THE BILLIONAIRE'S WEAKNESS

The Interview

Chapter Two - Emma

My alarm goes off like a fire drill, shattering the silence of the room. I groan and slam my hand over it, fumbling until the sound dies. My whole body aches with exhaustion, like I haven’t slept in days, which isn’t exactly untrue. Between pulling double shifts and keeping up with Noah’s chaos, sleep has become a distant, luxurious memory.

I turned onto my side and tugged the blanket over my head, just needing one more minute. Maybe two. But then, because procrastination is my middle name, I grab my phone from under my pillow and start scrolling through notifications. Spam, memes, a text from Noah asking if we have milk (we don’t), and then….

I freeze.

"Dear Miss Blake, you have been invited for an interview today at 9:00 AM at Cross Enterprises."

What.

I shoot upright in bed, blinking hard at the screen like it might change if I stare long enough.

It doesn’t.

"Oh my God."

My body shoots out of bed before my brain can catch up. The screen reads 8:02 AM.

"Oh my GOD!"

I nearly trip over my own feet on the way to the wardrobe, flinging the doors open and ransacking through the limited chaos that is my professional clothing options or lack thereof.

"Interview, interview," I mutter to myself, tossing a hoodie over my shoulder. "Do I even own anything that says 'hire me' and not 'I live in a coffee shop'?"

A knock hits my door.

"Emma?" Noah's voice is muffled but amused. "Did something explode?"

"Only my future," I yell. "Come in and help me!"

He peeks in, already dressed in his hoodie and jeans for school, earbuds dangling around his neck. His eyes scan the battlefield of clothes and land on me, half-dressed, one sock on, hair in a bun that could be classified as a war crime.

"What happened?"

"I have an interview. At nine. At Cross freaking Enterprises."

He lets out a low whistle. "Big leagues. Okay. What do you need me to do?"

"Find me something that doesn’t scream 'struggling artist meets hot mess.'"

We tear through the closet together. Eventually, after holding up several terrible options (including a glittery top I wore once to a failed birthday party), we settled on a tucked-in white shirt, ankle-length black slacks, and my one pair of decent flats, barely worn. Professional enough. Hopefully.

I dart into the bathroom, brushing my teeth like my life depends on it, because in a way, it does. Then it’s a lightning-speed shower, quick facial scrub, and I towel off my hair just enough to brush it into a clean low bun.

When I step out, Noah gives me a once-over and nods.

"Not bad. "You look like you’ve got a job interview and health insurance.”

"Gee, thanks."

We laugh, then rush out the door. I barely have time to grab a protein bar and stuff it in my tote bag before locking up.

"Good luck," Noah says as we walk toward the street. "Text me after, okay?"

"I will. Bus stop?"

"Yeah. Don’t stress. Em. You got this."

I watched him jog off toward the bus, the wind tugging at his hood. For a moment, I just stood there. My baby brother was growing up too fast because he had to. Because I had to step up.

Then I shake myself out of it and dash for the subway.

The address in the email leads me to a high-rise in Midtown. Glass and steel, sleek and terrifying. The kind of building that has polished floors, you feel guilty walking on.

I stand outside for a moment, trying to catch my breath, before finally walking in.

The lobby is a palace. Marble floors, chrome pillars, soft jazz playing from invisible speakers. People in tailored suits and heels click past me like they have places to be, empires to run.

And then there’s me. In my second-hand blouse and five-year-old bag.

I walk up to the front desk, where a perfectly manicured woman in a navy suit types away at a computer.

"Hi," I say, trying to keep the panic from my voice. "I’m here for an interview? Emma Blake?"

She barely glances at me. "Take the elevator to the twenty-fourth floor. HR department."

I open my mouth to ask a follow-up, but she’s already typing again.

Okay then.

I clutch my bag tighter and head for the elevator, feeling more out of place with every second.

The elevator dings open into a hallway lined with frosted glass offices. There are plants I can’t pronounce the names of, and everything smells like fresh ink and ambition.

At reception, a woman greets me with the kind of smile that says she’s done this a hundred times today. She hands me a clipboard and motions toward a few empty chairs.

"Fill this out, please. You’re next."

I take the clipboard with slightly trembling fingers and scribble through the form. When I’m done, I barely have time to sit before my name is called.

The interview itself is a blur.

The man who interviews me is sharply dressed but not unkind. He skims through my resume and asks all the typical questions: previous work experience, time management skills, ability to handle pressure. I answer as best I can, trying not to fidget or let my voice shake.

Then he leans back and studies me.

"You’d be assisting the CEO directly. Scheduling meetings, sorting emails, and keeping his day in order. It’s demanding."

I nod. "I can handle demands."

He smiles faintly. "Pay starts at $4,000 a month. Full-time. You'll resume tomorrow, 9:00 AM sharp. That a problem?"

My jaw almost hit the floor. That kind of money would change everything.

"Not at all. I’ll be here."

"Good. We’ll send the paperwork tonight. Welcome to Cross Enterprises, Miss Blake."

Just like that, it’s done.

I step out of the building with a new kind of energy in my chest.

I did it. I did it.

The sunlight feels different. The city noise feels like a soundtrack. I feel like someone who finally, finally caught a break.

With a grin, I headed to the mall. I picked up two sleek work blouses, a pencil skirt, a structured bag that doesn’t look like it’s falling apart, and a soft gray blazer. It’s a little over budget, but honestly? Worth it. This is for the future. For survival.

Then I swing by the grocery store and grab eggs, juice, and that cereal Noah likes.

When I get home, Noah's already back, sitting cross-legged on the couch, game controller in hand.

"So?" he asks, pausing the game.

I held up the shopping bags. "Guess who’s now officially employed at Cross Enterprises?"

He jumps up. "No way!"

"Yes way. Personal assistant to the CEO."

He lets out a whoop and pulls me into a hug. "That’s insane! Em, this is huge!"

"I know! We’re ordering pizza. And Chinese. And I bought groceries."

We celebrate like it’s Christmas. Pizza boxes, scattered takeout containers, and the sound of our laughter filled every inch of our tiny apartment.

Later that night, after the dishes are done and Noah disappears into his room, I call my current boss at the cafeteria.

"Hey, Mr. Randall. It’s Emma."

"Emma! "What’s up, kiddo?"

"I needed to tell you I won’t be at the cafeteria anymore starting tomorrow.

I got the job. The full-time one I told you about."

He’s silent for a beat. "I’m proud of you, kid. You deserve it."

"Thank you. I’ll still swing by, check in now and then."

"You better. You’re like family here."

My throat tightens. "You too."

We hung up.

As I finally crawl into bed, my body still buzzing from everything, I stare up at the ceiling and smile.

Tomorrow, my life changes.

For the first time in a long time, I feel like maybe,

just maybe, things are starting to look up.

I close my eyes, heart racing, and drift off to sleep with a single thought looping in my head.

Don’t screw this up.