You can do this. You can do this.
I told myself over and over as the elevator moved up, resisting the urge to nibble on my finger nails. It was a nasty habit I had picked up as a teenager battling puberty and the constant fear of public humiliation.
How ironic. Most of my humiliation growing up had come from one source.
Adrian Maddox.
My step-brother. Or no, my former step-brother.
No. I shook my head. Now is not the time to think about that.
The elevator made a soft chime, signalling I had reached my destination. I took in a deep breath before the metal doors spread open. My best friend, Penelope, had gotten me a miracle interview with some high-profile CEO client. Penelope had connections like that. We were on a call last night as I plucked off cucumbers off my face when she told me about it. lI hadn't even asked her for the details. I just screamed 'YES!' like a bride-to-be.
Beggars couldn't be picky, and I was the definition of one. My mum had somehow hacked into my life savings and used my names to borrow multiple loans. Afterwards, what did she do?
She eloped with her pathetic boyfriend.
Haha, snap out of it, Alex. Focus.
I stepped outside, carefully crossing my feet as I walked in a pair of heels I hadn't used in forever. It was freezing in here, but I didn't mind it. The cold was a welcome distraction, piercing my skin like small needles. I raised my chin high, and I tucked my chest out. Well…not too much. With a bust like mine, one had to be careful, lest they got accused of trying to seduce men.
Sigh.
I took in my surroundings slowly, cataloguing every white, and every brown.
"Miss Calloway?" A tall brunette dressed in an immaculate blouse and a perfectly ironed skirt, signalled from behind a desk. The secretary, I presumed.
"That's me," I said, summoning every ounce of confidence that lay in my 5'4 body.
The woman stood up, flashing me a frankly suspicious grin. "I have been expecting you. I am Emily Forbe, but you can just call me Emily. Right this way, Miss," She led me towards the wide opaque glass door down the corridor, her hips swaying left and right.
What an incredible ass!
She knocked on the door before opening, and when she did, I nearly froze from the sheer cold emanating from the office. Damn, if someone stayed here for long enough, they would surely get frostbite.
She stepped inside, using her hand to guide me in. My eyes drank in the office greedily.
Whoa.
Floor-to-ceiling windows swallowed the entire far wall, pouring afternoon light across the room. Dark hardwood floors. A sitting area with charcoal furniture. A few abstract art on the walls.
My eyes eventually settled on the desk at the far end. It was obscene in size, made of dark oak, and completely bare except for a sleek laptop and a single glass of water.
And in the chair behind it, back facing myself and the secretary, sat a man.
The chair was high-backed, charcoal leather, and it swallowed him just enough that I could only see the line of one shoulder, the edge of a dark suit jacket, the barest suggestion of a jaw.
Hmm. Mysterious.
If this was an attempt to terrify me, it wouldn't work. I had walked into difficult rooms before. I had pitched to men who wanted me to flinch. I pressed my portfolio folder against my side, lifted my chin and waited.
"Mr Reyes?"
The chair turned.
And my eyes nearly dropped out of their sockets.
The man in the chair was older. Harder. The boyish cruelty I remembered had been replaced by a disgustingly masculine elegance. His hair was black as ink, and a rough, well-groomed beard traced a jawline that looked like it had been carved from the same dark oak as his desk. His eyes were a familiar gray. He looked powerful. He looked successful.
And he looked exactly like the person who had made my teenage years a living hell.
"You may leave, Emily," he said. His voice was a gravelly vibration that seemed to hum against my skin.
"Yes, Mr Reyes,"
The secretary scurried out, the click of the door signaling my doom.
"Adrian?" I whispered, my brain struggling to bridge the gap. "Adrian...Maddox?"
"Reyes," he corrected smoothly, leaning back. "I dumped my biological father's name years ago."
The shock snapped. In its place, a spark of fury ignited in my gut. I scrunched my eyes shut for a second, the memories hitting me like a blow, the way he used to smirk when I tripped, the cold comments about my weight, the crushing weight of his disdain.
Every ounce of "professionalism" I had summoned evaporated. I didn't care about the high-profile client. I didn't care about the freezing office.
I marched toward that obscene desk, my heels clicking like a death march.
"Is this a game?" I spat, slamming my portfolio onto the wood. It made a satisfying thwack. "Did you set this up? Did you have Penelope call me just so you could watch me crawl into your office and beg for a job? How do you even know her? What the fuck is this?"
Adrian's expression didn't flicker, but I saw his knuckles whiten as he gripped the arms of his chair. He was fighting the urge to snap back, his dark eyes tracking my every move.
"I don't play games with my payroll, Alexandra," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "You were recommended. I didn't know it was you until the file hit my desk ten minutes ago."
"Liar!" I yelled, the word tearing out of my throat. "You always loved having a front-row seat to my humiliation. Well, newsflash, Adrian: Fuck you!"
That exploded out before I could stop it.
Adrian stood up slowly, towering over me, the "manliness" of him trying to drown out my rage. Growing up, I was like a tiny ant compared to him. Now? It was much worse. He leaned over the desk, his face inches from mine.
"Fuck me?" he repeated, his eyes flashing with a dangerous, dark light. "Is that the best you've got after all these years? You're still the same impulsive girl, throwing tantrums because things didn't go her way?"
"I am not a girl, and this isn't a tantrum!" I felt the sting of tears, not of sadness, but of boiling venom.
Before I could think, before I could stop the impulse, my hand flew up.
SLAP.
The sound echoed off the floor-to-ceiling windows as Adrian's head snapped to the side. A red mark began to bloom across his tanned cheek, contrasting sharply with his dark beard.
He didn't move. He didn't even touch his face. He just turned his head back slowly, his gaze burning into mine.
"I would rather die," I hissed, my voice trembling with the force of my hatred, "than accept a single cent or a second of help from a monster like you."
I didn't wait for his rebuttal. I didn't even grab my portfolio. I turned on my heel and stormed out, the freezing cold of the office finally feeling like exactly what I needed to keep from bursting into flames.