Luck or Not

The Interview

Chapter One

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The sound of the leaking bathroom faucet was going to be the end of me. I stared at it from the doorway, already dressed and halfway through fixing an earring. Of all the mornings for a faucet to decide it needed attention, it had chosen today.

Today was supposed to be perfect. It had to be.

Today was my interview for T.G.C. Holdings.

I had spent weeks preparing for this. Weeks reading through company reports, memorising financial figures, revising things I'd already revised twice, and pretending I wasn't nervous whenever my father asked how it was going. I needed this internship. More importantly, I needed to get it without my father's help.

My phone buzzed on the bathroom counter.

Dinner. 7pm today. Dad.

Of course. I stared at the message for a few seconds before locking my phone. I had thirty minutes before I needed to leave. I finished my makeup, checked that my hair was exactly how I wanted it, then made one final inspection of my outfit in the mirror. Nothing was out of place.

Good.

I picked up my bag and headed towards the balcony. The plants came first. They always did.

I watered the three small pots by the balcony railing before moving inside to the kitchen. Two more plants sat beside the window, both of them unnecessarily dramatic about sunlight and water. I gave them what they needed before moving to my bedroom, where another collection occupied the corner beside my bookshelf.

My brothers never understood why I had so many. Neither did anyone else, really. I didn't bother explaining. They were just necessary. It was comforting, watching them grow a particular way after tending to them. They didn't require much care but the little they did one had to be consistent with them.

I needed that consistency. Unlike most things in my life, plants followed rules.

I checked the time. Twenty-two minutes. Still enough.

I sent a quick message to the cleaner reminding them to come by later, checked the stove, unplugged my hair straightener and then checked the stove again.

I reached for the door. Stopped. Went back. Checked the stove a third time.

“Ridiculous.”

The faucet dripped again. I pointed at it as though it had personally offended me.

“I'll deal with you later.”

I grabbed my keys and left.

---

Sally's was only a few minutes from campus, which was probably the only reason our little morning ritual had survived university.

The coffee and bagels were the best in New York, as far as I was concerned. Or maybe they were simply the closest thing to campus. Either way, I had been coming here with Celine and Genesis long enough that the woman behind the counter already knew my order.

I spotted Celine by the counter, holding her usual cherry-flavoured cappuccino with an unnecessary mountain of marshmallows. She looked up when she saw me.

“Oh, hey.”

“Hey.”

She pushed a cup towards me.

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome.”

I took a sip.

Perfect.

“Genesis still hasn't arrived?”

Celine checked her phone.

“Nope.”

“She said she was five minutes away.”

“She said that fifteen minutes ago.”

“That's basically five minutes in Genesis’ time.”

Celine snorted.

“She also said something about her cat catching fire when I called her.”

I nearly choked on my coffee.

“Her cat?”

“Apparently.”

“Her cat doesn't even go outside.”

“I know.”

Before I could say anything else, the door swung open.

“Sorry, everyone.”

Genesis hurried inside, slightly breathless and carrying a handbag that looked like it weighed more than she did.

“The traffic coming here was insane.”

Celine stared at her.

“You don't have a car, Genn.”

“I was talking about the traffic at the elevator.”

There was a pause.

“Of course,” I said.

Genesis dropped into the seat beside us.

“I don't appreciate the judgement.”

“You were late because you were choosing an outfit,” Celine said.

“I was not.”

“You sent me seventeen pictures.”

“They were different options.”

“They were the same dress.”

“They were different shades.”

I laughed.

Genesis pointed at me.

“Don't encourage her.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.”

Celine leaned towards me.

“So. Today.”

I knew exactly what she meant.

“The interview,” Genesis said.

I nodded.

“You've got this,” she said.

“I know.”

Celine raised an eyebrow.

“Wow. Confidence.”

“It's more like preparation actually.”

“Same thing with better branding.”

I smiled.

I'd prepared for this.

I had studied the company. I knew what T.G.C. Holdings had been doing for the last three years. I knew their expansion plans, their recent acquisitions and which departments had taken the biggest losses.

I knew exactly why I wanted to work there. And I knew exactly why I couldn't afford to fail.

Genesis reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

“Elena.”

“Hmm?”

“Stop thinking.”

“I wasn't.”

“You were.”

Celine nodded. “She's doing the thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where she looks calm but is probably calculating the probability of every possible outcome.”

I looked between them.

“You two are very annoying.”

“And yet,” Genesis said, lifting her coffee, “you keep coming back.”

I smiled. That was the thing about them. They knew me well enough to notice when I was nervous, but not well enough to make a big deal about it.

I glanced at the time.

“I should go.”

Celine nodded.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Genesis smiled.

“And Elena?”

I paused.

“Don't try to be perfect.”

I gave her a look.

“That's a very strange thing to say to me on purpose.”

“I know.” She said with a smile.

---

T.G.C. Holdings occupied almost an entire corner of the street. Glass walls. Steel framing. Polished stone floors. Everything about the building seemed designed to say one thing: We have money.

I stood outside for a moment, looking up. Then I checked my reflection in the glass. Perfect.

I walked in. The lobby was already crowded.

About sixty candidates had been called for interviews, and judging by the number of people sitting around me, most of them had arrived with the same determination I had.

I checked my folder. Résumé. Transcript. References. Portfolio. Everything was there.

I sat down.

Waited.

Checked my phone.

Nothing from Dad. Good.

One by one, candidates disappeared through the doors. I kept my eyes on the clock. Eventually, a receptionist called my name.

“Miss Kensington?” I stood.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Bennett will see you now.”

I followed her down the hallway.

The interview itself was shorter than I expected. There were questions about my degree, my previous projects, my academic performance and why I wanted the internship. I answered everything carefully. When they asked why T.G.C., I didn't hesitate.

“Because I want to understand how decisions made on paper become something real, and I want to know that I can contribute to that process rather than simply inherit a place in it.” The interviewer looked at me for a moment.

“And you think you can contribute?”

“Yes.”

I meant it.

A few more questions followed, then he closed my file.

“Thank you, Miss Kensington. Please meet the receptionist outside and complete the remaining paperwork.”

I stood.

“Thank you for your time.”

I walked out of the room with a smile I couldn't quite suppress. I'd done it. I had landed the internship. My internship.

Not because my father knew someone. Not because someone owed him a favour. Not because my surname opened a door. I had done it myself. And for once, I was going to let myself enjoy that.

I approached the receptionist.

“Elena Kensington ”

“Yeah, that's me.”

She handed me a stack of papers.

“Fill these out. When you're finished, submit these to HR, these to payroll, collect your ID card and report to Mr. Collins. He'll be your direct supervisor.”

I stared at the papers.

She continued.

“Your desk is on the fourth floor. Finance department.”

“Okay.”

She picked up the phone.

“Any questions?”

“No.”

That wasn't entirely true. I definitely had several but I wasn't about to let her know that. She might think I'm subpar. She pressed the intercom.

“Attention, all remaining applicants. The interviews have concluded. Please proceed to the exit.”

The lobby erupted. A man standing near the elevator looked at his watch.

“You're kidding.”

Someone else immediately started complaining.

“But my interview was scheduled for eleven.”

“Mine was at eleven-thirty.”

The receptionist didn't even look bothered.

“Please proceed to the exit.”

I stepped aside, clutching my paperwork. Interesting. Very interesting.

Within minutes, the lobby began clearing. I submitted the necessary forms, collected my ID card and found my way to the fourth floor. The finance department was quieter than the lobby. Too quiet, actually.

I walked past several desks. A few people looked up. Then looked away.

I checked my ID card again.

Elena Kensington — Intern.

I kept walking. Someone whispered behind me. I couldn't make out the words. Then another voice.

“Forty-eighth applicant.”

Someone else laughed quietly. I stopped for half a second. Forty-eighth?

I turned around. Three people were gathered around a desk, talking among themselves. They went silent when they noticed me looking. I smiled politely.

“Excuse me.”

One of them looked at me.

“Yes?”

“Would you mind showing me Mr. Collins' office?”

He looked me up and down before pointing towards the opposite hallway.

“The secretary's desk is down there. She'll show you.”

“Thank you.”

I walked away. I could feel their eyes on my back. Maybe I was imagining it. It was my first day. People were probably just curious. There was no reason to assume otherwise.

I reached the secretary's desk.

“Hi. I'm Elena Kensington. I'm supposed to report to Mr. Collins.” She looked at my ID card. Then at me. Then back at the card.

“Mr. Collins is in his office.”

“Thank you.”

She pointed towards a door. I knocked. “Come in.” I opened the door.

A man in his forties looked up from his computer.

“Elena Kensington?”

“Yes.”

He gestured towards the chair. “Sit.” I did. He studied my résumé.

“Cornell?”

“Yes.”

“Economics?”

“Yes.”

He nodded once.

“You'll be assisting with expenditure analysis for the next few weeks. For today, I'd like you to review the company's recent expenditure and prepare a detailed report on areas where costs can be reduced.”

I reached for the notebook in my bag.

“How much time do I have?”

“End of the day.”

I nodded.

“Understood.”

He returned his attention to his computer. I stood. Then stopped.

“Mr. Collins?”

He looked up.

“Yes?”

“Is there anything specific you'd like me to focus on?” He paused. “Use your judgement.” I smiled. “Okay.” I walked out.

For the first time that morning, I felt completely certain of myself again. I could do this. I had prepared for this.

And this—

this was exactly what I had wanted.