The Billionaire's Plus Sized Redemption

Chapter 9: Take Up Space

Olivia pov;

“Miss Bennett, can you come in tomorrow morning at nine o’clock for an interview?”

The woman’s voice came through the small phone speaker clear and sharp. I stood in the middle of Luca’s living room, holding the phone against my ear so tightly my knuckles turned white.

“Tomorrow?” I asked. My voice sounded thin, like a dry leaf snapping. “Nine o’clock in the morning?”

“That is correct,” the voice replied smoothly. “At Kingsley Tower. Floor twenty. Ask for the human resources office at the front desk.”

“Yes,” I said, swallowing hard. “Yes, I will be there. Thank you.”

The line went dead with a quiet click. I lowered the phone and stared at the dark screen. The silence in the room suddenly felt very loud. The clock on the wall read five o’clock in the evening . That gave me sixteen hours. Less than sixteen hours to prepare for the biggest morning of my life.

“Who was that?” Luca called out from the kitchen. He walked into the living room holding a wooden spoon in one hand and a dish towel over his shoulder. “You look like you just saw a ghost, Olivia.”

“It was Kingsley Tower,” I whispered. My knees felt weak, so I sat down fast on the edge of the sofa. The worn fabric brushed against the back of my legs. “They want me to come in tomorrow morning. For an interview.”

Luca dropped the wooden spoon onto the coffee table with a loud clatter. “Tomorrow? That is amazing news! Why aren't you jumping up and down?”

“Because I have nothing to wear,” I said, my chest tightening. “And I have nothing to say. Luca, look at my resume. There is a blank space on it that lasts for seven whole years. Seven years where I didn't work. Seven years where I stayed inside a house because Damian told me I wasn't smart enough to work in an office.”

“Stop,” Luca said, raising a hand. He set his dish towel on the side table and pointed a finger at me. “We are not doing this today. You are not going to talk down about yourself.”

“It’s not just talking, Luca,” I said. I stood back up and began pacing across the small rug. My feet made quiet thuds on the floorboards. “How do I hide seven years of damage in one twenty-minute conversation? What if I flinch when the manager raises his voice? What if I start apologizing for no reason? What if they look at me and see someone who isn't good enough?”

“They are going to look at you and see a professional,” Luca said sternly. He marched toward my small bedroom at the end of the hallway. “Come here. Right now.”

I followed him into the room. Luca opened my closet doors. The metal hinges creaked softly. He started pulling clothes off the hangers, sliding them across the bar with quick, loud swooshes.

He pulled out my favorite gray cardigan—the long, baggy one that covered my hips and hid my hands in the oversized sleeves.

“No,” Luca said immediately, tossing the gray cardigan onto the bed.

“Hey, I like that sweater,” I protested, reaching out to grab it back. “It’s soft. It keeps me warm.”

“It hides you,” Luca corrected, stepping between me and the bed. “You wear that sweater when you want to look like part of the wallpaper. You wear it so people won't look at your body. We are not hiding tomorrow, Olivia.”

“Luca, I’m a plus-size woman going into a high-rise office building,” I said, looking down at my hands. I rubbed my thumb over my knuckles, a nervous habit I couldn't seem to break. “People look at me anyway. And usually, they aren't very kind about it.”

“Then let them look,” Luca said softly. His voice lost its sharp edge. He turned back to the closet and pulled out a dark navy blue suit jacket and matching trousers. He had bought it for me at a thrift store three weeks ago, but we had tailored it to fit my shoulders exactly. “This suit isn't meant to make you look smaller. It isn't meant to hide your curves or make you blend into the background. It is meant to show that you belong in the room. It lets you take up space.”

He held the jacket out to me. The fabric felt firm and crisp under my fingertips.

“Put it on,” Luca ordered gently.

I took off my loose shirt and pulled the navy jacket over my arms. The shoulders were structured, holding my back straight as soon as I slipped my arms into the sleeves. I zipped up the trousers and buttoned the front of the jacket. The button clicked into place right at my waist.

Luca dragged me by my wrist toward the full-length mirror hanging on the back of the bedroom door.

“Look at yourself,” Luca said, standing right behind me. “What do you see?”

I looked into the glass. I didn't see the baggy cardigan. I didn't see the slumped shoulders I usually kept when walking down the street. The dark blue fabric lined my shoulders neatly. My neck looked longer. The sharp collar framed my face, drawing attention to my eyes instead of my stomach or my hips.

“I look... different,” I whispered.

“You look like an executive,” Luca said firmly. “Now, we practice what you are going to say.”

Luca sat down on the wooden chair by my desk. He picked up a yellow notepad and a black pen, clicking it twice. He looked at me over the top of the notepad, narrowing his eyes to look like a stern boss.

“Miss Bennett,” Luca said, making his voice deep and formal. “Why is there a seven-year gap on your resume?”

My stomach twisted into a hard knot. My throat felt dry instantly. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My hands began to shake at my sides, and my right foot started tapping against the floorboard.

“I... well, I was married,” I stammered, looking down at my shoes. “And my husband didn't really want me to work. He said I wasn't good at organizing things anyway, so I stayed home and—”

“Stop!” Luca snapped his fingers. “Redo! Never bring up his name. Never speak like you are asking for forgiveness. Look me in the eye.”

I lifted my head, but my gaze kept sliding down toward the floor. “It’s hard, Luca.”

“Try again,” Luca said softly. “You managed a house. You managed schedules, budgets, vendors, and events. Frame it as management.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I pictured the woman I used to be before I met Damian—the woman who graduated with honors, who spoke clearly in boardrooms, who wasn't afraid to state her opinion. I opened my eyes and looked straight into Luca’s gaze in the mirror.

“During those seven years, I managed a private residential estate,” I said, forcing my voice to stay even and level. “I handled scheduling, event coordination, and annual budgets. Now, I am returning to the corporate sector to bring those skills to a larger team.”

Luca pointed his pen at me and smiled. “Yes! Exactly like that! Again.”

We practiced for over an hour. We went through every question a hiring manager could possibly ask.

“What is your biggest weakness?”

“I tend to take on too much work because I like seeing projects finished properly,” I answered.

“How do you handle pressure?”

“I stay focused on the task, organize my priorities, and execute them step by step,” I replied, keeping my hands resting calmly on my lap.

By eight o’clock in the evening, my jaw was tired from talking, but the heavy weight in my chest felt a little lighter. Luca finally closed the yellow notepad and stood up from the chair.

“You’re ready,” Luca declared, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now go get some water before your voice gives out completely.”

I stepped out into the hallway and walked toward the kitchen. The apartment was quiet now, except for the faint hum of the old refrigerator in the corner.

Adrian was standing near the kitchen counter, quietly stirring a cup of herbal tea. He looked up as I walked in. He wore a simple black sweater, his dark eyes watching me carefully as I poured myself a glass of cold water from the pitcher.

“How was the rehearsal?” Adrian asked, his voice low and steady.

“Terrifying,” I admitted, taking a small sip of water. The cold liquid helped soothe my scratchy throat. “Luca made me answer fifty questions. I had to practice sitting without fidgeting with my ring.”

Adrian set his spoon down on a napkin. He stepped away from the counter and came to stand a few feet in front of me. He didn't rush his words. He never did.

“Olivia,” Adrian said softly.

“Yeah?”

“Look at me.”

I raised my head and met his steady gaze.

“You survived Damian,” Adrian said, speaking slowly so every word registered in my mind. “You lived in a house with a man who spent seven years trying to break your spirit. You packed a bag in the middle of the night, walked out the front door, and never went back. You built a new life from nothing.”

I held my glass with both hands, listening to the quiet rumble of his voice.

“An interview is just a conversation with a person in a suit,” Adrian continued gently. “They are going to ask you questions about typing, calendars, and phone calls. That manager cannot hurt you. He doesn't own you. He doesn't know your past unless you decide to share it. Compared to what you’ve already survived, an interview is nothing.”

A tight knot near my collarbone slowly relaxed. Adrian was right. Damian had tried to take my voice, my confidence, and my independence. But he hadn't taken my mind. I still knew how to organize a schedule. I still knew how to manage an office.

“Thank you, Adrian,” I said quietly.

He gave me a small, rare smile and patted my shoulder once. “Go to bed early. You have a long day tomorrow.”

The next morning came far too quickly.

My alarm buzzed at six o’clock. The sun hadn't even risen yet, painting the sky outside my bedroom window in shades of dark blue and gray. I got out of bed, washed my face with cold water, and put on the navy blue suit.

I pulled my chestnut-brown hair back into a low, neat ponytail, fastening it with a simple black band. I put on a light layer of natural makeup, just like I used to wear years ago. When I stood in front of the hallway mirror, I didn't see the scared woman who had arrived at Luca’s doorstep with a single suitcase months ago. I saw a professional woman ready to work.

Luca handed me a hot cup of coffee as I reached the front door. “Don't forget your folder.”

“I have it,” I said, lifting the black leather folder under my arm. Inside were three crisp copies of my resume, printed on heavy white paper.

“Call us the second you walk out of the building,” Luca said, pulling me into a quick, warm hug.

“I will,” I promised.

I walked down the steps of the apartment building and stepped onto the sidewalk. The morning air was crisp and cold, smelling of fresh coffee from the corner bakery. I walked three blocks to the subway station, keeping my chin up and my shoulders straight.

The train ride into the financial district was crowded. People in dark coats stood shoulder to shoulder, reading newspapers or staring down at their smartphones. I held onto the overhead metal handrail, keeping my balance as the train swayed over the tracks. Every time the train stopped at a station, my heart gave a little nervous thud against my ribs, but I kept my breathing steady.

Ten minutes later, I stepped out of the subway station and onto the busy street of the Kingsbridge District.

Kingsley Tower stood right in front of me. It was a massive skyscraper made of dark glass and polished steel, stretching so high into the sky that the top floors disappeared into the morning clouds. Hundreds of people in sharp business suits were streaming through the massive glass doors at the entrance.

I took a deep breath, adjusted the leather folder under my arm, and walked up the broad stone steps.

The main lobby was huge. The white marble floor was polished so bright I could see my reflection beneath my black shoes. Giant chandeliers hung from the three-story ceiling, casting a warm, golden light over the busy room. Security guards in neat blue uniforms stood at the silver turnstiles, checking badges.

I walked up to the main security desk. A guard with graying hair looked up from his computer screen.

“Good morning,” I said, keeping my voice clear and polite. “My name is Olivia Bennett. I have an interview with Human Resources on the twentieth floor at nine o’clock.”

The guard typed my name into his computer. The keys clacked loudly. After a second, he printed out a small plastic visitor pass and slid it across the marble counter to me.

“Take the express elevator on the far left,” the guard said, pointing down the long hallway. “Touch the pass against the scanner inside.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking the plastic card.

I walked down the gleaming hallway toward the elevators. My heels made sharp, rhythmic sounds against the marble floor. Click, clack, click, clack.

I reached the far left elevator. The silver doors were smooth and polished like mirrors. I pressed the up button. A soft chime sounded, and the doors slid open silently.

The inside of the elevator was quiet and lined with dark wood paneling. I stepped inside and turned to face the front. I was the only person in the car. I tapped my visitor pass against the digital scanner on the wall. A green light flashed, and the button for the twentieth floor lit up in bright blue.

The silver doors closed, shutting out the noise of the busy lobby.

The elevator started to move. It rose fast and smooth, pulling my stomach down just a little as the floor numbers lit up above the door one by one.

10... 11... 12...

I looked at my reflection in the elevator’s dark wood paneling. I adjusted the lapel of my navy jacket. I unclenched my left hand and let it rest naturally at my side. You belong here, I told myself quietly. You survived the worst. You can do this.

17... 18... 19...

The elevator slowed down smoothly. A loud, clear chime rang out inside the small cab.

20.

The silver doors slid open, revealing the grand executive floor of Kingsley Global Holdings. The floor was covered in a deep, dark blue carpet that muted every sound. Warm wall lights illuminated elegant paintings along the hallway, and a massive glass desk sat at the far end of the lobby.

My heart pounded hard against my chest, echoing like a drum in my ears, as I raised my foot to take my very first step off the elevator.