Wrapped Around Her Finger

CALLIOPE

I've never been late for anything. Ever. But today, the one day that could make or break my entire career, my alarm decided to betray me. Of course, the train was packed, the cab line ridiculously long, and now, I'm sprinting down the sidewalk in heels that feel like they're stabbing knives into my feet.

"Move! MOVE!" I shout, weaving around a couple strolling leisurely in front of me, their hands intertwined like it's some lazy Sunday afternoon. They shoot me annoyed looks, but I don't care. Not today. Not when I'm ten minutes behind schedule and heading to the biggest interview of my life.

I glance down at my watch-9:14 AM. Crap. I have exactly sixteen minutes to get there, and I still have five blocks to go. My feet are already screaming in these damn heels, but I push on. Why did I wear these? They're the perfect height for professional confidence, but perfect for walking? Absolutely not.

I hear the city buzzing around me, the usual sounds of car horns blaring, people chattering, and the occasional barking dog. Normally, I'd enjoy it-the chaotic symphony of life that makes the city feel alive. But today, it's an obstacle course. People are in my way. Everyone is in my way.

"Out of the way!" I hiss under my breath as I sidestep around a woman juggling three shopping bags and a toddler clinging to her arm. I'm not even sure if she heard me, but she doesn't look up. Typical.

I barrel past the exit of the train station, ignoring the dull ache in my feet. My head's pounding from the adrenaline and the sheer panic that's pulsing through my veins. I take another look at my watch. Fifteen minutes. Oh God, I can't be late for tthis. GreenYield-THE GreenYield, the top agro firm in the city, the place I've been dreaming of working at since I graduated-was waiting for me. Or at least, they would be if I could make it there in time.

I curse under my breath as I narrowly dodge a man who steps directly into my path, his eyes glued to his phone. Seriously? I spin to avoid a collision, nearly losing my balance on the slick sidewalk.

"Watch it!" I snap at him, my voice a mix of frustration and panic. I don't have time for this. I don't have time for anything right now except making it to that office on time.

The sky, once a dull gray, is now threatening to open up and dump rain at any moment. I feel the first drops land on my forehead, soft at first, barely noticeable. Of course, it would rain. Because why wouldn't it? As if this day could get any worse. I pull my blazer tight against me, as if that will somehow keep me dry. I can already feel my hair frizzing. Great. Just what I need-frizzy hair and a panic attack before the interview that could change my life.

I cross the street, dodging another oblivious pedestrian with a coffee cup in hand. He's moving so slowly, like he has no idea there's someone whose entire future is hanging in the balance. Why does it feel like everyone is in slow motion today? I'm practically sprinting now, or as close to sprinting as I can get in these stupid heels. My toes are screaming, and I'm sure I'll have blisters by the time I make it to the office-if I make it.

Another block down, and the rain starts coming harder. My pace quickens as I spot the next crosswalk. Only a few more blocks to go, and I might just make it-barely. I force myself to focus on the next step, one heel in front of the other. I've done tougher things than this. I've survived internships from hell, all-nighters during finals week, and those horrible coffee runs for bosses who couldn't even remember my name. This? I can do this.

I cross the street just as the light changes, my pace frantic, my heart racing in my chest. Twelve minutes left. My breath is coming faster now, but not from exhaustion. It's the clock. The relentless ticking in my head that won't let me rest. Every second that passes is a step closer to disaster.

Then, it happens.

I'm halfway through the crosswalk when I hear it-an engine revving a little too loudly, a little too fast. My eyes snap toward the sound, and I see it-a black Bentley speeding down the street, heading directly for a puddle the size of a small lake. My brain tries to calculate how fast the car is going, how much time I have to move out of the way, but before I can process it, the inevitable happens.

The car hits the puddle with full force, sending a massive wave of filthy rainwater soaring into the air. For a split second, everything freezes. I watch in horror as the wall of water arcs through the air, glistening in the dim light of the overcast sky. It happens in slow motion, like some cruel scene from a movie where you know exactly what's coming but can't stop it.

And then, in an instant, it crashes down on me.

The cold, dirty water drenches me from head to toe, soaking my blouse, my blazer, my skirt-everything. I gasp, instinctively jumping back, but it's too late. My clothes cling to my body, heavy and soaked, the once-crisp fabric now sagging under the weight of the water. I look down at myself in disbelief. My perfectly ironed outfit, my meticulously planned look for the biggest interview of my life-it's ruined.

I stand there in the middle of the crosswalk, water dripping from my hair, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. The black car keeps going, speeding away like nothing happened, the driver completely unaware or just too much of an asshole to care.

I'm soaked. Completely, utterly drenched. The rain is falling harder now, like it's mocking me, like the universe decided today would be the day everything goes wrong. I blink, trying to process what just happened, but I can't move. I can't even think.

What am I supposed to do now?

I glance at my watch-9:18 AM. Twelve minutes left.

I have twelve minutes to walk into GreenYield, my dream company, and impress them. And I'm soaked to the bone.

I'm screwed.

But I can't just stand here. I have to move, I have to do something. My feet are glued to the pavement, though. How am I supposed to walk into that interview like this? How am I supposed to explain that I look like I've just been swimming through the streets?

I take a step forward, my soaked shoes squelching under me. I don't know if I'm going to make it in time, and even if I do, I have no idea what I'm walking into. I can barely think straight through the panic coursing through my veins.

Then, I hear it. A car door slams, and I spin around, suddenly aware that the black car has pulled over.

I blink, wiping rain from my eyes as the driver steps out of the car. For a moment, I can't breathe. I freeze as I take him in-tall, lean, broad-shouldered, with an effortless kind of confidence that makes you forget how to speak. His dark hair, just long enough to curl at the edges, is slightly damp from the rain. But it's his face that catches me off guard. Chiseled jaw, high cheekbones, deep-set eyes that practically shimmer in the rain.

He's the most handsome man I've ever seen.

For a second, I forget how furious I am, forget that I'm standing there soaked to the skin. My brain struggles to catch up as he walks toward me, his expression apologetic, maybe even a little concerned.

"I am so, so sorry," he says, his voice rich and deep, like it belongs on an ad for luxury perfume that costs twice my rent.

I stare at him, my anger mingling with a strange, unsettling attraction.

What the hell am I supposed to say now?

CALLIOPE

"Seriously?" I shout, incredulous, my frustration spilling over. "Do you have any idea what you just did?"

His eyes dim as he takes in my drenched clothes. "Oh God, I didn't mean to-are you okay?" His voice is smooth, with a hint of a charming accent I can't quite place. He steps closer, his eyes widening in concern.

"I'm just peachy!" I snap, trying to shove down the anger bubbling within me. "You know, aside from being completely soaked, thanks to you. I was on my way to a very important job interview."

"I really didn't mean to," he insists, running a hand through his tousled flaxen hair. "Let me make it up to you."

I roll my eyes. "You can't just magically make this better."

But he doesn't seem deterred. "No, really. I can help you." He gestures to the line of boutiques across the street, the kind of place where the dresses probably cost more than my monthly rent. "I can buy you something to change into. It's the least I can do, right? I mean, you can't walk into an interview looking like that."

I stare at him, my heart still racing, part of me wants to refuse, to brush him off, but another part-a tiny, hopeful part-thinks maybe this can all be fixed. After all, I can't show up looking like a drowned rat.

"Why would you want to help me?" I ask, suspicion creeping into my voice.

He shrugs, an easy smile creeping onto his face. "I don't know, maybe I'm just a nice guy? Or maybe I just like your spirit. You seem... determined." He leans in slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "And honestly, I find that attractive."

I raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Charming and flirty. Great combination, but I'm really not interested."

He holds up his hands in surrender, a playful glint in his eyes. "No harm in trying, right? Come on, I promise I'll get you something that makes you look stunning."

I look down at my watch again-9:20 AM. If I want any chance at making it to this interview, I'll have to make a decision fast.

"Fine," I huff. "But I don't have time for this."

"Perfect! Let's go!" He takes my elbow gently, guiding me across the street toward the boutique.

As we enter, the plush carpet feels like a cloud beneath my feet, a stark contrast to the cold, wet pavement I just left behind. I glance around at the chic displays, my heart sinking slightly. Everything here looks so expensive, like it's meant for someone else.

"I'm not a charity case, you know," I say as we navigate through the racks of designer dresses. "I can't just accept help from a stranger."

"Then think of it as an investment," he replies smoothly, glancing at me with a boyish charm. "You're about to land a great job, and I will sure you look the part."

I can't help but chuckle a little, despite the situation. "An investment? You make it sound like you're buying a car."

"Hey, if I had that kind of money, I'd definitely invest in you," he shoots back with a wink.

I try to maintain my composure, shaking my head at his audacity. "I really hope this is just you trying to lighten the mood and not your usual pickup line."

"Okay, guilty," he admits, holding his hands up again. "But I still think you'd look great in a bold red dress." He pulls a stunning, crimson dress from the rack. "This one screams 'I mean business.'"

I eye the dress skeptically. "That's a bit too much, don't you think?"

"Not at all," he insists, tossing it over his arm as if it's the most natural thing in the world. "You'll light up the room."

I can't help but feel a spark of excitement at the thought. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Orion," he replies, flashing another smile that could charm the socks off anyone. "And yours?"

"Calliope," I say, trying to keep the conversation light despite the swirling anxiety in my gut.

"Alright, Calliope," he says, giving me a mock-serious look. "Let's find you the perfect outfit, so you can knock 'em dead at your interview. You have a gorgeous name by the way."

I'm flattered but I'm not going to return the compliment even though I think his name is gorgeous as well.

I can't believe I'm doing this, but something about his energy is infectious. I allow him to guide me through the boutique, tossing a few more options into his growing pile-an elegant black skirt, a classic white blouse, and even a pair of simple, yet stylish heels.

"I'll be your personal shopper for the day," he teases, picking up a matching handbag that looks like it costs more than my entire outfit.

"Very generous of you, but I can't take all this."

He looks at me, genuinely serious. "You have to. You need this. You deserve this."

A small part of me warms to the idea, the part that yearns for this opportunity. "Okay, but only if you promise not to ask for my number after this," I say bluntly.

Orion laughs, and I can't help but smile. "Deal."

I try on the clothes, scrutinising myself in the mirror while Orion waits outside the dressing room patiently. I leave the red dress on, his comment about it has clearly influenced me.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, we head to the register. I watch in disbelief as he pays for everything, my heart racing with a mixture of gratitude and embarrassment. "I can't believe you did this," I say as we exit the store, clutching my new clothes in a glossy bag.

"Consider it a good luck charm," he replies, leaning against the store's awning, the rain now a light drizzle.

"Thanks, Orion," I say, my voice softer now, the reality of the moment sinking in. "I really appreciate this. I owe you one."

He grins, his eyes sparkling. "You'll pay me back by getting that job. And maybe, just maybe, you'll let me take you out to celebrate afterward?"

I shake my head, a smile breaking through. "I told you I'm not interested. But I'll keep that in mind if I need a distraction after I land the job."

Orion shrugs, unfazed. "I'll take what I can get."

With a final wave, I hurry down the street, the new clothes and my still-damp hair giving me a renewed sense of purpose. I glance at my watch again-9:35 AM. I've got five minutes to get to GreenYield.

With each step, I feel the weight of the day start to lift, the embarrassment of my soaked clothes replaced by a determination that only grows stronger. I'm not just racing against time anymore; I'm racing toward my future.

As I approach the gleaming glass doors of GreenYield, I am filled with the excitement of what's to come. I take a deep breath, straighten my back, and push open the door. Today is my day, and I'm not letting anything-or anyone-hold me back.

CALLIOPE

As I step through the glass doors, a wave of cool air rushes over me, soothing my damp skin and the frizzing hair. The lobby is everything I imagined it would be-sleek, modern, and teeming with an air of authority. A well-dressed receptionist sits behind a polished mahogany desk, her eyes flickering up to meet mine.

"Hi! I have an interview scheduled with Ms. Davenport at 9:30," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Of course, Ms. Calliope," she replies, glancing at her computer screen. "She's expecting you. Please have a seat. I'll let her know you've arrived."

I nod and take a seat in the plush leather chair. I catch my reflection in the glass wall beside me, my makeup slightly smudged from the rain and my hair a frizzy mess.

As I wait, I can't shake the sense of dread gnawing at my stomach. What if they don't see past my appearance? What if I've blown my one chance? The sound of heels clicking against the marble floor pulls me from my thoughts, and I glance up to see a woman in a tailored suit striding toward me.

"Calliope!" she calls out, her voice commanding yet friendly. "I'm so glad you could make it!"

"Thank you for having me," I reply, forcing a smile.

"Please, come with me." She gestures for me to follow her through a set of double doors that lead into a conference room.

Inside, the atmosphere shifts instantly. The room is bright, filled with contemporary art and a large table surrounded by a handful of people, all looking up expectantly. I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I've worked hard to get here.

"Everyone, this is Calliope," Ms. Davenport introduces me, her tone firm yet welcoming. "She's here to interview for the position of Junior Data Scientist."

"Hi, everyone," I say, my voice slightly wavering but steady enough. I make eye contact with a few of the panelists-three men and two women-trying to gauge their reactions, each one more intimidating than the last. They introduce themselves, but my attention is pulled toward a familiar face at the end of the table-Orion. I do a double take, shocked and surprised to see him hear, suddenly I'm thrown into a frenzy of panic all over again. His expression is unreadable, yet I can't help but feel a flutter in my stomach at the sight of him.

"Good to see you again, Calliope," he says, a hint of warmth breaking through his professional demeanor.

"Good to see you too," I reply, feeling my cheeks heat up. My heart races as I take a seat across from him.

"Please, take a seat," he says, motioning to the chair across from him. I sit down, smoothing my skirt over my legs, feeling the fabric of the new dress I picked out still soft against my skin.

"Let's get started," Ms. Davenport says, glancing at her notes. "Can you tell us a little about your experience and why you want to work at GreenYield?"

I launch into my rehearsed pitch, recounting my internships, my passion for data science, and what attracted me to the firm. As I speak, I can see their interest piquing, the initial skepticism softening. I feel a surge of confidence building inside me.

Halfway through my spiel, I catch Orion's intense gaze. He raises an eyebrow, as if challenging me. "And what do you think sets GreenYield apart from other companies?" he asks, his voice deep and steady.

"I want to work with your company because of how you use data and technology to improve farming. I'm excited about the chance to apply my data skills to help make a real impact, like improving efficiency and sustainability. Your focus on innovation matches my passion, and I'd love to contribute to your success," I blurt out quickly, the words tumbling over each other.

Orion gives a half-nod, his expression remains unchanged.

The interview wraps up with a few more questions, and I manage to hold my own, feeling the anticipation in the air. Finally, Ms. Davenport stands, thanking me for my time. "We'll be in touch shortly," she says, her tone professional yet warm.

As I gather my things and head toward the door, I can't shake the feeling that I need to speak to Orion. The memory of our encounter gnaws at me, and I know I have to apologize for how I acted. He bursts through the doors, this is my cue.

"Orion, can I have a word?" I call out, my heart racing as I approach him, stopping him at his tracks in the hallway. Thankfully, the others stayed behind and are still seated in the room so we are the only ones here.

He looks up, surprise flickering in his eyes. "Of course, Calliope. What's on your mind?"

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the conversation. "I wanted to apologize for this morning. I was stressed and overwhelmed, and I didn't mean to take it out on you."

He chuckles lightly, but there's an edge to it. "You have nothing to apologize for. I was the one who splashed you with that puddle."

"I'm sorry for being rude about it," I insist, feeling the weight of my words. "It was a chaotic day, and I just wasn't in a good headspace."

He watches me, his expression thoughtful. "You don't need to worry about it. In fact, I found it refreshing. You're passionate and fierce, and that's something I respect."

My heart skips a beat. "Really? You think so?"

"Absolutely," he replies, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Before I can say anything else, Ms. Davenport appears, interrupting us. She calling him back into the conference room.

"I'll see you soon, Calliope" Orion says, offering a reassuring nod before returning to his colleagues.

As I leave the office building, hope and anxiety bubbles within me. I think I did well, but will it be enough to secure the job? My thoughts swirl as I cross the busy streets, replaying the interview in my mind.

A few hours later I'm back home and reclining while staring at the television my phone buzzes with a notification. It's an email from Ms. Davenport.