“Olivia, dear!Don't you look lovely,” she called out, setting down her shears and wiping her hands on her apron.“Off to somewhere special?”
I paused at the fence, grateful for the distraction from my racing thoughts.“A job interview, actually.Wick helped set it up.”
“Well, they'd be fools not to hire you on the spot,” Amelia declared.“You've got moxie, kid.Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.”
A genuine smile burst across my face, and some of the tension eased from my shoulders.“Thanks, Amelia.I'll do my best.”
“You go get 'em, tiger.And when you land that job, we'll celebrate with a glass of my famous sweet tea on the porch.”
Bolstered by her confidence in me, I waved goodbye and continued to my car.
With a final glance at the house that had become my prison since my marriage fell apart, I pulled out of the driveway and pointed the car towards downtown Columbus.Towards my future.
“Okay, Olivia,” I muttered as I navigated the mid-day traffic.“You've got this.You're smart, you're capable, and you're not going to let a little thing like crippling self-doubt stand in your way.”
The sleek glass and steel towers of the city loomed ever closer, and I felt a flicker of something I hadn't experienced in a long time: anticipation.Yes, my palms were sweaty and my nerves were jangling, but beneath the fear was a tiny, stubborn ember of excitement.The thrill of a new challenge, the promise of a fresh start.
I thought back to that photograph from the gala, to the luminous, unstoppable force I'd been in my previous life.That Olivia was still in there somewhere.Bruised and battered, perhaps, but not broken.Never broken.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and set my sights on the horizon.Carter Cassidy won’t know what hit him.
Twenty minutes later, I parallel parked on the narrow brick streets of German Village.Was I the best driver?No.But I could maneuver my compact car into even the most cramped spots—a skill I was infinitely proud of.I glanced down at my phone, confirming I was in the right place.Then I looked back up at the foreboding but beautiful home in front of me.
Carter Cassidy lives and works in a mansion.Perfect.
I straightened my skirt and checked my reflection one last time in the car mirror.Get it together, Olivia.You've faced scarier things than a grumpy architect.
I followed the cobblestone path to Carter's front door.The house was stunning—a perfect blend of historic charm and modern elegance.I admired every detail, from the ornate trim to the gleaming windows.
Before I could chicken out, I raised my hand and knocked on the heavy wooden door.My heart pounded as I waited, straining to hear any sound from within.
Just as I was debating whether to knock again, the door swung open.And there he was.
* * *
Holy guacamole.
The pictures didn’t do him justice.Carter Cassidy was tall, at least six feet, with broad shoulders that filled out his crisp white dress shirt perfectly.His dark hair was artfully tousled, as if he'd just run his hands through it.But it was his eyes that caught me off guard—a stormy gray that was a little scary and alotsexy.
I swallowed hard, willing my voice not to shake.“Mr.Cassidy?I'm Olivia Par—Olivia Friedman.I'm here for the interview.”
His gaze raked over me, his expression inscrutable.I almost let out an audible sigh of relief when he finally stepped back and gestured for me to enter.“Come in.”
The interior was as impressive as the exterior, all clean lines and muted colors, with pops of bold artwork adorning the walls.It was clear that every element had been carefully chosen.
Carter led me down a hallway and into what appeared to be his home office.Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a stunning view of a lush courtyard.A massive desk dominated one side of the room, covered in blueprints and sketches.
“Have a seat,” he said brusquely, indicating a high-backed leather chair across from the desk.
I perched on the edge of the seat, my back ramrod straight.Carter settled into his own chair, leaning back and regarding me with cool detachment.
“So,” he began, his deep voice sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.“Tell me why I should hire you.”
I squared my shoulders.“Mr.Cassidy, I'm not here to convince you to hire me.I'm here to show you why you'd be making a mistake if you didn't.”
His eyebrows shot up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he schooled his features back into neutrality.“Bold statement.Care to back it up?”
“Gladly.”I leaned forward, my voice steady.“I've spent five years coordinating community outreach programs at the local animal shelter.I didn't simply organize adoption events—I built partnerships with schools, nursing homes, and rehabilitation centers.Our therapy dog program became a model for shelters across the state.”
