Her Heart

Holy crap, I am beyond late! Today was the big day: my interview at DARK, in Pétion-Ville. It’s the Holy Grail of cybersecurity, even if the name screams "James Bond villain." And obviously, I’m running behind. I’d promised myself I’d make an effort, but that "effort" landed me on-site at 10:30 instead of 10:00. Result: I was driving in circles like a lunatic in a packed parking lot, sweat beading on my forehead. BINGO! A spot. The only one. It shined under the blistering sun like a Vegas neon sign, practically begging my little Hyundai to snuggle in. Without a shadow of a doubt, I flicked the blinker and—presto—done deal. A perfect parallel park, a tap on the brakes, and I cut the engine with a sigh of pure bliss. Wow! The sound of heavy footsteps snapped me out of my self-congratulations. A guy in uniform—the guard—was standing at my window, looking about as happy as a goldfish in front of a starving cat. — Miss, this parking lot is reserved, he sighed in a weary voice. I pulled out my most disarming smile, the "total innocence" option. — Of course it’s reserved, my good man! Because I’m in it! I gave him a wink as I slid my sunglasses down my nose. He pursed his lips, not buying it for a second. — No, no. That last remaining spot? That’s for the boss. — Oh, really? I raised an eyebrow, playing dumb. And where’s the little sign, huh? It doesn’t say 'Reserved for the Big Kahuna' as far as I can tell! I made a show of looking all around the car. The poor man turned pale. He cast an anxious glance over his shoulder. — Please, don't do this, Miss. I'll lose my job! Guilt pricked at me. Just a little. Enough to remind me I wasn't a total psychopath. — Alright, we can work something out, right? I pulled out my wallet. — Look, I’m just a tiny car. I’ll be gone in an hour. Your boss is already late anyway. Just tell him... tell him it was an urgent delivery. Here. I slid a crumpled five-hundred-gourde bill into his hand. His eyes darted between the cash and my face, like he was calculating the risk of the apocalypse. Finally, the scent of fresh money won out. He sighed, surrendering. — Just for one hour, Miss! He pocketed the bill quickly, looking guilty but suddenly much wealthier. — Perfect! I pulled out my keys. Just in case your famous boss shows up, you’ll move it for me, okay? In my rush of victory, I tossed the key ring toward him without thinking. What happened next played out in slow motion. My toss, meant to be a friendly little pass, turned into a completely botched bazooka shot. The keys never reached the guard. No. They described a perfect arc and struck... someone. Or rather, the face of the man who had just appeared behind him. Clink! A dull, metallic thud. Very unpleasant. I froze. The guard let out a gasp of terror. The man, however, didn't flinch. And that’s when my heart went into a freefall. He was... wow. Standing before me was the most stunning specimen I had ever encountered.He has milk-chocolate skin and stunning blue eyes. A Greek statue come to life, with long, wavy, deep brown hair and a beard trimmed to the millimeter that added a touch of mystery. He was dressed entirely in black; his zippered polo molded shoulders so wide they made the rest of humanity look like toothpicks. He was a masterpiece. My confidence melted like snow in the sun, and I felt the heat rush to my cheeks. My God, he is beautiful. He was the sexiest man on the island, and my first interaction with him involved chucking my keys into his face. Bravo, Cora-Mae, you’re at the top of your game. — Oops. Uh... Sorry? I stammered. He looked down and picked up the keys without any rush. Then, he stepped forward. His face was an unreadable mask—a mix of glacial neutrality and an intensity that took my breath away. I almost wanted to reach out and touch him just to make sure he wasn't a hologram. He glanced at the guard. His eyes lingered for a second on the pocket where my bribe was undoubtedly burning a hole. The guard instinctively slapped his hand over it, shaking his head frantically in a silent, desperate "No, no!" And then... he did the unthinkable. Without a word. Without even honoring me with a glance. He bypassed the guard, opened the door to my Hyundai, slid inside, started it, and zipped out in reverse. He cleared my car out of HIS spot, parked it haphazardly a bit further away, and then returned with his own sleek, black beast—a monster of luxury and power—which he parked perfectly in the reserved space. He walked back toward me, still completely impassive. He held out his hand—my eyes caught his watch, which must have cost as much as an apartment, and his fingers, which had the letters H-E-A-R-T tattooed across the knuckles—and handed me my keys. He looked me up and down with a contempt so pure it could have been bottled, then walked away, his long legs carrying him toward the building entrance. I stood there, rooted to the spot, keys in hand and heart hammering. The arrogance. The insolence. THE NERVE! — Cora-Mae, you just got your car towed by a silent, haughty Greek god... I mean, what a... what a level of pretension! I muttered. We were talking stratospheric insolence. I shook my head to clear the image of this gorgeous man with the terrible manners. Priority: the interview. I entered the immaculate lobby of DARK. A blonde receptionist, her collar starched and her smile frozen behind a marble desk, greeted me. I don't know what nationality she is, but she's definitely not Haitian. — Hello! Cora-Mae Young! I have an appointment with Mr. Baker... The young woman checked her screen, suddenly looking apologetic. — Miss... Cora-Mae? The interview was set for ten o'clock sharp. It is 10:40. Mr. Baker is extremely particular about punctuality. He hates lateness. I’m afraid he won’t be able to see you. I leaned on the counter, using my most persuasive voice. — Listen, please, I whispered, locking my eyes onto hers. "I’m so sorry. I had a... technical incident. But I’m here now. She hesitated. I pushed further, dropping my voice to a confidential tone. — Mr. Baker might be rigid about the schedule, but he’s a genius, right? And a genius knows the difference between an administrative formality and rare talent. It would be a shame to miss out, wouldn’t it? I flashed her my best "enjoué" smile. She wavered. Even I had a hard time believing my own BS. As a third-year law student, I’m usually incapable of convincing a fly. — I don’t know... Let me call, she whispered, her hand trembling on the receiver. I could hear the muffled sound on the other end. — He told me that if you weren’t here, I should move to the next candidate...she murmured. Panic. I walked around the counter and placed a hand on her arm. — You’re not going to do that. You’re a wonderful person, I can tell. — I... I can’t lie to Mr. Baker! — But you won’t be lying! You’ll just be omitting a detail. Anyway, I was here before he even asked, right? He’ll never know. She looked around, defeated, then picked up the phone with a shaky voice. — Yes, Mr. Baker... The ten o'clock candidate? Yes, she’s here. Very well, sir... I’ll send her up immediately. She hung up and looked at me as if she’d just sold state secrets. — He’s waiting for you. CEO’s office. Sixth floor. Good luck... you’re going to need it. — Thank you! I’ll send you a Christmas card! The sixth floor was a temple of cold success: thick carpets, glass walls, a cathedral-like silence. I reached the last door. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and knocked. A grave, deep voice—and terribly familiar—echoed: — Enter. I walked in, a smile on my lips. And then, my face fell apart. Behind a massive desk, facing a bay window overlooking Pétion-Ville, sat the man from the parking lot. The arrogant Greek god. The spot-stealer. My future boss... or not. And then the guard’s words hit me. It’s the boss’s spot. Crap. It completely slipped my mind. But then again, so what? I didn’t do anything wrong. He didn't look up right away, absorbed in a file. When he did, his piercing eyes met mine. A slight crease appeared on his forehead. The effect was immediate: his lips tightened in an expression of disgust and barely veiled anger. — It’s you? He snapped. His voice was calm. Too calm. It was terrifying. — Good morning, Mr. Baker, I replied, trying to save face despite my cheeks being on fire. He leaned back in his chair, interlacing his fingers on the desk. No word of welcome. — The interview was at ten. It is 10:55. You are late. And, he added, his gaze hardening, you are also the person I saw attempting to bribe my guard with a derisory sum of money to steal my own parking space. He wasn't even angry. It was pure disdain. It was worse. — Not only are you unpunctual, but you lack integrity. I do not hire latecomers. And I certainly do not hire the corrupt. You may leave. He made a flicking motion with his hand, as if shooing an annoying mosquito. Anger rose in me, hot and stinging. He was arrogant, cold, and he wanted to crush my chances without even opening my CV. But I couldn't leave. Not now. I took the two steps separating me from the chair. — I’m not leaving, I announced. My voice was firm, stripped of all its usual playfulness. I wasn't asking. I was stating. I sat down, placing my bag on the floor. An act of total defiance. — You are going to interview me. Reeve narrowed his eyes. No one must have spoken to him like that since kindergarten. — I assure you, Miss, that I did not invite you to sit. I ordered you to leave. His tone was glacial. The interview is over. I will not waste another second. I took a deep breath. — You’ve already wasted ten minutes of my time over a parking dispute, Mr. Baker. If you want me to leave, fine. But you’ll have to leave too. Since we are both latecomers, clearly. I placed my CV on his desk and slid it toward him with a sharp flick. — Look. I’m late, yes. And I didn't try to bribe your guard. I have excellent ability. And I won’t budge from this seat until you’ve taken a look at what I can do. He remained motionless, staring at the paper as if it were contaminated by the plague. — You are not qualified, Miss. — You don’t know that, I shot back. You haven’t looked. — I don't need to look. I don't hire people whose first instinct is to barge into my office and lie about their arrival time. He was referring to the poor receptionist. The next candidate is punctual. You are not the only auditor. He was unshakeable. I felt the tears of frustration welling up, but I held my ground. — If you send me away, you’re missing out on someone incredible. I pushed the CV one last time. He stared at me, straight in the eyes, for three seconds that felt like an eternity. I held his gaze, putting all my determination into it. Finally, he looked away and snatched up the file. He flipped through the pages with an air of profound boredom. — I see you have no academic degree in computer science. No certifications in cybersecurity. No corporate experience. And yet, these are our minimum requirements. The theoretical foundation that justifies your presence here. Without that, I don't see what you’re doing here. — If your academic criteria were enough, your system would already be invulnerable, I snapped. — I can think like a criminal better than any graduate. Just give me... — I value efficiency and reliability, he cut me off. The business world is built on protocols and trust. And you have none of that. He looked at me, his calm once again becoming an impenetrable wall. — I thank you for coming, but I cannot retain your application. He closed the file. Snap. Final. — The interview is over, Miss Young. Good luck with your future endeavors. The door is that way. — You’re making a mistake, Mr. Baker. You’re rejecting the only person capable of seeing what you don’t see, I whispered. — The mistake, Miss, he retorted, his tone hardening, is believing that impertinence replaces a degree. Go back to university. Come back with a Bachelor’s. And maybe—just maybe—we will take your application seriously. Silence fell heavily. I took the blow, but I didn't crumble. I stood up slowly, straightened my dress and my bow tie with dignity. — I understand. Thank you for your time, Mr. Baker. I headed for the exit. My heavy boots echoed on the floor—the last vestige of my rebellion. I walked out without a single look back. Would you like me to tweak any of the dialogue or the "Greek god" descriptions to better fit your vision?