Four
1232 Words
Olivia:
My heart sank to my feet as soon as I saw his face, fluttering in my stomach on its way down.
“Just my f*****g luck,” he said, looking at me sternly. “Wow, wow… who do we have here?” He leaned back with force, one finger resting thoughtfully against his jaw.
All my hopes deflated together with my heavy exhale the second my eyes met his.
“You?” His voice was low and heavy.
I shut my eyes briefly, trying to summon the motivation to face this interview. It was about to be nothing short of a total disaster.
The man I’d cussed out was—hopefully—going to be my new boss. Oh, f**k.
His eyes dipped toward my chest, and my cheeks flushed every shade of red. The intensity in his stare burned me to my core.
Having him look at me that way shouldn’t have sparked this kind of reaction. I should have felt offended. Yet somehow, all I felt was a strange pride and a reckless need for more.
“Good morning, Mr Hayes,” I muttered, my tone flat and my smile fake, hoping my voice would break his reverie.
With a small shake of his head, he finally broke eye contact, shifting his gaze to the rest of the people sitting at the table.
“Is my schedule right? I thought we were expecting a Mr Hawthorne.”
“No, sir. This is Miss Olivia Hawthorne,” said the man beside him his secretary, by the look of him.
"I understand you two know each other?" one of the members conducting the interview stated. Somehow the complication in his question didn't seem innocent or platonic.
I opened my mouth to refute, but Mr. Dominic Hayes was quicker on the trigger.
"She's wearing my shirt right now." He said.
My eyes bulged out in shock at what he had just yelled for everyone in the room to hear. From the look on their faces, they were shocked too. A sarcastic, disdainful grin spread across his face.
"I'm kidding, we bumped into each other this morning," he said.
I chuckled sarcastically, as if silently asking everyone in the room if this guy was for real.
The derogatory tone under his insinuation was clear to everyone here, making me shift in my seat as exasperation crept up my spine. Other than that, what was brewing to come out of my mouth wasn’t at all suited for Mr. Dominic Hayes’ ears…or the rest of the staff conducting the interview, because the truth was he bumped into me and splashed dirty water all over me while riding his bike.
I believed it was best to say nothing. But thinking about it now, there was no way I was going to get this job. Not after I cussed him out and demanded an apology the way I did this morning.
My stomach twisted at the realization, my earlier words to him still replaying in my head like a cruel joke. How was I supposed to know that the smug biker who drenched me in the streets was going to be the CEO of my dream company? The Dominic Hayes. The man holding my future in his hands.
Oh, I screwed up. Big. f*****g. Time.
"Okay, enough… let’s get to business," one of the women on the panel said quickly, trying to diffuse the tension. "I’m the Human Resource Manager, Mrs. Kayla Morgan. I’m sure you’re well aware that our available position is for our Marketing and PR Associate…"
"Yes, ma’am," I nodded immediately.
"Okay, Miss Olivia Hawthorne, why did you apply for this position?"
I straightened my back in the chair, forcing the words out of my mouth.
"I applied for this job because I know how to work, ma’am. I’ve been part of smaller campaigns in the past, and I’ve worked with local events," I said as the staff conducting the interview flipped through my résumé. "I know how to market an item and get people talking immediately. It’s always been my little charm. Hayes Industries already has the amazing products. What’s left is someone who can make people feel like they’re part of a community."
"Very well then," she said, scribbling something on her notepad and nodding slightly in agreement.
A man leaned forward to ask the next question. "If one of our riders caused a scandal before a launch event, how would you handle the PR crisis, Miss?"
"Uhm… first of all, I’d try to get the truth out immediately and apologize to the public. If we don’t, someone else might leak the story to the press, and of course we know how journalists can be." I spread my hands open as I explained. "They’ll twist the story to fit whatever they want, and that’s not good for the company. The public wants real. If we give them that, it makes a solid impact and helps us gain their trust."
"That’s good," the man said, the others nodding in unison as they scribbled on their notepads. Everyone, except him. Dominic Hayes.
Then he spoke up. "Well, Miss Hawthorne, you don’t look like someone who would thrive under pressure. And we need someone who can think fast and work under pressure. So, convince me otherwise."
I could sense he was baiting me. I forced myself to meet his eyes.
"Pressure is not new to me, Mr Hayes," I said, my voice firmer than I expected. "I wouldn’t be here right now if I couldn’t handle it. I’ve worked part-time jobs in coffee shops and restaurants where long lines of people would pour in at once, ordering like the world was ending. I learned how to stay calm, how to multitask, and how to keep moving. I toughened up."
Mr Dominic Hayes leaned back further in his chair, watching me with those unreasonable eyes.
The silence stretched, the weight of his stare pressing into me. My palms dampened against the fabric of my skirt, but I didn’t let myself look away. If he wanted to intimidate me, he’d have to try harder.
Finally, Mrs. Morgan cleared her throat. "Thank you, Miss Hawthorne. One last question before we wrap this up. Where do you see yourself contributing most here at Hayes Industries?"
I exhaled slowly, my fingers tightening on the edge of the chair. "Hayes Industries is already a leader in innovation. But a leader also has to connect with people. That’s where I see myself coming in. With PR and marketing, I can make sure your products aren’t just admired—they’re desired. People don’t just buy a bike or a car, they buy the lifestyle that comes with it. They buy the story. And I know how to tell that story."
The interview room was quiet for a beat. Everyone stopped scribbling on their papers. Even the HR manager’s brows lifted, like she hadn’t expected me to have an actual answer.
Dominic tapped his finger once against the table, his mouth set in a line that gave nothing away. But his eyes lingered, sharp and unreadable, as if trying to peel me apart layer by layer.
"That will be all for now," Mrs. Morgan said, smiling politely. "We’ll be in touch after we finish today’s interviews."
"Thank you," I replied, forcing myself to sound steady as I gathered my things and left the room.
- Writer
