Chapter 2: The Interview
611 Words
I showed up twenty minutes early, because being late would give me a heart attack.
The building was all glass walls and quiet power. I wore the best thing I owned—black slacks, a white blouse, and a navy blazer that made me look more confident than I felt.
The receptionist smiled. “You’re here for the assistant interview?”
“Yes,” I said, trying not to sound nervous.
“Great. Mr. Dela Vega will see you in a few minutes.”
I sat down, heart pounding.
Mr. Dela Vega.
The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
I went over my answers in my head.
Strong organizational skills. Passion for learning. Able to work under pressure.
You know—typical desperate job hunter stuff.
Finally, she called my name. “You can head up to the 27th floor. Office at the end of the hall.”
I nodded, stood, and walked toward the elevator.
Deep breaths. You’ve got this.
The 27th floor was quiet. Sleek. Expensive.
I found the office door and knocked lightly.
“Come in,” a deep voice said.
I opened the door.
And froze.
Standing behind the desk… was him.
The man from that night.
The man whose name I never asked.
The man I’d slept with and left.
No. Freaking. Way.
He looked up from a file, and when his eyes met mine, something flickered across his face.
Recognition.
Shock.
Then—amusement.
“Take a seat,” he said, like this was just another Tuesday.
I sat down slowly, my heart about to explode.
He looked at me. Calm. Unbothered. Like he wasn’t the reason I couldn’t sleep for nights.
I tried to speak, but nothing came out.
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “So… Miss Sofia Alcaraz.”
My name sounded different coming from him.
Professional.
But teasing.
Like an inside joke.
“You’re here for the assistant position?”
I cleared my throat. “Y-Yes.”
He tilted his head. “Any experience?”
I blinked. “Sorry?”
He smiled a little. “I asked if you have any experience. As an assistant.”
My brain refused to work. “A little. I interned before. Mostly admin tasks.”
He nodded. “Do you always leave without saying goodbye?”
I stared at him.
“Excuse me?”
His lips twitched. “Never mind.”
He opened a folder. “Your resume’s solid. Grades are decent. You write well. Organized. You’re not afraid of late nights, are you?”
My cheeks heated. I knew what he was doing.
“No,” I said stiffly.
He smiled wider. “Good.”
I hated how good he looked in that suit. Sharp, clean, like he hadn’t been naked in front of me weeks ago.
“So,” he said, closing the folder. “Why do you want this job?”
Because rent is hell? Because my pride is already dead?
Instead, I said, “I’m looking for something stable. Somewhere I can grow.”
He studied me for a long second.
Then: “You’re hired.”
My jaw dropped. “Wait—what?”
“You start Monday. 9 AM. Don’t be late.”
I stared. “You’re serious?”
He smiled. “Dead serious.”
I stood slowly, my legs unsure.
He stood too, walked around the desk, and leaned close—too close.
“This time,” he said softly, “try not to disappear in the morning.”
Then he turned away, already done.
I walked out of that office with my heart in my throat.
What the hell did I just walk into?
- Writer
