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The elevator doors close before I can ask her who the new owner is.
I try to google the answer using my phone but there’s no service in the elevator.
I refocus myself, straightening my pencil skirt and touching up my hair in the mirror.
Then, the doors open, revealing a floor that could only belong to a CEO. The space is open yet private, with modern art on the walls, a receptionist’s desk that looks like it belongs in a boutique hotel, and people moving about with intent. The smell of fresh flowers fills my nostrils, and I feel intimidated.
I make my way to the receptionist's desk, where a woman with a sharp bob and a well-tailored suit greets me with a smile. “You must be Amelia Hansen. Welcome to the company.”
“Thank you,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. I feel like a mouse in a room full of lions.
“Mr. Wellington is expecting you in his office. Right this way, please.” She stands up, gesturing for me to follow her.
My insides curdle. “Did you just say Mr. Wellington?”
“That’s correct,” she says.
I take a deep breath and try to gather my thoughts as I walk behind her. My first day at a new job always makes me nervous, but this is different.
It couldn’t be the same Mr. Wellington. Not possible.
The receptionist opens a door, and I find myself in a spacious corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a stunning view of the city. The room is tastefully decorated, with a modern aesthetic that feels both luxurious and welcoming.
“Good morning, Amelia. I'm glad you could make it,” says a deep voice from behind a sleek black desk.
I turn to face the man who just spoke, and my breath catches in my throat. Mr. Wellington’s--Jack’s--dark hair and grey eyes that seem to look right through me. He wears a well-tailored suit that showcases his broad shoulders, and I feel a little envious of the woman who has the pleasure of ironing it every morning.
“Hi, Mr. Wellington. It's nice to meet you,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, still in earshot of the receptionist.
“Please, call me Jack,” he says, standing up and offering me his hand.
I shake his hand, feeling a jolt of electricity run through my body at the contact. I can't tell if it's nerves or something else, but I try to keep my composure.
“I'm looking forward to working with you,” I say, trying to sound confident.
“The pleasure is mine,” he replies, his eyes locking with mine in a way that makes my heart skip a beat. To the receptionist, he adds, “That’ll be all, Miriam.”
As I sit down in the chair across from him, I can't help but feel drawn to him in a way that makes me uncomfortable. There's something about him that makes me want to forget all of my professional aspirations and give in to my deepest desires.
But that's impossible. For so many reasons.
“Jack…I should go. I can’t work for you. I’m going to quit.”
I stand up, teary-eyed. “How the hell are you here right now? I cared about you, and you lied to me.”
“Indy, wait.” He rushes from behind his desk and stops me before I can leave.
“Just have one drink with me. Let me try to explain. You’ve never given me that chance.”
I sigh. “Okay, fine. One…” I think about the fact that I could bepregnant. Oh God. “I’ll take a whisky.”
He heads over to his office bar--of course his office has a bar--and pours me one.
While he’s doing that, I reach into my purse, find the claddagh ring, and put it back on his table.
He hears, and turns to watch me.
“You’re giving that back to me?”
