Chapter Four: The Interview
1158 Words
The glass towers of Mikaelson Enterprises glittered like sharpened blades against the city skyline, reflecting the morning light with a ruthless gleam. Elena stood at the entrance, her palms damp, her résumé clutched like a fragile lifeline. The world moved briskly around her…suits, heels, purpose…but she stood still, heart drumming an uncertain rhythm that echoed louder with each passing second.
Sophie’s words echoed softly in her mind: “You have to start somewhere, Lena. Maybe this is it.”
Somewhere behind her, a car honked. She flinched, nearly stepping back onto the curb. But she caught herself…inhaled, and forced her trembling feet forward. The automatic glass doors slid open with a soft hiss, exhaling a rush of cool, perfumed air that smelled faintly of cedar and money.
Inside, the lobby was a cathedral of marble and glass. Light spilled through the high windows like liquid gold, glinting off silver elevator doors and the black granite reception desk. A gold plaque gleamed on the far wall: MIKAELSON BIOTECH ENTERPRISES. The name alone radiated weight. Power. Precision.
Elena swallowed hard. The receptionist, a woman with sharp cheekbones, glossy lips, and crimson nails…barely looked up when Elena approached.
“Interview for the nanny position,” Elena said, her voice careful, controlled.
“Name?”
“Elena Hart.”
A beat of silence followed. The receptionist’s eyes flicked up, scanning her with cool efficiency. There was a pause…recognition? Or maybe just judgment. Either way, it burned.
“You can wait over there. Mr. Cole will attend to you shortly.”
Elena nodded and walked toward the pristine seating area, her heels tapping softly against the marble floor. She sat on the edge of the couch, clutching her bag in her lap, trying not to notice how out of place she looked among the sleek decor and confident people. The silence in the lobby was too clean, too sterile…like the hospital corridors she used to walk.
For a moment, she closed her eyes. She could almost hear the steady rhythm of a heart monitor, the low hum of fluorescent lights, the soft murmur of reassurance she used to give her patients. You’re going to be fine.
But she wasn’t fine. She hadn’t been since everything collapsed.
She had dreamed once of saving lives. Now she was here, hoping to watch someone else’s child.
Her throat tightened. This isn’t forever, she told herself. Just until you can breathe again.
The elevator chimed softly.
A tall man stepped out, his dark gray suit immaculate, his stride measured and assured. His hair was neatly combed back, his expression precise…a man who valued efficiency over small talk. His gaze swept across the lobby before settling on her.
“Elena Hart?”
“Yes,” she answered, standing quickly.
He extended his hand. “Ethan Cole. Personal assistant to Mr. Mikaelson. Follow me, please.”
His handshake was brief, firm, and impersonal. Still, there was something analytical in the way his eyes lingered on her…like he was already weighing her worth.
Elena followed him through a corridor lined with framed photographs, stock charts, architectural blueprints, and charity galas. Every image screamed perfection, every corner polished to reflect success. The faint scent of coffee and cologne trailed through the air, underscoring how far she was from her old life.
They stopped at a glass-walled conference room overlooking the city. Ethan gestured for her to sit.
“So,” he began, settling across from her, tablet in hand. “You’re applying for the position of live-in nanny.”
“Yes.”
He scrolled through her digital file, his gaze moving with clinical detachment. “You have a medical background.”
“Yes, I was a nurse. Until…” Her voice wavered. The memory clawed at her…flashing cameras, headlines with her name, accusations that weren’t hers to bear.
“Until a misunderstanding cost you your job,” Ethan finished, tone neutral but not kind. “There’s quite a bit of media coverage about that, Ms. Hart.”
Elena’s fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. “I know what it looks like. But I didn’t do what they accused me of. I never would.”
A quiet moment stretched between them. Ethan studied her with that unreadable gaze…calculating risk, damage, and perhaps, faint curiosity.
Her pulse hammered. “I just need a chance,” she whispered. “A clean slate. I’m good with children. And I…” she hesitated, swallowing the lump in her throat…“I need this.”
Something flickered across his face then. A trace of empathy, gone as quickly as it came.
“I see.” He leaned back, steepling his fingers. “Mr. Mikaelson’s daughter has been difficult with previous caretakers. She’s… particular about who’s allowed near him. The last candidate didn’t last a week.”
Elena blinked. “Why?”
Ethan’s expression didn’t change. “You’ll have to ask Mr. Mikaelson yourself…if you’re shortlisted.”
She nodded, forcing herself to remain composed despite the unease curling in her stomach.
“Tell me,” he said after a pause, “why should I believe you can handle working for Alexander Mikaelson?”
The name hit her like a jolt. Alexander Mikaelson…reclusive billionaire, tycoon, man whose empire seemed to touch every corner of the city. She’d seen him once on television…cold eyes, sharper words, a man carved from ambition itself.
Elena straightened her shoulders, finding her voice. “Because I don’t scare easily,” she said quietly. “Not anymore.”
For a heartbeat, something in Ethan’s expression softened, a faint crack in his professional armor, before he masked it again. “I’ll pass your file to Mr. Mikaelson,” he said finally. “You’ll be informed of his decision within forty-eight hours.”
She rose, smoothing her skirt. “Thank you for your time.”
Ethan nodded once, already glancing back at his tablet.
Elena turned and walked toward the elevator, her reflection trailing her in the glass…small, tired, but still standing. As the doors slid shut, enclosing her in silence, she exhaled shakily. For the first time in weeks, something faint and unfamiliar stirred inside her…hope. Fragile, trembling hope.
When the elevator doors opened again in the lobby, Ethan was already speaking in low tones with the receptionist. Elena caught fragments…“background check,” “media coverage,” “risk.”
Her stomach sank. She knew exactly what those words meant.
Still, she lifted her chin, walking past them with quiet dignity. Outside, the morning wind caught her hair, tossing it gently around her face as sunlight glanced off the tower behind her. Somewhere inside that fortress of glass and steel, her future was being decided by a man she’d never met.
And yet, for the first time since her fall from grace, she wanted to believe she might still have a place in the world.
She clutched her bag tighter and kept walking…as she asked herself…
Will I get the job?
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- Writer
