Chapter 4: Interview
1845 Words
Emma finally arrived at the location. Her jaw dropped.
The building stood tall and sleek, its surface made entirely of reflective black glass with silver accents that gleamed under the morning sun. Sharp edges, minimalist design, and clean lines gave it a cold, modern elegance. It was the kind of place that didn’t just look expensive, it felt expensive. The kind of place where everything was in grayscale and silence.
Inside, the lobby was a masterpiece of modern design. The walls were lined with oversized magazine covers, showcasing high-fashion models and award-winning campaigns each framed in brushed metal. The floors were polished grey marble, spotless and gleaming beneath soft white lighting. Black leather couches and low glass tables stood near the corners, looking like they had never been touched.
The air smelled faintly of expensive cologne and fresh paper.
At the far end, a silver-toned reception desk sat in front of a high-tech digital screen listing different departments and floors. Behind it, a sharply dressed receptionist with a wireless earpiece greeted visitors and directed them to their destinations.
On the left side of the lobby stretched a long corridor entirely dedicated to elevators, a high-end lift bay with nine seamless elevator doors, evenly spaced and marked only by minimalist silver numbers above each. The walls here were matte black with tiny embedded lights along the ceiling, creating a soft glow that made the entire space look like part of a luxury sci-fi set.
Emma stepped into one of the elevators. It opened silently, revealing a clean, mirrored interior with chrome details and soft grey floor panels. Calm instrumental music played faintly in the background as she pressed the button for the fifteenth floor.
“Fifteenth floor,” she muttered, pressing the glowing button. “Great. Just fifteen floors of panic.”
The doors slid shut with a soft ding, and she stared at her reflection in the mirrored wall.
“Wow,” she whispered. “Even the elevator is fancier than my future.”
But her mind wasn’t on the building.
She was still thinking about the man from earlier. Those green eyes. That face. Those scars. She knew she had seen them somewhere before. Maybe in a dream? A weird ad? A t****k edit? She didn’t know. But something about him felt oddly familiar especially the eyes. She’d never seen green eyes in real life, but his had been... nice.
No. Not nice. Dangerous. Dangerous and... pretty.
She caught herself smiling and slapped her cheeks lightly. “Focus, Emma. You’re here for a job. No boys. Big no. Massive no.”
Ding.
The elevator doors opened.
She stepped out into a hallway that screamed sophistication, matte black walls, silver signs, and floors that muffled even her loud heels. She reached the reception, where a woman with a face straight out of a K-drama politely smiled at her.
“Hi, I’m here for the interview, junior content writing intern?” Emma said, trying not to sound like a baby squirrel.
The receptionist nodded gracefully and pointed to the right. “Waiting area’s that way.”
Emma walked into a lounge that could easily be a luxury airport waiting room. Six candidates were already there five stunning women, all legs, lashes, and lip gloss, and one guy who looked like he stepped out of a perfume ad.
She quickly slid into a chair, trying to make herself invisible. The girls’ dresses were sleek and short, their legs glowing like they’d bathed in golden oil. She tugged at her blazer sleeves and prayed her toothpaste stain wasn’t glowing under the lights.
Feeling overwhelmed, she turned to the girl beside her.
“Hey, uh… are you here for the content writing intern interview?”
The girl blinked at her. “Sorry, what? Can you speak a little louder?”
Emma internally facepalmed. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. I was asking if this is for the writer position?”
The girl gave her a polite smile, the kind that almost covered the slight amusement in her eyes. She’d clearly noticed how nervous Emma was, the trembling fingers, the way she kept fidgeting with her handbag and decided to offer the most casually delivered piece of advice possible. “Yeah, we all are. Don’t worry. It’s just an interview. They’re not gonna eat you or anything.”
Emma nodded with a tight smile. Right. Chill. Like my body’s just gonna calm down because someone told it to. If that actually worked, I must be crazy for suffering all this time.
Before she could overthink herself into a full meltdown, another woman also looking like she’d just stepped out of a luxury fashion ad, walked into the room.
“Emma Grey? You’re next.”
Emma stood up, legs shaking, head heavy like she’d balanced a bowling ball on her shoulders. Her heels pinched with every step, and each one felt like she was marching into battle and the war hadn’t even started yet.
Just survive. Don’t faint. Just. Survive.
The office she entered was surprisingly cozy for a media giant, modern shelves, camera gear in the corner, big windows with sunlight streaming in. And sitting at the desk was…
A man who looked like trouble. Handsome, charming, and one hundred percent not the kind of person you want to mess up in front of.
He wore a fitted brown shirt that showed off his arms a little too well. On his hand, a sleek black flame tattoo curled down from each finger, like fire dripping toward his wrist, sharp, clean, and impossible to ignore. His hair was dark brown, a bit messy in a “didn’t try but still looks perfect” way, and just long enough to brush the top of his ears. His hazel eyes were bright and a little too curious, and the relaxed smirk on his face made Emma’s stomach drop.
“Emma Grey?” he asked, standing up to shake her hand.
“Yes. Hi. Hello. Yep. That’s me. Emma. Grey. Me.” WHY?
He chuckled and gestured to the chair. “No need to recite your birth certificate. Take a seat.”
She sat. And immediately knocked her bag off the chair arm.
Smooth.
As she scrambled to pick it up, the man across from her leaned back in his chair with a grin that said he’d seen worse. “I’m Eren Zavier,” he said casually “Co-founder and Executive Creative Director here at Zavier Media.”
Eren leaned forward slightly, folding his hands and watching her with interest. “So, tell me about yourself.”
Emma straightened. “Well,” she began, overly confident for 0.2 seconds. “I’m... grayish Emma. Obviously. No I mean—Grey. Emma Grey. I’m a girl… student. Still a student. I love writing. I can die for it—I mean, yeah, I love writing. Blog writing, caption writing, articles... everything.”
She smiled.
Internally, she screamed.
I want to kick myself in the face.
Eren blinked. Slowly. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, like he wasn’t sure if she was joking or actually spiraling.
“And… why writing, Emma?” he asked, resting his chin on one hand, still watching her like she was a particularly fascinating meme.
“Because I... I like writing. I’ve always liked writing. Since I was a kid. Like, I once wrote a love letter for my cousin—for her crush. And he actually said yes. So, technically, I started a relationship. With words.”
A pause.
Oh my God, shut up.
Eren snorted. Snorted. “That’s a new one.”
He leaned back again, clearly entertained. “Alright. What do you know about Zavier Media?”
Emma blinked. Her brain pulled up a loading sign.
“Umm… you guys are media. Very rich. I mean, rich products. Not people. I mean, people too. I think. You do media things. And your staff is… good. Like, friendly. Very… staff-like.”
A beat of silence passed. She smiled like nothing was wrong. Everything was wrong.
Eren lifted a brow, clearly trying not to laugh. “Right. Let’s talk content writing. What’s the difference between copywriting and content writing?”
“Oh. Easy,” Emma perked up, relieved she actually knew something. “Copywriting is when you try to sell someone a pen like it’s the last pen on Earth. Content writing is when you write a blog about how to emotionally recover from losing that pen.”
He chuckled, nodding. “Not bad. Alright, what’s keyword stuffing?”
Emma made a face. “The evil twin of SEO. Like when you take a perfectly normal article and slap the keyword into every sentence like a maniac. It’s the writing version of shouting ‘SALE!’ in someone’s face until they run.”
Eren laughed properly this time.
She smiled, feeling a glimmer of hope
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Well, Emma... that was probably the most entertaining interview I’ve ever had.”
She blinked. “Is that a good thing or... like... a ‘never call her again’ thing?”
He smiled, devilishly. “Guess you’ll find out. Next!”
Emma scrambled up, bowing slightly (why?) and walked out with the grace of a broken robot.
.........
When Emma walked out of the room, her whole body was trembling like a washing machine on spin mode.
She knew she had messed up. Big time. And the embarrassment?
All she wanted now was to go home. Or at least disappear from this shiny, intimidating building. Her feet were done pretending to tolerate the heels.
“There’s no way I’m getting this job,” she thought bitterly, already yanking off the torture devices disguised as shoes. “And if someone sees me barefoot, let them. My survival comes first.”
She slid both heels off, clutched them in one hand, and made a run for the elevators like she was escaping a crime scene. There was a whole row of them, at least nine side by side and she could’ve picked any one.
But no.
Of course she chose the one that was just about to close.
In full panic, she flung one of her heels like a slipper of justice at the elevator.
THUNK.
It hit the metal edge perfectly, making the doors bounce open. Success. Emma rushed in, scooped up her heroic heel like a prize, and took a deep breath...
Then froze.
Because standing inside, arms crossed, leaning casually against the wall was him.
All black. Tall. Stoic. Green freaking eyes.
The Chest Man.
No.
No no no no no.
Her stomach dropped. Her soul probably left her body.
She stepped fully inside, hugging her shoes to her chest like some weird form of armor.
Their eyes met.
His expression didn’t change. Calm. Mysterious. Slightly amused.
Emma, on the other hand, was mentally writing her own eulogy.
“What was the need to be so dramatic?”
The elevator doors slid shut with a soft ding.
She was trapped.
With him.
Again.
.......
- Writer
