3. Chapter Three
chapter three
. . .
Olivia
I sat cross-legged on the bed, flipping through a stack of papers—my old portfolio from what seemed like a lifetime ago. Faded news clippings, glossy event programs, and crisp certificates of achievement.
I traced my fingers over a photo from the annual fundraising gala I'd organized for the shelter. There I was, resplendent in an emerald green evening gown, my hair swept up in an elegant chignon. I stood at the podium, a megawatt smile lighting up my face as I addressed the crowd. The Olivia in that picture radiated confidence, purpose, and an infectious joy that seemed to draw people into her orbit.
It was hard to reconcile that glowing image with the hollow shell I saw in the mirror these days.
A wet nose nudged my hand. I glanced down at Pete, who gazed up at me with those soft brown eyes that always seemed to see straight into my battered heart .
“Hey, buddy,” I murmured, scratching him behind the ears. “Guess it's time to face the music, huh?”
I set aside my portfolio with a sigh, steeling myself for the daunting task ahead. Today was my interview with Carter Cassidy, the allegedly prickly but brilliant architect Wick had convinced to give me a chance. A chance I desperately needed, even if the thought of stepping back into the professional world made my stomach churn.
After much deliberation, I'd settled on a sleek, charcoal gray pencil skirt and a crisp white blouse—classic, understated, and hopefully conveying an air of quiet competence. I dressed quickly, my fingers fumbling at the delicate buttons.
As I smoothed the fabric over my hips, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the full-length mirror. I looked… tired. My eyes were shadowed, my cheekbones stood out sharply and my hair was limp and dull.
I gave myself a mental shake and reached for my makeup bag. If I couldn't summon the effortless radiance of my former self, I could at least armor myself in a carefully applied mask of professionalism.
An hour later, I was as ready as I'd ever be. My hair was twisted into a knot at the nape of my neck, my lips painted a muted pink. I'd chosen sensible black pumps and a stylish leather tote that had seen me through countless meetings and events in my previous life. After slipping on a tailored black blazer, I appraised my reflection one last time. Not perfect, but polished enough to pass muster.
“What do you think, Pete?” I asked, turning to my faithful companion. “Do I look like someone who knows what she's doing?”
Pete cocked his head to the side, his tail thumping against the floor in what I chose to interpret as a vote of confidence. “Crap, I need to get going.”
I gave Pete a quick kiss goodbye before shutting the door and stepping out into the warm end-of-August sunshine. As I headed down the driveway, I caught sight of my neighbor, Amelia, pruning her rose bushes. The elegant older woman looked up, her eyes crinkling in a smile.
“Olivia, dear! Don't you look lovely,” she called out, setting down her shears and wiping her hands on her apron. “Off to somewhere special?”
I paused at the fence, grateful for the distraction from my racing thoughts. “A job interview, actually. Wick helped set it up.”
“Well, they'd be fools not to hire you on the spot,” Amelia declared. “You've got moxie, kid. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.”
A genuine smile burst across my face, and some of the tension eased from my shoulders. “Thanks, Amelia. I'll do my best.”
“You go get 'em, tiger. And when you land that job, we'll celebrate with a glass of my famous sweet tea on the porch.”
Bolstered by her confidence in me, I waved goodbye and continued to my car.
With a final glance at the house that had become my prison since my marriage fell apart, I pulled out of the driveway and pointed the car towards downtown Columbus. Towards my future.
“Okay, Olivia,” I muttered as I navigated the mid-day traffic. “You've got this. You're smart, you're capable, and you're not going to let a little thing like crippling self-doubt stand in your way.”
The sleek glass and steel towers of the city loomed ever closer, and I felt a flicker of something I hadn't experienced in a long time: anticipation. Yes, my palms were sweaty and my nerves were jangling, but beneath the fear was a tiny, stubborn ember of excitement. The thrill of a new challenge, the promise of a fresh start.
I thought back to that photograph from the gala, to the luminous, unstoppable force I'd been in my previous life. That Olivia was still in there somewhere. Bruised and battered, perhaps, but not broken. Never broken.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and set my sights on the horizon. Carter Cassidy won’t know what hit him.
Twenty minutes later, I parallel parked on the narrow brick streets of German Village. Was I the best driver? No. But I could maneuver my compact car into even the most cramped spots—a skill I was infinitely proud of. I glanced down at my phone, confirming I was in the right place. Then I looked back up at the foreboding but beautiful home in front of me.
Carter Cassidy lives and works in a mansion. Perfect.
I straightened my skirt and checked my reflection one last time in the car mirror. Get it together, Olivia. You've faced scarier things than a grumpy architect.
I followed the cobblestone path to Carter's front door. The house was stunning—a perfect blend of historic charm and modern elegance. I admired every detail, from the ornate trim to the gleaming windows.
Before I could chicken out, I raised my hand and knocked on the heavy wooden door. My heart pounded as I waited, straining to hear any sound from within.
Just as I was debating whether to knock again, the door swung open. And there he was.
Holy guacamole.
The pictures didn’t do him justice. Carter Cassidy was tall, at least six feet, with broad shoulders that filled out his crisp white dress shirt perfectly. His dark hair was artfully tousled, as if he'd just run his hands through it. But it was his eyes that caught me off guard—a stormy gray that was a little scary and a lot sexy.
I swallowed hard, willing my voice not to shake. “Mr. Cassidy? I'm Olivia Par—Olivia Friedman. I'm here for the interview.”
His gaze raked over me, his expression inscrutable. I almost let out an audible sigh of relief when he finally stepped back and gestured for me to enter. “Come in.”
The interior was as impressive as the exterior, all clean lines and muted colors, with pops of bold artwork adorning the walls. It was clear that every element had been carefully chosen.
Carter led me down a hallway and into what appeared to be his home office. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a stunning view of a lush courtyard. A massive desk dominated one side of the room, covered in blueprints and sketches.
“Have a seat,” he said brusquely, indicating a high-backed leather chair across from the desk.
I perched on the edge of the seat, my back ramrod straight. Carter settled into his own chair, leaning back and regarding me with cool detachment.
“So,” he began, his deep voice sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. “Tell me why I should hire you.”
I squared my shoulders. “Mr. Cassidy, I'm not here to convince you to hire me. I'm here to show you why you'd be making a mistake if you didn't.”
His eyebrows shot up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he schooled his features back into neutrality. “Bold statement. Care to back it up?”
“Gladly.” I leaned forward, my voice steady. “I've spent five years coordinating community outreach programs at the local animal shelter. I didn't simply organize adoption events—I built partnerships with schools, nursing homes, and rehabilitation centers. Our therapy dog program became a model for shelters across the state.”
Carter's expression remained impassive, but I caught a hint of interest in his eyes. I pressed on.
“I understand you're working on a community development project. Well, I've been in the trenches. I know what it takes to bring people together, to create something that truly serves a neighborhood's needs.”
“And how exactly does that translate to being my assistant?” Carter asked.
I met his gaze head-on. “Because I don't just see blueprints and schedules. I see the people those buildings will serve. The lives that will be changed. And I'll bring that perspective to every task, every meeting, every decision.”
For a moment, Carter was silent. Then he leaned back in his chair, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You've done your homework.”
“I always do.”
“Tell me about a time you failed,” he said abruptly.
The question caught me off guard, but I recovered quickly. “A few years ago, we tried to launch a mobile spay and neuter clinic. It was my idea, my project. And it was a disaster.”
Carter's eyes narrowed. “What happened?”
“We failed to account for emergent situations.” I paused, then added, “We lost a patient. It was devastating, but we learned from it. The next year, we partnered with local vets and launched a scaled-down version that's still running today.”
Something shifted in Carter's expression—a softening around the eyes, a slight relaxation of his jaw. It was subtle, but it was there, a hint of vulnerability, perhaps even understanding.
“Failure's a hell of a teacher,” he murmured, almost to himself.
I was struck by the unexpected pain in his eyes. For a moment, the polished facade cracked, revealing a man who understood the lingering weight of past regrets.