The Accidental Mrs Williams

CHAPTER 1: Three Hundred and Forty-Two Three hundred and forty-two rejection emails. I counted every single one of them, and each one chipped away at me like a hammer against glass. So when the receptionist at The Williams Group called my name, my legs almost refused to stand. "Clara? They are ready for you now." I smoothed my hands down my pencil skirt, grabbed my portfolio, and followed her through a corridor that smelled like expensive leather and fresh flowers. The walls were lined with framed magazine covers, each one featuring designs from The Williams Group. Dresses I had studied in my textbooks. Gowns I had sketched in my bedroom at two in the morning while my grandmother slept and my brother did his homework at the kitchen table. The receptionist opened a glass door and gestured me inside. I walked in and my eyes went straight to the man behind the desk. He was older, maybe late fifties, with salt and pepper hair swept back neatly. His eyes were a warm shade of brown and his jaw was strong, clean shaven. He wore a navy suit with no tie, top button undone. Everything about him screamed money and power, but his smile was kind. "Miss Clara?" He stood and held his hand out across the desk. "Yes, sir. Clara Okafor." I shook his hand and sat when he gestured to the cream leather chair across from him. "Raymond Williams. I am the creative director here and I handle recruitment for senior positions when our CEO is away." He sat back down and opened a folder. My folder. "I have read your application three times." My stomach flipped. "Three times?" "Three times." He looked up at me over the rim of his glasses. "Your cover letter was impressive. But I want to hear it from you directly. Why do you want this job, Clara?" I took a breath. "Because I belong in this industry, Mr Williams. Not behind a desk answering phones and sorting emails. But I understand that every great building starts with a foundation. This role is my foundation." He tilted his head. "You studied fashion design at Central Saint Martins before you left. Top of your class for two years. Why did you leave?" There it was. The question that always came. The one that made my chest tighten and my throat burn. I sat straighter and looked him dead in the eyes. "My parents died in a house fire when I was twenty. I became the sole carer for my younger brother and my grandmother. University was a luxury I could not afford anymore." I did not break eye contact. "But I never stopped learning. I never stopped designing. I just had to find a different path." Raymond was quiet for a long moment. Then he closed the folder and dropped his pen on the desk. "I have interviewed nine people today. Eight of them told me they wanted this job because of the salary, the prestige, or the networking opportunities." He leaned forward. "You are the only one who told me the truth." My heart was hammering so loud I was sure he could hear it. "Can you start Monday? Nine o'clock sharp?" I pressed my lips together so hard it hurt. Do not scream, Clara. Do not scream. "Yes, sir. Absolutely." "Good." He stood and shook my hand again, his grip firm and warm. "Welcome to The Williams Group. Patricia at reception will send you all the paperwork this evening." "Thank you, Mr Williams. I will not let you down." I picked up my bag and walked to the door on legs made of jelly. "Clara?" I turned back. He smiled at me in a way that reminded me of my father. "Wear comfortable shoes on Monday. You will be doing a lot of walking." I smiled, nodded, and walked out of that building like I was floating three feet off the ground. The second I hit the pavement outside, I pulled my phone from my bag with shaking hands and dialled Shaznay. She picked up on the first ring. "Well?" "I got it." Silence. Then a scream so loud I had to hold the phone away from my ear. "DORINDA! SHE GOT IT! SHE GOT THE JOB!" I heard Dorinda shrieking in the background, and then her voice came on the line. "Clara, you better not be messing with us right now." "I am dead serious. I start Monday." "Oh my God. Oh my GOD." Dorinda was laughing and crying at the same time. "Get home right now. We are going out tonight. No arguments." "Dorinda, I have work on Mon..." "I said no arguments! Shaznay is already picking outfits. Get your behind home." I laughed and hung up, standing on the busy London street with people rushing past me on all sides. None of them knew. None of them cared. But for the first time in seven years, I felt like the universe had finally looked my way and decided to throw me something good. I thought about calling my grandmother, but I wanted to tell her in person. She deserved to see my face when I said it. She deserved to know that all those nights she sat up with me, rubbing my back while I cried over another rejection letter, had not been for nothing. I took the train home and practically ran up the four flights of stairs to our flat. Before I could even get my key in the lock, the door swung open and Shaznay and Dorinda stood there in matching silk robes, hair in rollers, wine glasses in hand. "There she is!" Shaznay grabbed my arm and pulled me inside. "The future head of fashion herself!" "I am an executive assistant, Shaz. Not a designer. Not yet." "Yet." Dorinda pointed a finger at me. "That is the key word. Yet." She shoved a glass of wine in my hand. "Now drink up because we are going to The Velvet Room tonight and you need at least three glasses in you before we leave." "The Velvet Room?" I stared at her. "That place has a guest list longer than my arm." "And my cousin Clinton is working the door tonight." Shaznay grinned and wiggled her eyebrows. "We are getting in, babe. Trust me." I took a long sip of wine and looked around our tiny flat. Three small bedrooms, a kitchen that barely fit two people at the same time, and a bathroom with a shower that only gave hot water for six minutes. It was cramped and old and the radiator made a sound like a dying cat every winter. But it was ours, and I loved it. If I had not gotten this job, I would have had to move back home to help with rent. Back to the council flat in South London where my grandmother sat in her wheelchair by the window and my brother Samuel pretended he was not struggling. I took another sip and smiled at my girls. "Alright. Let me shower first." "Go! And shave your legs!" Shaznay called as I headed to the bathroom. "My legs are always shaved!" "Sure they are!" I locked the bathroom door and leaned against it, closing my eyes. Something in my chest loosened for the first time in months. Maybe years. Things were finally, finally looking up. I had no idea that in less than twelve hours, my life would become the most complicated mess I had ever seen, and it would all start with a pair of green eyes and a smile that should have come with a warning label.