2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Tasha
I feel completely ridiculous pulling up to the Thorne and Thorne office in my beat-up car, the engine sputtering like it might just give out any second. It nearly stalls out as I ease into the parking lot, and I have to give it a little extra gas to keep it from dying right there.
The car shudders to a stop, and I sit there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, trying to calm my nerves and pull myself together.
This feels like a bad joke, like I’m about to walk into a king’s palace wearing a potato sack for a dress.
Grabbing my purse, I dig around until I find my debit card. As I pay for the parking I wince at how much it costs. City parking always feels like such a rip-off, but today it feels especially cruel.
I glance up at the skyscrapers that tower over me, and I can’t help but feel like I’ve stepped into a different world, all sharp edges and polished surfaces.
I feel like I’m just a tiny mouse scurrying through a maze of gleaming silver and glass.
Chicago always feels like this when I visit, like it’s about to swallow me whole.
There’s a rhythm to the city: the honking cars, the chatter of people on their phones, the rush of feet across the pavement.
It’s a rhythm I never quite find my step in.
Back home, in the suburbs, things are slower, quieter. Here in the city, I can barely hear myself think. I had to park three blocks away just to find a spot, and now I’m trying not to think about the walk ahead of me in these stupid heels that Jasmine convinced me to wear.
I start walking, the rhythmic click-clack of my heels on the pavement sounding louder than it should. I’m not used to shoes like these. My feet ache already, and I’ve barely made it half a block. I usually wear the same non-slip, OSHA-regulated shoes I’ve had for years when I go to work. They’ve carried me through countless shifts.
These heels make me feel like a baby deer trying to figure out how to walk, all wobbly and fresh.
As I pass by a law office with shiny, reflective windows, I catch a glimpse of myself and almost wish I hadn’t.
The pencil skirt I borrowed from Jasmine looks a little too tight and a little too short. Jasmine’s five inches shorter than me, and it shows. I keep tugging the hem down, hoping it’ll magically stretch a bit longer, but it just snaps right back, hugging my thighs like it belongs there.
I keep walking, but I’m hyper-aware of how out of place I look. I’m just some girl in a too-tight skirt and heels I can’t really walk in, trying not to stumble, while the people passing by me all look like they belong here, with their perfectly tailored suits and sleek briefcases.
This isn’t going to work out. You’re not going to be good enough for this job. You’re just a waitress. What do you know about answering phones in a fancy office?
I stop for a moment, staring at my reflection, and I can’t help the thoughts that start bombarding me. I imagine what it would be like to just turn around, head back to my car, and drive back to Jasmine’s place.
I can already picture her opening the door, her face soft with pity as I admit defeat.
“This was a terrible idea. I don’t belong in the city.”
And Jasmine, bless her heart, would give me a hug, and maybe we’d heat up our leftovers and watch bad TV until I could forget how stupid I felt.
I glance around, watching the people striding past me with purpose, their phones pressed to their ears, their expressions confident and sure.
They don’t even notice I’m here. They don’t see me.
I bet they’ve all done this hundreds of times. They’ve all just walked into places like Thorne and Thorne without even thinking twice. And here I am, practically shaking in my heels, like I’m about to step onto a stage in front of a thousand people.
I take a deep breath, but it doesn’t help. My heart still feels like it’s going to beat right out of my chest.
I’m going to end up like my mom.
Then, clearly, as if she’s standing right next to me, I hear Jasmine’s voice in my head. “You are more than enough.”
It’s the same words she said to me the night I found out about Patrick, when I thought my entire world was crumbling.
I straighten up, shoulders back, and take another deep breath.
I can do this.
Brushing my hands over my skirt, smoothing the wrinkles out, I force myself to keep walking.
When I finally reach the Thorne and Thorne building, I’m struck by how sleek and sophisticated it looks for a construction firm.
The entrance is framed by massive, raw stone pillars, like something out of an architecture magazine, and the glass doors are outlined in a smooth, shiny platinum. It looks strong, solid, and immovable, like a mountain.
I stop for a moment, staring at the logo etched into the glass: two large, intersecting T’s that create a simple square shape. It’s simple, elegant, and somehow intimidating. I wonder if this is how all the clients feel when they walk in.
I place my hand on the cold door handle, my reflection ghosting over the logo, and pull it open.
This is it.
Stepping inside, my heels clicking against the polished marble flooring, the first thing I notice is that there’s no one at the reception desk.
All I see is an empty chair and a neat row of polished silver pens lined up like soldiers, their metallic sheen glimmering under the soft, recessed lighting. It looks as if someone tidied up and then disappeared, the chair pointed to the left.
I pause, glancing around, trying to make sense of things. I’m not sure what to do. Should I try to find someone or should I just wait here? I take a few hesitant steps forward, feeling a little like I’ve just wandered into a dream.
Poor girls like you don’t get office jobs at nice places like this.
A subtle scent of cedar mingles with a faint floral aroma in the air, making the atmosphere feel oddly welcoming. The clicking of my heels echoe off the vaulted ceilings of the lobby.
I’m so hyper-aware of them in this moment, and with each step, I grow increasingly aware of how tight and short this skirt is.
The lobby is luxurious, more than I had imagined last night laying on Jasmine’s pull-out sofa bed. It’s got these sleek, dark leather chairs arranged in a perfect row, each one looking like it’s never been sat in.
I catch my reflection in the polished marble floor below me. The flooring, like everything else in this place, is shining brilliantly in the morning sunlight. I admire the dark veins swirling through the white stone, giving it a cold, clean, and expensive look.
I look outside the large windows, stopping to keep the sound of my heels from echoing in the spacious lobby.
A large, abstract sculpture in the middle of the room, formed from some kind of twisted metal, catches the light in a way that’s mesmerizing. It looks like it probably cost more than my car.
Though, that’s honestly not saying much now that I think about it.
The walls surrounding me are lined with dark wood paneling, smooth and sophisticated, showcasing the space’s dominant grandeur. My eyes trail upward and see a stunning chandelier hanging above me, its crystalline pendants catching the light and throwing tiny rainbows across the room.
Those don’t look like the chandeliers at Home Depot. No, those look like real crystals.
The warm glow from the fixture bathes the lobby in a soft light, enhancing the rich colors of the decor. I’ve never been anywhere like this before, and I can’t help but feel like I’m way, way out of my league.
Everything about this place screams money—money and power. I'm overwhelmed to the point that it makes my stomach twist with nerves.
I smooth my hands down my skirt, trying to keep them from shaking, or worse, sweating. My head whips back and forth for a second, terrified that someone’s witnessing me verging on a panic attack.
I should just go. I shouldn’t be here, this is obviously not the job for me.
The thought is repetitive, like the blinking glow of a lighthouse on the shore during a storm.
I step toward the door when I hear a man’s voice behind me.
“Hey, are you here for the interview?”
I turn and see a guy standing there with short blonde hair and a relaxed, easy smile. He’s probably about my age. He’s got this casual confidence about him, like he belongs here, like he’s used to places like this. I also can’t help but notice how good-looking he is, and my eyes fall to his left hand, where I spot a gleaming wedding ring reflecting in the sun.
Figures, he’s too gorgeous to be single.
“Uh, yeah,” I say sheepishly, trying to quiet the nerves that have bubbled up from standing around aimlessly. “My name is Tasha Daniels. I’m here about the receptionist position. I was told to arrive at nine.”
“Great. I’m Josh, by the way.” He extends a hand and we shake.
I feel a smile stretch across my lips. “Nice to meet you, Josh.”
“Follow me,” he says, gesturing with his left hand for me to come with him. Relief washes over me as we walk, and I laugh at myself, realizing that I was a mere half second from losing this chance.
Even if I don’t feel like I belong here, I still need to give it my all.
Then if they don’t want me, it’s their loss.
Not me throwing away an opportunity.
I fall in step beside him, grateful that someone knows what’s going on, even if I don’t. Walking together across the lobby, past that imposing sculpture, he leads me to the glossy, golden elevator. He touches the black button, an upward carrot illuminated in gold.
The doors open instantly. He gestures with his hand, and as we step inside. Suddenly, I'm surrounded by marble and mirrors that gleam under the soft overhead light. Everything here enhances the modern aesthetic of the office.
He leans against the wall and glances at me, like he’s sizing me up. “Sorry there wasn’t anyone at the reception desk to greet you. That’s not the way we want to present ourselves to a potential new employee. My dad’s running the interviews up in his office. Our temporary receptionist must have walked away.”
I blink, surprised.
His dad?
It takes a moment for it all to click, and then I realize Josh must be Brody Thorne’s son.
I try to act normal, but it’s like my stomach does a flip. I nod at him, smiling again. I don’t want to convey that I didn’t know that he and his father ran this business together. It’s not a good look to go into a job interview with zero understanding of the company.
The elevator dings, and we step out onto a floor that’s all glass walls and sleek surfaces. Sunlight pours in through expansive windows, illuminating the open space and creating a breathtaking view of the city skyline.
And then I see him: Brody Thorne.
He’s standing by his office door, looking down at something on his phone. I thought Josh was handsome, but his dad...his dad is even more striking.
He has broad shoulders, golden hair with a hint of silver that adds to his rugged charm, and sharp, maple eyes that glitter gold in the light.
My eyes trail to his left hand beneath his phone.
No wedding ring in sight.
Don’t mess this up, Tasha. You can do this if you try your best.
I pull back, straightening my posture, trying to look more confident than I actually feel.
I can’t afford to fuck this up, even if the only distraction I’m suffering from is how gorgeous my new bosses will be and whether they’re single or not.
I need this job.
I can’t work at the restaurant with my ex after what happened. I can’t hope to have my own apartment if I keep waitressing.
I need to do this for me.
I need a change.
I’ve got this.