Chapter two:The interview
1464 Words
Zara sat in the rickety bus on her way back to the mainland, her phone buzzing with notifications and the lingering scent of champagne still clinging to her borrowed blazer. Her brain replayed the moment over and over — the splash, the cold stare, and his final words: "Security will show you out." And they had. Politely, yes. But firmly. As if she didn’t belong. As if she was nothing more than a street rat who’d crawled into their golden cage.
But what haunted her wasn’t just the embarrassment. It was his smirk. That annoying, arrogant, lip-twitch of a smirk. Like he’d already forgotten her, filed her away in his mental folder of inconveniences.
> “Asshole,” she muttered, earning a strange look from the woman sitting beside her.
When she got back to the cramped apartment she shared with her best friend, Tasha, she found the girl waiting with a familiar glint in her eyes. Mischief. Trouble. Tasha’s middle name.
> “Guess what I did,” Tasha said, practically vibrating with excitement.
> “Unless it involves food, I’m not interested.”
> “Better. I submitted your resume.”
Zara blinked. “What?”
> “To Cole Industries. As in... the guy you soaked in champagne? Yeah, that one. They’re hiring a personal assistant.”
Zara’s soul left her body.
> “You WHAT?”
> “Look, you’re smart, organized, and can sass billionaires in heels. That’s, like, the top three job requirements.”
> “Tasha, he hates me. He probably added my name to a blacklist while drying his shirt.”
> “But here’s the fun twist—” Tasha wiggled her eyebrows, “—they emailed you back. Interview’s tomorrow.”
Zara’s stomach did a backflip. “Are you trying to kill me?”
> “I’m trying to get you paid. And maybe, if you get the job, you can afford actual food and not just instant noodles.”
---
The next morning, Zara stood in front of the Cole Industries building, 68 floors of glass, steel, and sheer intimidation. Her knees knocked beneath the same blazer — dry now — and her shoes pinched from being two sizes too small.
The receptionist barely looked up as she handed Zara a visitor’s pass. “Twenty-seventh floor. He’s expecting you.”
He’s expecting me? The words sent a chill down her spine.
The elevator ride felt like a rocket launch. When the doors opened, she stepped into a hallway of black marble and gold fixtures. Sleek. Cold. Expensive.
A sharply dressed woman stood at the end of the corridor.
> “Zara Wilson?” she asked. Her voice was smooth and professional.
> “Yes?”
> “Mr. Cole will see you now. Follow me.”
They walked in silence to a pair of double doors that screamed ‘do not mess up.’ The woman knocked once before pushing them open.
Zara stepped inside.
There he was.
Xavier Cole sat behind a massive desk, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the city like he owned it. He probably did. The same cold aura radiated off him, like winter in human form.
> “Ms. Wilson,” he said without turning. “I’d say I’m surprised, but nothing surprises me anymore.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Mr. Cole.”
He finally turned, blue eyes locking onto hers with surgical precision.
> “You’re five minutes early. I like that. Shows initiative.”
Zara blinked. “I… thank you?”
> “But you also spilled champagne on me in public and insulted me in front of half the city’s elite. That’s a mark against you.”
> “To be fair, you were standing in the middle of a walkway like a decorative statue.”
His mouth twitched. Just barely.
> “You’re still mouthy,” he said. “That could be a problem.”
> “Or a strength,” she countered. “Depending on how you use it.”
Silence.
Then, to her shock, Xavier stood and walked around the desk. Close. Too close.
> “Why do you want this job?” he asked.
> “I don’t,” Zara said. “But I need it.”
> “Honesty. Refreshing.” He nodded. “Most people lie in interviews.”
> “I’m not most people.”
His eyes flicked over her face, unreadable.
> “No. You’re not.”
---
The interview was less of a Q&A and more of an interrogation — sharp questions, sharper looks. But Zara held her ground. Every time he tried to rattle her, she stared him down like he was nothing more than a mid-level boss in a video game.
By the end of it, her hands were clammy, her throat dry, but she hadn’t broken. Not once.
> “You’ll hear from us soon,” he said finally, returning to his desk.
> “Thanks for your time.”
> “Don’t thank me yet.”
---
Back in the lobby, she exhaled the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.
Tasha called the moment she stepped outside.
> “How’d it go?”
> “I think he wanted to strangle me. But in a very professional way.”
> “That’s his love language.”
> “Don’t joke.” Zara ran a hand through her hair. “He’s… intense.”
> “You mean hot.”
> “I mean terrifying.”
---
Days passed. Zara tried not to think about it. She filled out other job applications, helped her landlord fix a leaky sink for a discount on rent, and binge-watched drama series about girls falling in love with rich, cold CEOs who somehow turned out to have tragic pasts and hearts of gold.
Then, the email came.
> Subject: Welcome to Cole Industries
> Dear Ms. Wilson,
> We are pleased to offer you the position of Personal Assistant to Mr. Xavier Cole, effective immediately.
She screamed. Loudly. Then danced around the room while Tasha filmed everything.
---
Her first day started before the sun.
The office was quiet when she arrived. She was met by the same assistant from before — now formally introduced as Miranda — who handed her a sleek black tablet and a long list of rules.
> “He doesn’t like lateness. He hates noise. Don’t touch his desk. Don’t ask personal questions. And if he says ‘leave,’ leave.”
> “Noted.”
Zara took the elevator to the top floor and entered the lion’s den once more.
Xavier didn’t look up from his tablet as she entered.
> “You’re two minutes early,” he said. “Still good.”
> “Thanks?”
> “I need coffee. Black. No sugar.”
> “On it.”
> “And clear my 10AM. Move the meeting with Boston to Thursday. Also, tell HR I’m not signing off on the new intern unless he stops wearing Crocs.”
Zara blinked. “Noted. No Crocs.”
She left the room with her heart racing, juggling a dozen tasks on the tablet and trying not to panic. But halfway to the break room, she saw something strange.
A door, slightly ajar. With light spilling from underneath.
Curious, she peeked in.
It was a private office. Minimalistic, elegant. A photo on the desk caught her eye. A little boy, maybe six, standing beside a young woman with Xavier’s eyes.
Before she could step inside, a voice stopped her cold.
> “That room’s off-limits.”
Zara turned to see Xavier behind her, expression unreadable.
> “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
> “It’s fine.”
But the way his jaw tightened said otherwise.
> “Is that your mother?” she asked before she could stop herself.
Silence. Thick. Heavy.
> “Go get my coffee, Ms. Wilson.”
She nodded, heart thudding.
He didn’t speak for the rest of the day.
But later, just before she left, a notification pinged on her tablet.
> Well done today.
No name. No emoji. Just that.
But it felt like a small, strange victory.
---
That night, as she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Tasha walked in with two bowls of noodles and a grin.
> “You survived billionaire boot camp. How do you feel?”
> “Like I worked 14 hours in heels for a man who stares like he’s solving a murder mystery.”
> “Sounds like love.”
Zara laughed. But deep inside, she couldn’t stop thinking about that photo. The little boy. The woman.
And the way Xavier Cole, cold-hearted CEO, had looked for just a moment… almost human.
- Writer
