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Everything else will fall into place afterward.
I just have to nail this interview first…
two
JESSA
The building is huge, stretching up at least a dozen stories, with an all-glass exterior that gleams in the sun. It’s striking, impressive, and exactly where I’d expect a bunch of big-shot lawyers to work.
I step through a revolving door into a wide, elegant lobby and pause beneath a glittering chandelier to take it all in. There’s a sitting area of black leather couches to the left, and a black and white marble floor stretches out beneath me. A reception desk sits to the right, behind which a brunette woman wearing square glasses and a black dress taps hurriedly at a keyboard.
Aside from a set of gold elevator doors, there’s nothing else worth noting.
The receptionist perks up at the sound of the door and glances in my direction. “Good afternoon. May I help you?”
Not wanting my voice to echo across the wide space, I stroll up to the desk and fold my hands on the edge.
“My name is Jessa Morrow,” I say, putting on my most professional-sounding voice. “I'm here for an interview.”
I expect her to offer a smile and tell me to have a seat, but the look of confusion that crosses her face instead has my stomach turning. For a fraction of a second, I worry I forgot to take my scent blocker, that my omega scent is seeping through the suppressant and tipping her off somehow, but I know that can’t be it.
I took them this morning when I repacked the car after sleeping in the backseat.
That can’t be it.
“An interview?” One of her thinly-drawn brows arches upward.
I nod. “With Mr. Crossman.”
“One moment please.”
She turns to the monitor on her desk and begins clicking away at the keyboard, eyes scanning the screen intently. I work my bottom lip between my teeth before remembering the matte lipstick I’m wearing; instead, I resort to bouncing on the balls of my feet while she does…whatever it is she’s doing.
Finally, when I don’t think I can wait any longer, she looks back up at me over the thin rim of her glasses. “I don't think we have any interviews scheduled for today.”
My stomach sinks, pitching toward the floor, and I reach for my phone nervously.
“No, no, I have the information right here.” I scroll with trembling fingers to find the message from their office and turn my phone around so she can look at it. “It says I have an interview at noon today.”
She adjusts her glasses on the bridge of her nose and squints at the text on my phone, nodding slowly as her eyes drag across the screen.
“Uh huh. Interesting,” she says, pushing her rolling chair away from the desk and rising to her feet. “Take a seat right over there, and I'll speak to my supervisor.” She gestures to the sitting area.
“Thank you very much.” With a curt nod, I turn on my heel and head toward the couches, stomach cartwheeling with nausea. If I don't have an interview today, that means I won't be any closer to getting out of my car and into a place of my own.
It was hard enough to get this interview in the first place.What happens if I have to reschedule?
I wait.
The minutes tick by slowly, and I glance up at the clock several times before the receptionist returns. Rather than heading for her desk, her heels click methodically against the marble floor as she makes her way over to me, and she pauses next to me, her hands folded politely in front of her.
“I do apologize for any confusion, but apparently it wasn't written down that there was an interview today,” she says, a somber look in her eyes.
“Crap,” I mutter under my breath, quickly talking to cover it up. “That’s okay. I can come back another time if that’s better.”
She frowns sympathetically, her brows knitting together. “I’m sorry, but there won’t be a need for that. The position you applied for has already been filled.”
My shoulders sag. I try not to feel completely defeated as I stare up at her and force a smile. No matter how upset I get, I don't like people to see it. I don’t want them to know what's going on inside my head.
