in a courtroom drama. He crossed the room and pulled me into a hug before I could decide whether to offer a handshake or awkwardly wave.
“It’s good to see you again, sweetheart. Leah never shuts up about you.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at that, even as I felt a bit embarrassed. “It’s good to see you, too, Mr. Morgan.”
He stepped back, giving me an affectionate look. “I’ve told you before dear, call me David. You’re practically family and my favorite.”
Leah gasped dramatically, hands flying to her chest. “Dad! How dare you? I’m your daughter! Your only daughter! How could you pick favorites?” she said with mock outrage, but the amused look in her eyes gave away the joke.
David chuckled, giving her a pointed look. “It’s not my fault she’s so delightful.” He gave me a teasing wink. “You’re always welcome here, sweetheart.”
Leah scoffed and crossed her arms. “This is discrimination.”
I smirked, happy to see her playful energy was as strong as ever. “I think I’ll survive,” I teased.
Mr. Morgan laughed, motioning for me to sit. “So Faye, I hear you’re in the market for a new opportunity.”
I nodded, hands clasped in my lap. “Yeah, I…uh…pissed off some stranger and my sleazy manager used it as an excuse to fire me.”
“Sounds like their loss,” Mr. Morgan said, settling back in his chair. “And lucky for you, I know a few people who do appreciate smart, sharp young women who won’t take crap from anyone.”
“I…really? I mean, I’m grateful. But I don’t want you to do me a favor just because I’m friends with Leah.”
He leaned back, his expression soft but firm. “Faye, I don’t do favors. I make recommendations. And you’ve already come highly recommended by someone who knows a thing or two about people’s character.”
I glanced at Leah, who was now pretending to clean her nails, clearly smug.
“I just opened the door,” she said sweetly. “You still gotta walk through it.”
Mr. Morgan chuckled. “There’s a new internship program opening at a tech firm downtown. They’re looking for bright, sharp thinkers, especially ones who aren’t afraid to challenge the status quo. It’s competitive, but I can get your résumé to the right person.”
I blinked. “What’s the company?”
He tapped his tablet. “Crown Tech.”
The name rang no bells. “So…what’s the catch?”
Leah sipped her iced coffee with an air of dramatic pause. “Only that the CEO is one of those genius billionaire types who probably thinks ‘fun’ is an Excel sheet.”
“Leah,” her father warned gently.
“What? I’m just prepping her.”
I tilted my head. “Wait, what’s his name? The CEO?”
“Liam Westbrook,” Mr. Morgan said.
I blinked. “Never heard of him.”
“Wow. Must be nice to live under a rock,” Leah muttered. “That man is everywhere. Tech articles. Finance blogs. Brooding in Forbes photos like he invented storms.”
“I don’t read finance blogs, Leah. I was fired in the middle of a coffee shop by a man with the emotional range of a teaspoon, remember?”
“It’s a big tech firm,” Mr. Morgan continued. “They just opened an innovation incubator branch in Manhattan and are taking in interns for the summer. Competitive pay, flexible schedule, decent coffee.”
“Sounds...fancy.”
“It is,” Leah chimed in. “Their building has those glass walls that scream look at us, we have money.”
“Wait. Why would they want a broke NYU student with a bad attitude and a mostly useless media studies major?”
“You’re underestimating the value of ‘broke with opinions,’” Mr. Morgan said with a smile. “You’ve got something a lot of firms are looking for…voice. Confidence. Also, you’re sharp, articulate, and not afraid to question things. That’s rare.”
I blinked. “You read my writing?”
He nodded. “Leah sent me some of your essays. That piece on digital surveillance and pop culture? Impressive.”
I turned to Leah slowly. “You sent my schoolwork to your dad?”
“I was proving a point!” she defended. “Also, it’s not like I sent him your angsty poems. Just the smart stuff.”
I sighed, muttering, “Traitor,” under my breath.
“I’m an icon, actually,” Leah replied, tossing her brown curls over her shoulder.
Mr. Morgan chuckled again. “Anyway, if you’re interested, I can recommend you. The rest will be up to you.”
I hesitated for a moment. “Okay...yeah. I’ll do it.”
“Good,” Mr. Morgan said, reaching for his phone. “I’ll make the call.”
A week later, I stood across the street from the tallest building on the block, a steel and glass giant that gleamed like it had something to prove. The massive logo out front screamed money, power, and absolutely no patience for underqualified interns.
I adjusted my bag, wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans, and exhaled.
“Okay, Faye,” I whispered. “You’ve survived worse. You’re smart. You’re capable. You will not get intimidated by men in overpriced suits.”
Inside, the lobby was cold and impossibly quiet. A receptionist scanned my ID and handed me a temporary visitor badge without much fanfare.
“Intern orientation is down the hall. Last door on your left.”
I nodded, clutching the badge like it might bite me. I followed the signs, every step echoing in my ears. I didn’t know what this role entailed exactly, but I expected someone official-looking to greet me. Maybe an HR manager in boxy heels. Maybe some exhausted junior exec. Worst case? A tech bro with too much coffee and not enough empathy.
What I did not expect was him.
I opened the door to the room and froze.
Tall. Crisp suit. Familiar smirk. And green eyes that made my stomach twist with something close to irritation and dread. I knew that face.
No. Freaking. Way.
It was him. The guy from the cafe. The stranger who got me fired. The man I hadn’t stopped complaining about for weeks.
I blinked. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
This has to be a joke.
The universe is playing a trick on me. A cruel, cinematic one.
Why is the man I hate most right now, the man I’d been complaining about for weeks, the man who cost me my job, why is he standing in front of me?
Oh gosh, he must work here.
I stopped dead in the doorway, my heart slamming against my ribs. There he was. Arrogant smirk, stupidly sharp suit, same annoyingly perfect jawline. He didn’t need to turn. He saw me immediately. So did everyone else in the room.
My stomach twisted.
I should’ve turned around and walked out. But my feet didn’t get the memo.
Instead, I just stood there like a deer caught in headlights.
The man raised an eyebrow.
“Are you planning to stand there all day,” he said, his voice smooth and condescending, “or is gawking your special skill?”
Laughter swept across the room. Not a lot. Just enough to make my ears burn in embarrassment.
My face went hot, but I bit my tongue, willed myself to move, and sat down in the nearest chair before I could combust from sheer humiliation.
Then the man looked over the room and said, “I’m Liam Westbrook.”
And just like that, I decided the universe must hate me.
- Writer
