Chapter 2 Job Interview at Cross Enterprises: Sierra Meets Damon

I never for a single moment thought that their mind would gander at the fact that I would sit in the lavish lobby of Cross Enterprises with a leather portfolio in hand while I also sweat out of my favorite blouse. Not until I got on this crease that someone posed this query.

For me, Cross Enterprises did not seem like any other business venture, but instead, the pinnacle of all my corporate peers aspiring to achieve.

At the type of organization you did not only get a job, but a lif change of sorts.

My journey though, and amid all other adversities I had crossed apart me and showered my lucky star, I did have a job interview within reach.

I wiped my palms across my skirt brace at the time I sat with legs crossed while feeling base uncontrollably slipping away in a skirmish i striked out against my heart while doing a makeshift cardiac drill underneath my ribs.

From my point of view and in all honesty portraying myself in everything I will do it in sulat, avoiding the sign of the lady who's sneaking on the cubicle space feels seventh in order to show face at glance senses desperate.

Maybe she could.

Hell, even I could.

I am trying to inhale and exhale in a slow and calculated manner, just like I practiced last night standing in front of my own mirror, reciting the answers to direct questions posed by no one. However, this was almost impossible to continue when every tick of the second hand dragged on for an eternity until the wall clock positioned in the corner was mocking me.

The elevator doors across the lobby slid open with a muffled ding. A man stepped out who looked like he would be gracing the cover of a magazine, tall, with broad shoulders, in a fitted charcoal suit that must have cost more than my entire wardrobe. His dark hair maintained a casually windswept appearance, as if he'd never had to make much effort to attractively dishevel it.

And when he walked in, the rush of scurrying whispers around him told me he was a person of importance. Not just a person of importance. A person of power.

I shimmied lower into my seat, knitting my stomach into tighter turns. I looked down, hoping against all odds that he wouldn't notice me sitting there, small and out of place like a stain on pristine marble. But luck, as usual, was not on my side. In fact, his steps slowed. Stopped. Right in front of me. I forced myself to look up, my heart hammering. When our gazes locked, it felt as if the air around us snapped taut. His gaze was penetrating: icy blue and sharp enough to cut, devoid of any smile or even flinch. He was just studying me, head tilting slightly, as if trying to solve a puzzle he wasn't eager enough to find an answer for. "You're Sierra Reed?" he asked, his voice low and smooth, almost lazy. I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Yes," I said, my voice only cracking slightly. "Yes, I'm Sierra Reed." He nodded once, curt. "Follow me." Without any further words, he turned on his heel and walked straight toward the elevators. For half a second, I just sat there, dumbfounded. That's it? No handshake? No introductions?

My body was moving, a lot faster than my brain could process what was happening. It was like a child trying to chase a dying balloon.

It was me in the elevator, standing awkwardly against the back wall with my portfolio clutched to me like a shield from the outside world. He was not looking at me. The eyes remained glued to the elevator doors, jaw clenched.

I swallowed highly, making the silence weigh a ton until it turned suffocating.

So this is how interviews happened here?

Is he testing me already?

Up it glided, perhaps again the shining floors whizzing past below me. I glimpsed mirrored walls and a conference meeting place, glass-walled offices looking over the entire city.

It felt like a world that was not for me to enter.

Soft chime from the elevator.

Thirty-fourth floor.

Topmost floor.

He stepped out, and I followed awkwardly behind, boot heels clacking at his back across marble too shiny for me to see my pale terrified reflection against it. We passed rows of desks down the hall with offices of moving staffs, their brisk, efficient energies at work. No one looked up. No one smiled.

It was not a place for those richly strange niceties.

He led me to a pair of double glass doors and pushed them open.

His office.

I knew it immediately.

It spoke command, not mere presence. The vistas were awesome through floor-to-ceiling windows. Toward the center of the room loomed a rather massive desk that had little more than a laptop and a few folders stacked by one corner quite neatly. In one of the corners, an Afterthought; a couch in well-oiled black leather and a coffee table.

He gestured to the chair across the desk from him.

"Sit."

I sat.

He rounded the desk and sank himself into his chair with the casual grace of one unaccustomed to being denied. Leaning slightly backward, he steepled his fingers beneath his chin and assessed me.

I squirmed under his gaze but forced myself to remain straight-backed with chin held high.

Not because I couldn't take a little intimidation was I going to blow this.

A moment's silence passed, almost too long.

"You worked at Marlowe & Finch for two years."

Not a question.

I replied. "Yes. As junior account coordinator."

He nodded slowly. "And before that?"

"I had an internship at Breckman and Stone while I was finishing my degree."

Another nod.

He opened a file on his desk. My resume.

"You left Marlowe & Finch five months ago."

A statement again.

I struggled to keep my voice steady.

"Yes. There was... a change in leadership. I felt it was time to move on." The innocent-sounding words covered the brutal truth: that Zachary had ruined my reputation and had made my life miserable until I had no option left but to leave. His eyes lifted to mine with a sardonic bite, assessing. "Change in leadership," he reiterated as though doubtful. Or like maybe he already had the whole truth. I tightened my grip on my portfolio and forced a smile onto my face. He closed the file and leaned back in his chair, appraising me with a cool detachment. "You do realize this position is far from...comfortable," he said. "It's demanding. Unforgiving. Most of your life will be consumed." I nodded. "Long hours are expected. Travel on short notice. Handle sensitive information. Sometimes...handle difficult people." Another nod. "Your work will be scrutinized just as much by your loyalty. And discretion." The way he said it made my skin crawl. I thought of Zachary once more, of all the things he could say to hurt me, and the lies he could fabricate to cripple whatever was left of my existence. I thought of my almost-nonexistent tiny apartment. Unpaid bills. My future was disappearing more and more each day. I squared my shoulders. "I can handle it," I said in a whisper. "Whatever it takes. I'm in." For the first time, something flickered across his face. Approval? Amusement? I could not tell.

His fingers tapped rhythmically against the surface of the desk, and he pondered for a moment.

"I don't hire on pity," he said. "Or desperation." "I'm not asking for either," I said, surprising even myself by how steady I sounded.

Then he smiled - a barely perceptible curve to his lips.

It was not benevolent.

It was... interested.

"You start on Monday," he said just like that. "Seven a.m. sharp." My heart banged against my ribs so hard that I thought I might faint.

"Thank you," I murmured, almost a whisper. "Thank you so much."

He dismissed me with a flick of his hand and was already returning to his laptop.

I rose on shaky legs and turned to go, my mind spinning so fast that I hardly registered the walk back to the elevators - the ride down - the chill of the morning air as I stumbled outside onto the sidewalk.

I had done it.

I had truly done it.

It was a job.

With Cross Enterprises.

For Damon Cross himself.

I should have been out of my mind happy. I should have been phoning everyone I knew, practically screaming the news from the rooftops.

Instead, though, I remained frozen on the sidewalk, paralyzed in time as the city rushed past me in a blur, a heavy weight of what I had just entered bearing down on me like a physical entity.

For somewhere buried, beneath the spark of excitement and the immediate rush of relief, I knew the truth.

Nothing about this was going to be easy.

And Damon Cross?

He wasn't just another boss.

He was a man who could see things others missed.

A man who could smell weakness like blood in the water.

A man who could wipe me out with a single adversity without even flinching.

I clenched my portfolio harder against my chest, drawing in a deep and shaky breath.

"You are enough," I pronounced quietly, as encouragement to myself.

Then I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and walked toward the storm I had just put my name to. This freaky day, I am so eager and having so much enthusiasm in me, this feeling is just so unusual as if it had never happened before, maybe I should just keep fingers crossed!