The glass doors of Elite Enterprises slid open with a quiet swoosh, and I stepped inside, holding my leather portfolio tight. The lobby was huge and sleek, with shiny marble floors lit by soft, recessed lighting. The walls were filled with pricey art pieces that seemed carefully chosen. Everyone moved with a sense of direction, looking sharp in their tailored suits and striding confidently. I felt out of place in my secondhand blazer and my sister's borrowed heels, and I couldn't help but notice the difference.
“You belong here,” I whispered to myself, straightening my shoulders. I’d worked too hard to let a fancy lobby intimidate me now.
The receptionist greeted me with a polite smile, scanning her list. “Ms. Winters? Mr. Drake is expecting you. Please, follow me.”
I nodded, my own smile tight as I adjusted my grip on my portfolio. The sound of my heels echoed far too loudly as I followed her across the marble floor to the elevator. As we ascended, I rehearsed my answers under my breath.
Why do you want this position?
“I’m passionate about operations and efficiency, and I thrive in fast-paced environments.”
What’s your biggest strength?
“Adaptability. I can handle challenges and deliver results under pressure.”
By the time the elevator doors slid open on the top floor, I felt almost ready. The receptionist gestured toward a set of double doors at the end of the hallway. “Mr. Drake’s office is straight ahead,” she said before retreating.
I smoothed my blazer and approached the doors, each step feeling heavier than the last. My pulse quickened as I reached for the handle, doubt creeping in at the edges of my mind. Focus, Maeve. You’ve got this. I pushed the doors open and stepped inside.
The sight that greeted me froze me in my tracks. Sitting behind a sleek mahogany desk, looking as smug and self-assured as ever, was Ethan Drake.
My breath caught as memories slammed into me like a freight train—his taunts, his smirk, the way he’d made high school a living hell. But this wasn’t the same boy who had shoved me against lockers and mocked me in the hallways. This Ethan was older, sharper, and even more intimidating. His charcoal suit fit him perfectly, and his blond hair was immaculately styled. But that smirk—God, that smirk—hadn’t changed a bit.
“Well, well,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair. “If it isn’t Maeve Winters. Didn’t expect to see you crawling into my office.”
My stomach flipped, anger rising to meet my shock.
Oh no. Not again. Not Ethan Drake.