Wrong Girl, Right Love

CHAPTER 1: The Interview ANNABEL The alarm clanged like a hammer against an anvil. "Just a minute..." I groaned, burying my face in the pillow. "Anna, get up!" "I want to sleep... just a little longer. Just five more minutes." "Are you skipping the interview?" That word hit me like a bucket of ice water. "Interview? No... it’s not today. Today is... what day is it?" I asked, eyes still squeezed shut, clinging to the last remnants of a dream. "It's Monday, Anna. Are you going or not?" "Monday? Already?" I bolted upright, my heart hammering. "How did Sunday go by so fast?" I practically screamed the words. This wasn't just any job; this was a position at one of the top companies in the industry—my dream firm. God, what is wrong with me? I scolded myself. Who almost sleeps through their biggest opportunity? I flew into motion. I took a lightning-fast bath, dried my hair, and pulled it into a sleek, professional ponytail. Thankfully, I’d prepared everything the night before. I’d even treated myself to a new leather bag on Saturday, which was now packed with my documents, a few snacks, a pack of Meteor gum, and my essentials. I slipped into my dress, applied a light layer of makeup, and grabbed my bag before racing downstairs. "Mom, I’m heading out!" My mom stood in the hallway. If she hadn't nudged me awake, my career would have ended before it even started. "Okay, baby. Take care of yourself," she said, stepping forward to press a kiss to my forehead. "Mom... I'm not a baby anymore," I pouted, though I leaned into the kiss. "Oh, my little princess... my only princess. I forgot." She smiled warmly. "But you’ll always be my baby. Can you wait just a second? Breakfast is almost ready." "Mom, I’m in a total rush. It’s almost seven; I’ll be late if I stay. I have to go!" "Okay, okay. I’ll keep it for you. When you get back, just heat it up." She paused, her eyes scanning me with that knowing maternal look. "Make sure you grab something on the way. I know you aren't a big eater, but you need your energy." I wasn't much of a foodie, but Mom knew my weakness—if it was my favorite dish, I’d eat until I couldn't move. "I know, Mom. I will. I promise!" "Bye! Stay safe. Make a good first impression. I love you!" "Love you too!" I called back, throwing a quick hug her way before sprinting out the door. The Uber I’d booked was already waiting. I hopped in, feeling like I was being pursued by a ghost. To keep my "innocent stomach" from growling during the interview, I had the driver make a quick stop for tea to go with my snacks. From there, the ride was a blur of New York traffic until we reached the heart of the Fashion District. We pulled up in front of a massive glass skyscraper. The mirrored walls caught the morning sun, sending glints of light dancing across the pavement. In bold, elegant lettering, the sign read: STERLING’S FASHION. My heart skipped. The entrance was surrounded by lush, vibrant floral arrangements that filled the air with a warm, welcoming scent. My mouth dropped open. I’d seen this building on TV a dozen times, but standing here felt different. It felt real. The owner of the company was a total mystery—a man no one had ever seen—which only added to the building's intimidating aura. Realizing I was gaping like a tourist, I snapped my jaw shut and hurried inside. The glass doors slid open automatically. I stepped into a lobby that felt like a cathedral of luxury. The air was cool and scented with lavender. The vestibule stretched out before me with polished marble floors, a massive golden chandelier, and walls adorned with high-fashion photography. I gripped my coffee in one hand and my bag in the other, trying to walk like I belonged there. I approached the sparkling front desk. "Welcome," the receptionist said, her smile instantly calming my nerves. "How may I help you?" "I'm here for the job interview." "Of course. Take the elevator to the fifth floor. The other candidates are waiting just outside the main office." "Thank you so much," I said, headed toward the elevators. I was busy checking my reflection in the polished metal of the elevator doors when I turned too quickly. CRASH. I slammed into something solid—a wall of expensive fabric. My coffee cup lid popped, and a brown wave of liquid splashed across the floor and all over the person in front of me. "Oh! I am so sorry, sir—" "What the hell is wrong with you?" a deep, cold voice snapped. "Are you out of your mind? Or just blind?" I winced. Great start, Annabel. Brilliant. "I am so sorry, sir..." I started again, reaching into my bag for a tissue. "Stop saying sorry! Is 'sorry' going to remove the stain from a three-thousand-dollar suit?" I looked up at him. He was dressed in head-to-toe black. He was breathtakingly handsome, but his expression was pure ice. The arrogance radiating off him was thick enough to choke on. "I apologized," I said, bowing my head slightly out of habit. "I didn't do it on purpose." "And you think your apology fixes the fabric? I think you're nuts, and—" "Wait a minute," I interrupted. My guilt was fast being replaced by a hot flash of anger. "You can manage. I can barely even see a stain on black fabric. And I think you are the one who is crazy." A collective gasp went up from the people standing nearby. I didn't care. I’d had enough. "I said I was sorry, but you used that mouth of yours to insult me. Is that how you talk to people? Like an arrogant b***h?" I was breathing hard now, the adrenaline of the fight masking my fear. The man’s eyes darkened, turning into twin abysses of rage. "Who gave you the right to talk back to me?"