One Year To Make Him Remember

Some mornings feel cursed, but this one had me wondering if I'd accidentally pissed off a witch in a past life....

LILA'S POV

The alarm screamed like a dying animal, I slapped my phone, and i missed, and sent it flying off the nightstand, it hit the floor with a crack that made my stomach drop.

No... no no no I stretched for it, my sheets twisting around my legs, and nearly face planted onto the hardwood, the screen was still on at 7:03 AM, but it now has with a brand-new spiderweb of cracks pieced across the glass.

"That is very fantastic".

I groaned, rolling onto my back and staring at the ceiling, today was supposed to be the day of the interview at Sterling & Graves, the kind of smooth, corporate firm that didn't just hand out jobs, they grant careers, the kind of place where people wore shoes that cost more than my rent and said things like "Let's circle back" without a trace of irony.

And here I was, already fucking it up before I even left my apartment.

The hot water lasted approximately thirty seconds before turning frozen, I shouted, rushing back and knocking over three separate bottles of shampoo in the process, one of these shampoos was the expensive one I had stolen from my ex-roommate, that one splashed across the tiles like some kind of floral-scented crime scene, "Great, now I smell like a fancy funeral."

I gave up on washing my hair and just stood there, shivering, while the water pounded icily against my shoulders. My reflection in the cloudy mirror looked like a half-drowned raccoon with my mascara smudged under my eyes (because yes, I had tried to look presentable last night, thinking it would help me sleep. spoiler: nah... it didn't), my dark curls tangling in the humidity.

I looked like I had been dragged through a bush backward.

The toaster spat out my bread like it had personally offended it, one side of the bread was barely burned while the other was somehow still frozen, I looked at it, debating whether it was worth the effort to chew, when my cat, Mr. Whiskers (a name he absolutely did not deserve), jumped onto the counter and swiped it straight out of my hand.

"Really?" I hissed.

He gave me a look that said, You're a disgrace, and strolled away with his prize, now I guess we are flat mates....

I settled for chugging the world's saddest cup of tea, it was weak, lukewarm, and tasting slightly of regret, my stomach rolled, but I forced it down.

"You need caffeine, you need food, you need to not pass out in the middle of your interview" That's what I told my self.

I had laid everything out the night before: black pants, a white blouse, a blazer that screamed "I am a competent and responsible adult." Or at least, it had screamed that in the store, but now, under the harsh light of morning, it just looked... sad and depressing.

The blouse was wrinkled, how? how did it happen? I had it ironed, I even had it steamed, and yet, there they were, wrinkles that made it look like I had slept in a dumpster.

Quickly, I grabbed the fiber roller and went to town, only to realize too late that it was covered in cat hair from the last time I had used it, and now my blazer was also fluffy .

"Isn't it Perfect."

I tried to tell myself it wasn't noticeable, I told my self that no one would care, that I was just overreacting, not until I caught sight of myself in the full length mirror.

I looked like an unkempt intern who had been hit by a bus, but who cares? I am not owing or dressing to kill right?

I made it out the door at 8:15, which should've given me just enough time to catch the 8:30 train.

First, I realized I had forgotten my portfolio, the one with all my impressive, assembled work samples, so I ran back upstairs, nearly tripping over my own feet, and grabbed it off the kitchen table.

Then, halfway to the station, I felt something wet leak through my sock.

I stopped dead on the sidewalk.

"No"

I lifted my foot.

There, stained across the bottom of my shoe, was a fresh, shining pile of dog shit, oh God I felt like throwing up.

A passing businessman gave me a wide space, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

"This isn't happening." I said

I rubbed my shoe against the curb like a maniac, but the smell stuck to me like a bad decision.

I made it to the platform just as the train doors were closing.

"Wait!" I yelled, running like my life depended on it.

The conductor gave me a look that said, I hate you personally, but mercifully, the doors slid back open.

I stumbled inside, panting , and immediately collided with a guy holding a full cup of coffee. Time slowed, the cup slanted and the lid popped off.

And then, a splash of burning dark roast poured down the front of my clean white blouse, that was when the entire train went silent.

The guy stared at me, horrified. "Oh my God, I'm so..."

I held up a hand, "Don't."

I could feel the coffee leaking through the fabric, hot and sticky against my skin, my face burned, my eyes stung.

And then, because the universe hated me, the train stumbled forward, sending me crashing into a pole.

My portfolio flew out of my hands, papers scattering everywhere.

A single, hysterical thought echoed in my head: Oh I should've just stayed in bed.

It was supposed to be a normal morning, if such a thing existed in the life of a CEO one scandal away from losing everything....

Nathaniel's Pov

The sound of a grand piano playing Bach's Prelude in C Major cut through the silence of the penthouse.

I sighed into my thousand -thread-count sheets,"Why the hell did I set an alarm?"

That was when I remembered, the board meeting, I had an interview, and the goddamn merger. I banged a hand on my phone, silencing the music, my head hurt from last night's scotch, a 25-year-old Macallan that cost more than most people's cars, had been a mistake.

So had the argument with my ex-wife at midnight, and so had the second scotch.

I dragged himself out of bed, my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows mocking me, I could see them dark circles, stubble that was just past the point of looking intentional, the kind of exhaustion that no amount of money could fix.

The shower was a goddamn traitor.

One second, the water was perfect, boiling, just how I liked it, and the next, it turned ice-cold without warning.

I cursed, jerking back and slipping on the marble tile, but I caught myself on the glass door, heart pounding.

"This is how I die, I would die naked, hungover, and pissed off." I finished my shower in record time, teeth chattering.

My closet was an organized masterpiece, rows of custom-tailored suits, Italian leather shoes, watches that could fund a small country.

But the one tie I needed, the navy Hermès that actually made me look like I gave a shit, was gone.

"Elise!" I barked, storming into the hallway.

My housekeeper appeared instantly, her expression carefully neutral, "Mr. Sterling?"

"Where the hell is my navy tie?"

She blinked. "You... donated it, sir."

What?

Then it hit me.

Last month at the charity gala, I was drunk on champagne and self-loathing, tossing half my wardrobe into a donation bin while muttering about "reinvention."

I exhaled through his nose.

"Right."

I grabbed the second-best option, a silver-gray number that almost worked, I and knotted it with more aggression than strictly necessary.

My personal chef, Marcel, had left my usual espresso on the counter.

I took one sip and nearly spat it out.

"What is this?"

Marcel poked his head out of the kitchen,"Your usual, sir."

"No, it's not."

Marcel hesitated. "I... may have switched to decaf. Doctor's orders."

I stared at him. "Whose doctor?"

"Yours."

A beat of silence.

Then I set the cup down with deliberate calm. "Marcel."

"Yes, sir?"

"Never do that again."

My phone rang just as I was stepping into the elevator, and of course it was Richard Graves, my business partner and perpetual thorn in his side.

"Nathaniel. We need to talk."

Fantastic.

"About?"

"The merger, the board is concerned."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, "They're always concerned."

"This is different, they think you're distracted."

Oh yes I am.

"I'll handle it," I snapped.

"You had better, or we're voting you out."

The line went dead.

I resisted the urge to throw his phone across the lobby.

My driver, Felix, was waiting outside.

"Morning, sir."

I mumbled in response.

The city uncleared past as Felix navigated the morning traffic with practiced ease, I scrolled through emails, each one more irritating than the last, they were mostly meeting requests, budget complaints, or another passive-aggressive note from HR about my "management style."

Then, bang.

The car jerked violently.

My head cracked up, "What the hell?"

Felix winced,"Flat tire, sir."

Of course it's flat tire

I checked my watch, it's already 8:05, and I only had twenty-five minutes to get to the office before the board meeting, and then one hour before the interview with her.

The girl with the too-big portfolio and the nervous smile, the one HR had insisted on, some fresh grad with a "unique perspective." as if I had time for this.

I stepped out of the car, ignoring Felix's apologies, and hailed a cab like a common mortal.

The elevator doors slid open to Sterling & Graves' pristine 40th-floor lobby.

My assistant, Lydia, was already waiting, her tablet clutched in a death grip.

"Sir, the board is..."

"I know."

"Also, your 9:30 interview candidate..."

"Reschedule her."

Lydia hesitated, "She's already on her way."

I didn't have the energy to argue.

"Fine, but keep it short" I said.

I strode into the boardroom, bracing myself for battle.

The board meeting was a disaster.

Half the directors wanted me out, while the other half just wanted to complain.

And then, knock knock.

Lydia peeked in, her face pale. "Sir, your 9:30 is here."

I squeezed my jaw, "Now?"

Lydia nodded, "And, uh... you might want to see this."

I excused myself with a growl and stepped into the hallway.

And there she was.

The candidate.

My candidate.

Covered in coffee stains, clutching a crumpled portfolio, and smelling faintly of dog shit.

Our eyes met.

Hers were wide with horror.

Mine were dead inside.

This day just got so much worse.

"Miss Carter," Nathaniel Sterling said, his voice dangerously smooth, "are you always this catastrophically unprepared, or is today a special occasion?"

LILA'S POV

How I managed to pick myself up and get my ass down to where I needed to be was still a mystery to even me.

I stood frozen in the hallway of Sterling & Graves, my coffee-stained blouse clinging to me, my cracked phone still clutched in my sweaty hand the man in front of me was not the polished HR rep I had expected.

No.

This was Nathaniel Sterling himself, he was tall and flawlessly dressed, and there he was, looking at me like I was something he had scraped off his Italian leather shoe.

"I..." My voice cracked and failed me "Mr. Sterling, I can explain..."

He held up a single finger, silencing me, then , slowly, his gaze dragged down my ruined outfit, the crumpled portfolio under my arm, and oh God, the faint but unmistakable hint of a dog poop still clinging to my shoe.

His nose wrinkled.

I'm going to die.

Before I could stammer another word, the boardroom door swung open, and a silver-haired man in a suit that cost more than my entire wardrobe glared at us.

"Nathaniel," he snapped, "We're waiting."

Sterling didn't take his eyes off me. "Richard, meet Lila Carter. Our top secretary candidate."

The way he said top made it sound like the bottom of the barrel.

Richard Graves looked me up and down, his lip curling, "This is the one you insisted on interviewing?"

My stomach dropped.

Wait, Insisted?

Sterling's smile was razor-thin, "Apparently, she's multi-talented, or so they say"

The way he said it made it sound like an insult.

Nathaniel Sterling's POV

This was a joke, not only that, it was a bad one.

The girl in front of me, Lila Carter, according to her file, she looked like she had been dragged through Manhattan by a pack of wild dogs.

And yet, HR had been insistent.

"She's fluent in four languages, sir."

"Top of her class at Columbia, sir."

"She interned at Vogue Paris, sir..."

I didn't give a damn about Vogue, I only needed someone who could keep up.

And this, this walking disaster was their star candidate?

"Lydia," I said, not breaking eye contact with the human tornado in front of me, "Fix her."

Lila's face flushed, "I...I don't need..,"

"Now."

She jerked, good, that's more like it.

Lila's POV

Lydia, Sterling's long-suffering assistant, pushed me into a bathroom that looked like it belonged in a museum, with marble floors, gold fixtures, and a chandelier.

"Here," she muttered, throwing a spare blouse at me, "Just... try not to make it worse."

I stared at it, "Whose is this?"

Lydia hesitated "Mine."

I blinked, "You're giving me your clothes?"

She sighed, "Look, I don't know what's going on, but Sterling doesn't usually help people, so just take the win."

I changed in record time, my hands shaking, although the blouse was slightly too big, but it was clean, small miracles.

Then I caught sight of myself in the mirror, my hair was still a mess, and my makeup was smudged, as for my confidence? It was long gone.

I took a deep breath, you survived the morning from hell, you can survive this.

The door creaked open, and Lydia peeked in. "Ready?"

Nope...

"Absolutely."

Sterling's office was terrifying, it had floor-to-ceiling windows, a desk the size of a small yacht , and there he was leaning back in his chair like a king on a throne, watching me like I was a particularly disappointing peasant.

"Sit."

I sat.

He didn't even glance at my (now-crumpled) resume, he tapped one manicured finger against the desk.

"Miss Carter," he said, "tell me why I shouldn't throw you out of this building right now."

My mouth went dry, of course wasn't an interview, this was an interrogation.

Then the door slammed open.

Richard Graves stood there, his face pale.

"Nathaniel," he said, voice tight, "We have a problem."

Sterling didn't move.,"What?"

Graves' next words sent ice down my spine:

"Someone just leaked the merger to the press."

Sterling's gaze snapped to me.

And for the first time, I saw something other than annoyance in his eyes.