Isabela
5 years ago.
I fidget nervously, glancing around in every direction.
This place is so empty it feels downright eerie.
For some reason, the hairs on my arms stand on end, a shiver running down my spine, and I can’t stop my heart from pounding hard in my chest.
Run.
My conscience screams at me.
I don’t understand how a place that exudes elegance and wealth can feel so desolate, especially since today is supposed to be the day for interviews for the secretary position.
Did I get the date wrong?
I pull out my old phone and double-check the date and time. Nope, I’m not mistaken.
I look up again, taking in the vast waiting area with its leather armchairs and massive windows offering a breathtaking view of the city from the 45th floor.
I can’t figure out why I’m the only candidate in this cold, empty room.
I was nervous about coming here, expecting to compete with a crowd of people for this secretary job, but it seems I’m the only one after it.
I wrap my arms around myself, feeling the air conditioning bite into my skin. Or maybe it’s just my nerves?
A door swings open, and I stand up, hoping someone will finally tell me what to do since the receptionist’s desk is completely unmanned.
A blonde woman emerges, her eyes brimming with tears. She heads to the desk and starts shoving things into her bag as if packing up her few belongings.
“Excuse me?” I approach timidly. “I’m here for the—”
“Leave. Run,” she interrupts, wiping her tears. “Get out while you still can.” She sobs. “Don’t make a deal with the devil.” I open my mouth to ask what she means, but she grabs her bag and rushes out, leaving me with a knot in my stomach.
What was that about?
The phone starts ringing, and I see several buttons light up on the console. I look around, unsure of what to do.
Leave. Don’t stay here.
Yeah, I think that’s for the best.
Just as I take a step to walk away, another door opens. I turn around to see a man step out.
Oh. My. God.
I’ve never seen a man this handsome in my entire life.
This man is straight out of the fantasy novels I read—a perfect, breathtaking Adonis.
He’s wearing a tailored black designer suit that clings to his toned physique in all the right places.
“Where is she?” he demands in a harsh tone, making me shift uncomfortably.
“Where is she?”
“Are you stupid?” he snaps. “Why are you repeating me?”
“I—” He rolls his eyes. “Where is…?” He pauses, thinking. “Jasmine, or whatever her name is?”
“The woman who just left crying a moment ago?” He huffs, crossing his arms, his muscles flexing so much they nearly strain the fabric of his sleeves.
“Who are you?”
“I’m here for the interview,” I clear my throat. “For the secretary position.”
“Do you know how to answer the phone?” He points to the incessantly ringing intercom.
“Yes, sir.”
“Cancel my schedule, take the calls, and have them leave messages,” he orders, turning to head back into what I assume is his office. “And bring me coffee.” He slams the door behind him, making me jump.
I stand there, stunned by the absurd command this man just barked at me.
Who does he think I am? A mind reader?
The phone rings again, and for some reason, I answer it when I should just grab my things and get out of this place.
“Lucas Montiel’s office, how can I help you?”
I sit down at the desk and start jotting down the message.
Thank goodness I’m familiar with certain software that helps me figure out his schedule.
I don’t know how this jerk expected me to handle everything without any guidance or explanation of where things are.
The phone rings again, and I can tell it’s coming from Mr. Montiel.
“Sir?”
“Where’s my coffee?”
“I was handling the calls.”
“Are you slow or something?” he snaps before hanging up.
Leave.
Grab your stuff and go.
But for some stupid reason, I’m still here.
I’ve never let anyone intimidate me, and I’m certainly not a coward. Besides, I thrive on challenges, and I’m going to show this idiot that I can do this. By the end of the day, I’ll walk out with my head held high and a smile on my face.
I head to the small kitchen on the floor and find everything spotless and perfectly organized. I approach an impressive, modern coffee machine with more buttons than an elevator panel.
How am I supposed to guess how he likes his coffee?
I inspect each button and notice the one for black coffee looks the most worn, so I press it. The machine whirs to life, and soon a cup is ready.
A man this bitter must like his coffee the same way—zero sugar.
Well, it’s not hard to guess. There’s no sugar anywhere nearby, so I assume he doesn’t take it sweet.
I pick up the cup and take a deep breath before heading to his office. I knock lightly, feeling the cup wobble in my hand, worried about how hot it is.
“Come in,” he calls. I open the door, and there he is, sitting with no expression on his face other than that of an arrogant jerk.
It’s a shame that all his good looks are wasted on such an idiot.
“Sir?” I step forward, placing the cup on his desk, which he ignores. “I don’t know how you take it since no one has told me or given me any sort of guidance, but here it is. If you could kindly let me know how you like it—” I try to keep my sarcasm from being too obvious.
His jaw clenches as if my comment infuriates him. Without looking at me, his eyes glued to his computer screen, he picks up the cup and takes a sip.
Then another. And another.
I stand there waiting for a response but get none, so I decide to leave the office and continue answering the calls since the phone hasn’t stopped ringing.
It’s five o’clock, and I decide it’s time to go. I start shutting down the computer when Mr. Montiel steps out.
“I’m heading out,” I say, getting no response. He just walks over and drops several folders on the desk.
“The first one has instructions on how I expect my staff to work for me—rules and, as you put it, a guide for both personal and professional matters,” he says. “The second is the contract. If you’re willing to stay, sign it. If not, you can leave the way you came.” He adjusts his jacket and walks out without so much as a goodbye.
I take a deep breath, picking up both folders. I shouldn’t even bother looking through them and just leave like he suggested, but I’m curious about what he’s offering.
I open the first folder, reading through the absurd rules and the pile of nonsense this man demands.
No wonder this floor is completely empty and lifeless. He doesn’t like noise. He doesn’t like people.
I keep reading, wanting to burst out laughing, and since I’m alone, I do.
Does he seriously expect all of this?
I set the folder down, not wanting to delve into more of his ridiculous demands, and pick up the second folder—the contract. As I open it, my mocking smile fades, and I stare at the numerous zeros listed as part of the salary and extra bonuses.
Damn. With this money, I could pay off everything I owe in less than a year.
I just finished my degree in international business administration and languages. With no parents, no family, and no financial support, I had to borrow myself into debt for the next lifetime to graduate. But with this, I could be free.
Don’t do it.
Just leave.
I stand up and walk over to the desk, leaving the folders behind, and press the elevator button.
Working for him is like working for the devil. No wonder that woman told me not to make a deal with him.
The doors open, and out of the corner of my eye, I see the folders.
I try to step into the elevator and leave, but my body won’t let me. Without a second thought, I stride back, grab the folders, and hurry into the elevator.
I’ll just take a quick look. That’s all.