Chapter 2
1078 Words
Okay, now Nicole took a deep breath and stood a little straighter. Her eyes lifted. And met his.
The man behind the voice.
The man she had just accidentally bumped into. Entirely by accident. Not like she'd planned it. She hadn’t exactly walked into the building thinking, Maybe today I’ll throw myself into a random man and create chaos before my interview.
Absolutely not.
She cleared her throat. “I’m here for the interview. Ninth floor… Mr Clyde?”
The words just spilt out before she could overthink them.. And at this moment, Nicole was painfully aware she wasn’t thinking straight.
Not even a little.
Her brain felt scrambled, running on cold rain, nerves, heartbreak, and whatever strange chemical reaction happened whenever Clyde Ciaran looked directly at her for longer than three seconds.
“Miss Hayes?” he asked, voice even.
His brow moved—just a small, involuntary shift. Barely there. Like the situation hadn’t quite matched what he expected, and his face had reacted before he could stop it.
Nicole swallowed and nodded, suddenly aware of how dry her throat had become and how warm her body felt all at once. Nerves. That had to be it. or at least that was what she reminded herself.
“Yes… Miss Hayes,” She cleared her throat quickly, trying to reset herself, straighten the edges of her composure. “I’m here for the interview.”
Nicole just wanted to get through it. That was it. That was the entire mission now.
Survive the interview. Survive whatever this was doing to her nervous system—
Ding
The elevator slid open.
Two men stepped out, both in fitted black suits, pushing a garment rack. And on it sat a wedding dress— obviously.
Nicole’s eyes immediately locked onto it and she stared as the gown disappeared farther down the hallway.
“Head on. Time’s not on our side—less than thirty minutes to get you into that.” Clyde said in tone that sounded less like a suggestion and more like a decision already made.
Nicole laughed. It wasn't’t a real laugh. Not the warm, natural kind. This one existed purely to cover panic and immediately failed at its job.
“Okay... I’m a bit lost here.” She gave a small gesture between herself and the hallway where the wedding dress had disappeared. “I’m here because I got called for an interview. For the hotel receptionist position. Not—”
She frowned, her brows drawing together slightly.
“Not... A wedding dress?"
The words sounded strange even to her. She nervously bit the inside of her lip, a small habit she’d never quite gotten rid of whenever anxiety decided to take over.
Clyde Ciaran blinked. Almost too quick to notice.
He swallowed, his throat working as he tried to reset whatever had just slipped out of place inside him.
“Aren’t you Miss Juliana Hayes?” he asked, voice steady. “My assistant told me I should be expecting you in my office today.”
“I’m… not Juliana— I’m Nicole. Nicole Hayes.” The correction came out slightly broken at first, then steadier as she pushed through it.
He frowned, "Where's Juliana?"
Nicole looked over her shoulder, suddenly unsure if she was even supposed to still be standing there.
“Um… If there’s a misunderstanding, maybe I can… I can come back when it’s all cleared up.”
"Wait—"
The word slipped out of Clyde before he could rein it in.
He certainly wasn't a man easily distracted. He didn’t have time for it. Didn’t allow himself space for it.
He didn’t do persuasion. He gave orders. Made decisions. People followed.
But this—this was different. He wasn’t trying to close a deal. He was trying to keep her here. In this moment. In this building. In his line of sight.
And the only tool he had?
A wedding dress.
So he said it—flat, almost dry, like it was a fact, not a plea:
“You’d fit that dress perfectly. I can see it. You should try it on. At least once. Isn’t that every woman's dream, Miss Hayes?”
“Excuse me, sir—” Nicole frowned with a slight shake of her head. "You’re not going to talk me into that dress with some fantasy."
“How much then?” Clyde asked, a little more desperate than he intended. And he wasn’t sure why this woman was pushing him into negotiation when he was used to having his way, always, through calm, calculated certainty rather than debate.
Nicole scoffed, “What?”
"I just need one photo." He insisted. "That’s all. You. Me. My family. All of us, with you in that dress."
“Seriously, I ... I came here for a job, and for whatever reason this is all tangled up. I’m ready to step back until it’s all settled.”
She did.
Nicole literally stepped back, and oh the papers she had kindly helped pick up from the floor when she bumped into him earlier. She was handing them out to Clyde Ciaran, expecting him to take them quickly to she could bail out of there.
He hesitated. His focus was fixed on her instead of the papers she was offering back.
He was noticing things.
And that was the problem.
Clyde Ciaran didn’t notice things like this. He assessed. He evaluated. He discarded what wasn’t relevant.
But with her, his attention kept catching on details he had no business storing.
Like her hair.
Auburn, but not the polished kind you see in advertisements or boardrooms. It had frayed at the ends from the rain and wind, clinging to her temples in damp, uneven curls.
Then her skin.
Pale, with a stubborn pink flush spreading across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose. From the cold, probably.
Or nerves. Or both. She looked like she’d been outside too long in a world that wasn’t being kind to her today.
And then—
That lip bite again.
He gritted his teeth. "Just a photo."
“No, sir. I'm sorry—"
“One photo,” he said, voice quieter now. “Call it… a favour. I can repay it afterwards."
Nicole's breath caught.
She could still walk away.One step. Two.
Into the elevator and straight out of this building. Back to her life. Back to her Nicoleness
But something in his eyes made her hesitate.
- Writer
