Chapter 1 The interview

Callie Rivera – POV

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As the alarm clock blared at 6 am , I shot my hand out from under the warmth of the covers to silence it, my heart racing at the realization that today was the day of my long-awaited interview. After weeks of relentless job searching since graduating university, the opportunity I had dreamed of had finally arrived-an interview with a company I had never dared to imagine I might work for.

I dashed to the bathroom, adrenaline propelling me forward. The sound of water cascading from the showerhead filled the small space, a welcome distraction as I quickly washed away the remnants of sleep. The steam enveloped me, and I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. Once I emerged, I wrapped myself in a fluffy towel and began the transformation.

Standing before the mirror, I carefully slipped into the dark tailored suit 6:00 AMI had meticulously ironed the night before, each crease sharp and crisp. The vibrant yellow shoes I chose to wear felt like a bold declaration of optimism-symbolizing friendship and support, as if they were giving me a little extra courage for the day ahead. I spent a few moments applying my makeup with precision, aiming for a polished yet approachable look that would convey confidence.

After I was satisfied with my appearance, I grabbed my bag and headed out the door, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves bubbling in my stomach. As I reached the bus stop, I decided to call a taxi to save time and make a good impression.

"Hello, sir. Good morning!" I greeted the taxi driver warmly as he opened the door.

"Good morning, ma. Where are you headed?" he replied, his smile genuine and encouraging.

I shared my destination with him, and as the car glided smoothly onto the road, I couldn't help but think about the possibilities that lay ahead.

I found myself in a place I never imagined I'd be-standing in the shadow of a colossal skyscraper that loomed majestically over the bustling streets of Manhattan. Its glass and steel façade reflected the sun in dazzling shards, creating a prism of light that danced at my feet. Somehow, I had secured an interview at GravesTech, a name synonymous with innovation and prestige.

The realization hit me as I stepped into the cool, marble-floored lobby, my heart racing in time with the elevator's ascent.

Seated in the conference room, I was enveloped in an atmosphere of opulence. The sleek lines and minimalist design suggested a wealth beyond my comprehension, every detail meticulously curated to radiate power and success.

My vibrant yellow shoes, scuffed and worn from countless urban escapades, felt like a defiant splash of color against the otherwise sterile elegance of my surroundings. I clutched my portfolio-brought to life at a 24-hour copy shop just hours before-each page probably lacking the polished sheen typical of industry giants.

Then, the door swung open with a near-silent grace, and Lucian Graves stepped inside.

The room seemed to pulsate with energy the moment he entered. He possessed an uncanny presence, wrapped snugly in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit and a stark white shirt that sculpted his athletic frame.

The absence of a tie only heightened the edginess of his look, lending him an air of casual authority. His ice-blue eyes were like shards of glass-piercing, intense, and analytical-gliding over me with a scrutiny that made it feel as though he were reading every thought that darted through my mind. His jawline was so sharply defined it seemed chiseled from granite, exuding an almost intimidating perfection.

It was hard to believe this was a man who likely had never smiled at a puppy in his life; it felt as though I was face-to-face with the embodiment of the tech industry's commanding spirit.

"Callie Rivera," I managed to say, rising to extend my hand, my voice slightly trembling with a mix of nerves and excitement. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Graves."

Instead of taking my hand, he silently acknowledged my presence, tilting his head ever so slightly, as if regarding a piece of art rather than a potential employee. "You're early," he remarked, his tone cool and detached, yet laced with an undertone of authority.

"I figured it was better to be early than late," I replied, attempting to mask my inner turmoil with a lightness I didn't feel. "Also, the coffee shop downstairs was empty. So, win-win." I slid into my chair, reminding myself to breathe as my heart thundered in my chest, drowning out all other sounds.

His unyielding gaze remained fixed on me, creating a palpable tension that hung heavy in the air. The HR manager across the table seemed to freeze in place, her expression caught between expectation and uncertainty, while Lucian's assistant, with a pen poised like a hawk ready to dive, whispered her approval in nervous anticipation. I could feel the weight of scrutiny pressing down on me, begging for me to fill the oppressive silence.

In moments of nervousness, I often turned into a chatterbox. I forced myself to continue speaking, "I brought my portfolio," I said, sliding it across the polished surface of the table. "I might lack a corporate design background, but I've collaborated with various small businesses to deliver branding that's not only clean and strategic but also highly personalized."

His eyes flickered over the folder, but he remained largely unfazed, barely making an effort to engage with the contents. "You don't have a formal corporate design background," he stated bluntly, flipping it open as if it were an instruction manual he had no interest in.

"Nope," I admitted, mustering a grin that felt more like a grimace. "But I have strong instincts for the real world, a sharp eye for design, and enough caffeine in my system to overhaul your entire product line before lunch."

To my surprise, a ripple of hushed laughter escaped from a couple of people in the room, a small victory against the overwhelming gravity of my situation.

He continued to regard me in silence, the weight of his scrutiny deepening until I felt as though I might crumble beneath it. I subtly checked for any signs of embarrassment-was my lipstick intact? Did I have a rogue mascara mark marring my professionalism?

Without warning, he closed the portfolio, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that twisted my stomach into knots.

"You're hired," he declared, his voice lowering to an almost conspiratorial whisper.

The unexpected words left me momentarily stunned. "I... what?".

He leaned back in his chair, a near-impenetrable expression on his face that offered no hints of what lay beneath. "You start Monday at 7:00 a.m. Don't be late. And whatever you do, don't bring coffee. I hate the smell."

With that, he pivoted and strode out of the room with the kind of confidence that could only come from someone who ruled their domain.

"Wait," I called out, turning to the HR manager, disbelief swirling in a dizzying dance inside me. "That... was good, right? I didn't just imagine that?"

The HR manager blinked, her face a canvas of astonishment and incredulity. "He never hires from interviews," she murmured, as if trying to comprehend the impossibility of the moment.

Lucian's assistant, still holding her pen at the ready, nodded in agreement, her expression equally stunned. "He never hires people who smile."

My heart raced, and a surge of exhilaration coursed through me. "Looks like I'm already his soft spot," I said, unable to wipe the grin from my face.