I worked hard, making my way from back bars to a corporate environment, where I worked even harder for the most monstrous man I’ve ever met in my life. I was determined to put my little sister through school, and now I’m the one in my mother’s shoes.
Married to a bastard. Except, this is even worse, because I didn’t fall in love with him and get married to him and become a foreigner in a different country to chase our biggest dreams and ambitions.
Henry Ralph forced me into marrying him, and I can never forgive him for that.
It’s not something I would have considered.
Except, there was a time…
***
Four Years Ago
“You’re up next,” the woman behind the reception desk gives me a curt nod, her expression flat, bored, as if she’s been doing this for far too long.
The interviews, I mean. The job post for a personal assistant for one of the directors of Alpha Pharmaceuticals in Hamilton had popped up at least three times on my social media feed, as if it were a sign from the universe for me to apply.
Of course, I was reluctant, because I’ve never worked in the corporate world, and I don’t have that kind of experience. But waiting tables isn’t bringing enough in to get Lila into a good college, and perhaps the advertisement I’ve seen over the past month is trying to tell me something.
On the flip side, there’s the fact that it’s been a month, and they’ve yet to find a suitable candidate for the position. Perhaps the employer is too picky, but that just means I’m painfully under-qualified, and I’m wasting my time.
It’s like the receptionist knows I’m wasting my time, and hers, so she doesn’t even waste a smile on me.
I stand up from the chair, my butt aching from sitting for over two hours and waiting for my turn. Two women already walked out of here wearing disappointment on their pretty faces,so I school my facial expression into something unbothered, perhaps at the risk of coming across as overly confident.
But as I smooth down the pencil skirt over my thighs, I decide to run with this confidence, because I have nothing to lose. Maybe my dignity, if I have to return to the diner on Monday and explain to my eager colleagues that I didn’t get the job. They’ve been rooting for me, perhaps with more faith in my capability to “fake it until I make it.”
I take a deep breath before proceeding to the office door I’m pointed to, my heart in my throat, but nothing of that anxiety shows on my face. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass door, proud of myself for how well I can hide what’s going on inside my head before I knock.
“Come in,” comes a husky male voice, a tone calm enough to soothe my nervousness, powerful enough to keep me grounded.
I turn the handle and step inside, looking up at the desk in the center of the air-conditioned room as the cool, crisp air kisses my cheeks and brings with it a sense of ease. The eyes that meet mine behind the desk are even cooler, reminding me of the point where natural spring water meets a luscious field—greenish-blue and oozing a sense of charm even without him saying a word.
When he does, my eyes are drawn to the lips that speak in a diplomatic tone.
“Miss Singh…” he says my last name as if it’s the only name he’s ever spoken, like the chant of a prayer he says before he goes to bed at night. Maybe it’s an ambitious thought, a dangerous one, and so self-centered, but it’s the only thought that comes to mind.
Along with the incessant thought that I’d give anything to hear him say my first name in that same tone.
It’s a tone of authority, perhaps less “prayer”, and more “command.” It’s controlled, like he’s sure of himself and knows that God will give him anything he asks for.
My heart skips a beat, and returns to remind me to advance into the office, taking care not to trip over two feet that barely feel like my own anymore as I rake my gaze across the rest of his face. A plump set of lips, glistening naturally in a blush shade of pink, sends my mind wandering, and all I can think about is strawberry kisses.
Strawberry because I imagine that’s what he’d taste like—a taste so subtle, sweet, and delicate that it betrays the sharpness of his dark brows, or his sharp, clean jawline that looks fit to cut through glass. He’s seated behind his desk, but I can imagine that the rest of him is as tantalizing as his face and his broad shoulders when he does stand up.
It’s like he walked out of a magazine, or off a runway, and sat behind that desk, playing a part in a film as the most sought-after actor, with his gorgeous good looks and oozing charm.
I finally make it to the chair he’s pointing to, my heart ready to explode by the time I take a seat.
The man, whose name I’ve learned only now thanks to the name plate in platinum on his desk, turns his eyes to his computer screen, and whatever hold he had on me just now breaks in an instant. I’m no longer hypnotized, and now, with the rose-tinted glasses gone, I can see him scrutinizing my resume with a fine-toothed comb of his cold eyes.
“You begin Monday,” he says without even looking at me, his brows furrowing as if he just read something he didn’t like. But he still doesn’t look at me, leaving me confused.
“I—I got the job, Mr. Ralph?”
“Yes, you did. You are excused. You’ll be back on Monday,” he says matter-of-factly, still not looking at me, appearing as if he isn’t even breathing, as if I smell bad.
That can’t be the case, since I just got the job, despite my rather mundane resume and lack of experience. All I can do is slowly get to my feet, watching him, as he remains incapable of looking at me a second time.
