CHAPTER 2
Jason
D ropping the coffee -stained cup into the trash bin beside the elevator, I greet my assistant, Beatrix. Under the recessed lighting, the glow reflects off her porcelain skin as she types something.
She glances up from her computer and winces. “Looks like you’ve been mud wrestling.” Her Dutch accent thickens as she snickers.
“Seriously?” That’s just Beatrix. Sometimes, I tolerate her jibes. A competent assistant, she’s been with me since my company’s inception ten years ago. She was recommended by my mom, whom I trust, and now, she’s like the sister I never had. I ask her to report the spill in the elevator before someone slips and sues the company.
In my office, I rummage through the closet for another shirt among the many I keep around for unexpected media appearances. My fingers work the buttons, and the shirt warms me.
A knock sounds at the door as I slide behind my desk. Beatrix steps in, her peachy silk blouse tucked into a black pencil skirt. “Coffee today?”
“I’ll skip coffee today.” I power up my desktop. I usually drink a cup before I leave home and another when I get here with time to spare.
“I know you like extra reminders of the schedule. Your meeting with Solo Parents Unite is Friday evening.”
“Just because I started the organization doesn’t mean I have to go to every meeting.” I peer at my computer as it goes through updates. “My kids have a game on Fridays.”
“I know that, but you can just stop by for the intro meeting.” Unfazed by my grunt, she outlines other meetings lined up for the week. She knows I need these reminders since my home life occupies my thoughts more than my schedule.
A realization hits me. I tear my gaze from the updating computer. “What are you doing here on your birthday?”
She smiles, content. “I figured you’d be lost without me today with all the interviews you have. My boyfriend will be back from his work trip tomorrow. That’ll be a better day for celebrations. They delivered your flowers to my home this morning. Thank you.”
I’m so blessed by her dedication.
“Your meeting is in fifteen minutes, by the way.”
I draw out a breath. I still have some time. “That’s why you should let me be.”
After I type my password into the computer, I right-click the mouse to open the folder Beatrix has organized with all candidates sorted by their respective interview times. I reviewed their résumés, but I haven’t watched the video clips. At least the other executives have done so. Still, I’d better refresh my memory on the paperwork and candidates.
Valentina Diaz.
I skim her profile. Thirty-three years old. Born in Venezuela and raised in Brooklyn. An NYU graduate with dual degrees in Psychology and Feature Journalism.
Impressive.
Began as an intern at a premier national newspaper. Navigated her way through the media industry to become a field reporter delivering international crises. She also covered practical health guidance and psychological advice. Her skill set extended to digital media proficiency, a critical aspect in this industry.
She bounced around a lot in the first few years of her career. Hmm.
But her fluency in three languages, including Spanish and French, is a valuable asset in broadcasting to families who communicate primarily in those languages. Beyond her professional commitments, she volunteers at a middle school, teaching English (ESL) to immigrant kids and their families.
Her recommendation letters and recent job history carry praises for high ethical standards, an innovative approach to storytelling, and the capability to analyze and empathize with her colleagues—a trait probably enhanced by her psychological insight.
Then I see Starwatch. Her most recent employment. Bells ring in my ears, and my growing admiration halts.
Starwatch? Heat courses through me, and my throat closes off. Good thing I didn’t bother putting on another tie after ditching the coffee-stained one—It would be stifling right now. Starwatch is a cable channel known for its streamlined content, including that ridiculous show. A knot forms in my stomach.
Valentina was the host of Get Your Life on Track or whatever the name is. I’ve never taken an interest in the show, mainly to avoid confronting the lies it might’ve fed my ex-wife. This is the show that prompted Daisy to abandon our family.
My finger hovers over the mouse. My gaze glides to the window. Valentina was on the show for four and a half years. Doesn’t matter if she was the host all four years. She was at the helm during the time it most influenced Daisy. Night after night, I’d hear the TV from the other room proclaiming “You’ve got your life on track,” followed by snippets of the show that seeped into our two-bedroom apartment.
Enough with pursuing résumés. I push to stand, take my tablet, and leave for the meeting. By the time I reach the sixth-floor conference room, anger has clouded my judgment.
“Finally.” Chris lifts his wrist to eye his watch, and the recessed lighting catches the silver strands in his gray hair.
“Thompson.” I dip my head, sit across from him, and place my tablet on the table. Being late leaves no time for relaxed banter.
“Hey.” Axel raises his water bottle. He’s our production director, overseeing the new show’s content and execution. His presence in the final interviews is crucial.
I manage a wave to our chief content officer and the HR manager. The latter individual usually doesn’t say much, but when she speaks, we all make sure to listen.
Beatrix brings me a bottle of water, just like all my colleagues have in front of them. “Thanks.” I let her know we’re ready for the candidate. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Everything okay?” Chris arches a brow.
My indifferent comment—a departure from my usual preference for a thorough vetting process—must’ve piqued his curiosity. Although I consider him a partner, my ownership of 70 percent of the shares positions me as the primary decision-maker. However, I always value his insights as an equal.
Beatrix ushers Valentina in and introduces her. Valentina’s demeanor is poised, and she glances at me before greeting everyone and taking the seat she’s directed to at the head of the table.
I barely refrain from reacting with a jolt to seeing the woman from the elevator. The nerve. And how could someone who thrives on sensationalism think she could align with Family Sphere Network’s principles?
Beatrix positions herself at the small desk alongside us. Her fingers hover over her laptop, ready to document the meeting minutes.
“Thrilled to have you, Ms. Diaz.” Chris flashes a friendly smile.
Axel nods, his expression neutral yet expectant.
The pleasantries seem unnecessary, fluff that contrasts the verdict formed in my mind.
Although I had standard questions prepared, I don’t bother looking at my iPad. “Are you aware our platform isn’t a stage for the sensational?” My cold tone surprises even me.
“I’m aware, Mr. Sterling.” Valentina’s professional smile remains unwavering. “I respect Family Sphere Network, and having an opportunity to interact and engage with couples and families is something I’ve been eager to explore.”
Everyone around the table nods as she elaborates on ways she intends to make a difference with her work.
Chris leans forward. “Ms. Diaz, could you explain how your background in psychology might align with a role as a host for our show?” His question doesn’t foster the doubt I want him to have.
Her gaze meets mine, and her continued composure under my critical eye intensifies my skepticism. I don’t give her a chance to answer, saving everyone from getting fed whatever lies she’s scheming. “How can someone immersed in the sensationalist world pivot to embody the family-oriented values we cherish? Perhaps you could enlighten us on how peddling rumors on Starwatch has prepared you for serious journalism.”
Defiance sparks in her dark eyes, and I shift on the padded chair. It’s as though she can see right through me, through my skepticism.
“My experience with the show at Starwatch taught me the power of media and its impact on lives.” She purses her lips, then fiddles with her pearl necklace. “I aim to use that influence to be clearer in informing and empowering rather than sensationalizing.”
I let out a mirthless laugh. “To inform and empower would be a big change for you. Your show has been tearing couples and families apart.”
“Have you watched my show?” Her confidence steady, she fixes her gaze on me. Unsettling. She’s one of those people who can’t be trusted. “Maybe you should revisit a specific segment you might be referring to.”
Off guard, I swallow, seeking time to come up with a snarky remark.
But Axel points at her with his water bottle. “I watched your show when it was at its peak. My sister’s favorite, actually. She started her own salon thanks to you.”
“I’m sure her endeavor had more to do with her business confidence.” Valentina ducks her head, her confidence wavering for the first time.
Chris beams at me, obviously pleased by Axel’s testimonial about the so-called candidate.
“We can’t rely on Axel’s personal opinion alone.”
“Any more concerns, Jason?” Chris asks.
Why can’t anyone see what I see? Under the table, I fold and unfold my hands.
“If this is about the accident we had in the elevator, Mr. Sterling—”
“If you think I’m basing my professional judgment on a coffee spill,” I cut her off. I’ve lost control in the boardroom. “Then you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
“Ms. Diaz.” HR ventures a question, and I shift my focus to the buildings towering outside, not interested in anything else Valentina Diaz has to contribute. My decision is final.
After everyone else has posed their questions and she has responded, I see no point in prolonging the pretense. “I’m afraid we can’t offer you the position.”
“Jason,” Chris hisses.
“Sterling.” Beatrix speaks in a hushed tone almost at the same time.
I disregard them as Valentina stands.
With her dignity undiminished by the overt rejection, she flings her handbag on her shoulder and offers a curt nod. “Thank you for your time.” Her gaze catches mine, holding it longer than necessary, stirring a twinge for my hasty judgment. “I hope Family Sphere continues to uphold its integrity.”
It’s for the best. Having her on the team would only resurrect memories of my failures as a husband.
Her exit, poised and graceful, leaves a palpable tension. Chris is the first to speak. “Sterling, you care to explain what that was all about? She was our top candidate.”
The HR manager nods, and so does Axel, adding, “That’s why we scheduled her interview first.”
“That wasn’t the Sterling I knew.” With a frazzled look, Beatrix takes me in as if I’m a stranger. “Is she your ex-girlfriend?”
“No!” She’s attractive. Under different circumstances, I might consider asking her out—if not for my responsibilities.
“Next time, perhaps phrase it as, ‘We’ll get in touch after we’ve conducted the other interviews,’” my HR manager suggests with her usual tenderness and diplomacy.
Axel and Chris don’t relent until we adjourn. Their confusion haunts me as I retreat to my office. My body is too stiff, and my mind awhirl. Unable to think straight, I move to the window. The clamor of New York carries in the crisp March air, its noise quiet compared to my thoughts. I thrust my hands into my suit pockets as unease unravels my composure.
Valentina Diaz is beautiful, intelligent, and unapologetically confident—my polite way of saying proud. Her dignified departure and parting words linger. Consumed with prejudices, I hadn’t considered the earnestness she embodied.
“Have you actually watched my show?” Her challenge burns through me, her fiery gaze imprinted in my memory and her words clear and unyielding. I recall hearing bits and pieces in the background whenever Daisy listened to the reruns. But I never engaged with the show beyond dismissing it as gossip-filled and unconstructive. Perhaps it’s best to let my team handle today’s remaining interviews. Given my current emotional state, I’m in no mood to make a fair judgment.