Azalea's POV
A let out a shaky breath as my wary eyes stared at the building towering over me, the bold sign of 'ASH STUDIOS' glaring at me and making me more intimidated than I already was.
I felt out of place, in all honesty, and I find it funny since I haven't stepped foot into the building yet. If I'm this intimidated by the building's outside look, I wonder how I'd feel when I finally went inside.
With a sigh, I walked into the skyscraper, breathing in deeply to gather up all the courage I could get. It's useless since apparently, air isn't polluted with leftover courage.
Running my shaky hand through the hair that Lara had helped in curling, I walked across the lobby to the receptionist, bracing myself to talk to her.
I cleared my voice before speaking, trying to avoid embarrassing myself by stuttering. "Hello!"
The young lady blatantly ignored me as she furiously typed on her phone as if she was in a typing competition.
"Humm…hello?" I greeted again, scratching my head in confusion.
She ignored me again until I banged my hands on the front desk, snapping her out of whatever intense thing she was doing with her phone.
'God, these pregnancy hormones are really turning me into someone impatient.'
Her bright blue eyes snapped to mine, scrutinizing me like I am some sacred artifact that was just discovered. "I'm sorry. Today isn't a charity Tuesday. Stop hanging around my lobby looking for people to beg from. Get out." She said, her British accent very prominent.
"Oh, em, I am not…um…" I paused, coughing to stop the awkward stutter and embarrass myself further.
"I am not a begger. I'm here to see the manager." I mumbled meekly, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.
She looked at me like I have two heads. Watching my every move the same way people would watch a lunatic walking the streets. She even went as far as placing her red manicured fingers on the front desk in order to hoist herself up to fully take in my appearance.
I shuffled on my feet awkwardly, suddenly regretting not heeding to Lara's advice in getting a new dress that would fit.
I was clad in a big black short gown, one that hid my baby bump a little. The gown was no way near my size as I had intentionally gotten a dress two sizes bigger because my insecure self was afraid of being fired on the first day of my new job for being pregnant. It was fruitless since my protruding belly was as obvious as a gigantic red pimple on a person's face.
"Oh, I see, you're one of them." She scoffed, giving me a disgustingly degrading look.
"One of who?" I inquired, confused frown lines etched on my face.
"The whores…to think I thought you were a beggar. Your gold digging intentions are written on your forehead as clearly as a cloudy weather. I'd advise you to get the hell out before I call security." She grunted, immediately going back to tapping her phone screen while chewing gum like an inexperienced sex worker.
I'm taken aback by her abrasive accusation, my nervousness suddenly being replaced by boiling anger. "Excuse me, I am not a whore or a gold digger. I'm here for the job I was offered by this company. If you weren't too busy typing your brains out, you would have noticed that I am a pregnant woman." I hissed through gritted teeth.
I swear, I normally wouldn't talk like that.
"Of course I know you're pregnant. You're definitely one of those bitches who show up with fake proof, claiming Noah Hale is the father of their child just to get their filthy hands on his wealth. Trust me, darling. It won't end well for you. Noah sued the last one. I really thought that would teach you all a lesson but I'm guessing you're either foolish or desperate." She snickered, rolling the gum in her mouth on her fingers.
The anger that was boiling in me hiked up, threatening to spill over.
Taking a deep calming breath, I forced a cringe smile, not wanting the absolute trash spilling out of the bitch's mouth to destroy my chances of getting a job. "Please, just get your manager so I can officially resume. I really don't have time for all this."
"I'd advise you to get out of here before I call security. I didn't ask you to open up your legs for the first man that came your way and get knocked up when you know you are incapable of taking care of the child. And now, you're looking for ways to pin that bastard on my kind innocent boss. I hate people like you."
At her words, the volcano in me erupted. Maybe it was the fact that her words hit a sensitive spot in my heart or maybe it was the look on her face when she said what she said but I wasn't going to allow her to walk over me like that.
Even if I was here for what she was accusing me of, it was none of her business. Her job is to check if I had an appointment with her boss or not, not to try and find out what I was going to see him for.
My saving grace came in the form of the manager, who was laughing as she led someone out of the company.
She sighted me, shaked hands with the man and came over, stretching her hands for a handshake. "Miss Azalea Hawthorne. I thought you bailed on the job offer. Welcome to Ash Studios where we bring fashion to life. What are you waiting for? Come with me."
I was not given a chance to speak as the manager, Mrs Drywoods, dragged me off to the nearest elevator.
"I must say, I was really impressed with your performance during the interview. You definitely went beyond my expectations." Mrs Drywoods praised as she pressed the buttons to the highest floor.
I smiled awkwardly, wondering what exactly impressed her and why it didn't impress the other companies I had been applying to all these time. A part of me believed she only gave me the job out of pity but then again, she didn't know me from Adam, why would she care about me enough to pity me?
"Miss Hawthorne…Miss. Miss."
She nudged me, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Yes ma'am?" I replied, blushing beetroot red for getting caught drowning in my thoughts on the first day of my job.
I should have listened to Lara when she complained about it. If I keep zoning in and out, I'd most likely go back home jobless.
I couldn't afford that. I had to keep my head in the game no matter what.
"You zoned out for a minute, dear. It must be the pregnancy." She laughed it off like it was nothing.
A smile spread on my face at the kind action of Mrs Drywoods. It baffled me how and why a woman of such a high position in one of the best fashion companies in the country was so kind and humble.
Giving her a reassuring smile, I slightly bowed. "Thank you, ma'am." I couldn't help but appreciate her kindness. "I won't fail you. I'll work hard ." I finished with a determined sigh.
"You better! But seriously, don't stress yourself too much, dear. Don't forget you're pregnant. Work only within your limit."
I smiled again, keeping her advice in mind.
The elevator's ding signaled that we were at the highest floor and together we walked out with her leading the way.
She took me to various rooms, pointing at the numbers on the door for me to take note of and telling me what the room was for.
When we got to the third room, she stopped me outside. "This is Ciara Cowell's room. She's the only model on the executive floor because she insists on having a room up here with us."
She gestured for me to move closer to her, looking around, making sure no one heard as she whispered into my ear. "She claims it's because she's the Model of the year and should be treated specially but personally, I think she just wants to be close enough to the CEO to seduce him."
I snickered, my shoulder vibrating in joy.
"Unfortunately, she's the one you'll be working with. The last wardrobe assistant working for her resigned and committed suicide the same night…shit! I wasn't supposed to tell you that information. Anyways, good luck. I'll see you around."
With that, she walked off and into her office, leaving me standing there, traumatized. My imagination ran wild with scenarios of how Ciara treated the last wardrobe assistant assigned to her that pushed her into taking her own life.
It was then that I realized that they probably gave me the job because no one else wanted to work with Ciara. But then again, I shouldn't be quick to judge, maybe the last girl committed suicide because of personal problems. Maybe Ciara Cowell was an angel just like she appeared in TVs.
With an optimistic clap, I braced myself up and pushed the door open.
The moment I walked into the room, I knew I had walked straight into the middle of a war zone.
Everything and everywhere was absolutely chaotic. People were running helter skelter and I saw three people with tears running down their eyes.
"Who the hell are you?" A voice yelled, shifting my eyes from the chaos to the only person looking calm and sane in the room.
Ciara Cowell.
I cowered under her intense gaze, stuttering when I spoke. "Your new wardrobe assistant."
Without skipping a beat, she yelled, "You are fired. Get the fuck out before I call security."