Chapter Two
Raina
Nervous energy made it impossible to sit still.
The waiting area outside the HR office was small, and I was the only one here, but getting up to pace the room seemed like a terrible idea.
I needed to make the best first impression possible, which meant staying cool, calm, collected, and professional.
No one needed to know that anxiety was clawing at my insides, or that I was equal parts terrified and hopeful about the interview that was about to happen.
The job had real potential. The duties of office manager at this company aligned closely with what I’d done as an executive assistant at the advertising firm where I was previously employed and I was confident in my ability to do the job.
But this was also the fifth interview I’d had in the past six months, and I couldn’t shake the fear that the interview would crash and burn just like the others.
I didn’t want to walk out of this glass-fronted high-rise empty-handed.
I wanted to secure my future, or at least stop watching it slip further out of reach.
So I sat motionless, not even allowing myself to tap my foot as I waited. The click of heels against tile drew my attention from the window, where I’d been staring at the New York City skyline without really seeing it. The woman approaching wore a charcoal power suit and a polite, practiced smile.
“Ms. Seager?”
I stood and offered the smile I’d rehearsed in the mirror this morning. Not too bright. Not overeager. Just professional enough to suggest competence and warmth.
“Yes,” I said, smoothing my pencil skirt before shaking the hand she extended. “You must be Mrs. Wexler. Thank you for meeting with me.”
We’d already had a phone interview, and I thought it had gone well. She’d seemed genuinely impressed by my résumé and our personalities had clicked.
But as our hands met, a prickle of unease ran through me. There was a subtle tightening around her mouth, and her eyes didn’t fully meet mine.
“Of course. Please, follow me.”
She turned and walked with confident strides, her spine ramrod straight. My unease deepened as I followed her into a nearby conference room. I hadn’t expected warmth exactly, but she’d been friendly on the phone. This felt entirely different.
Inside, a folder already waited on the long rectangular table.
Mrs. Wexler flipped through it as I settled into the chair across from her.
There had to be at least a dozen résumés inside, but I tried not to let that rattle me.
I was here. They’d been interested enough to schedule an in-person interview. That had to mean something.
Mrs. Wexler placed my résumé on top of the stack but didn’t glance at it. Instead, she folded her hands on the table and finally met my gaze.
“I appreciate you coming today,” she finally said, her tone so formal it made me feel two inches tall. “Can you tell me a little about why you think you’d be a good fit for this company?”
I pushed aside my nerves. “As you can see on my résumé, I have previous experience working in an office environment—”
“Yes,” she cut me off. “As an assistant.”
I swallowed hard, trying not to wince at her dismissive tone. I’d been through enough failed interviews to recognize when I was wasting my time, but a stubborn spark of hope kept me rooted in place. Or maybe it was just desperation refusing to let me give up.
“Yes,” I said, careful to keep my voice steady and confident despite the tightness in my chest. “But as an assistant, I handled responsibilities that directly apply to this role. Managing departmental budgets. Onboarding new hires. Coordinating culture-driven initiatives across teams. I’m fully confident I can leverage that experience to excel in this position. ”
Mrs. Wexler’s lips pressed into a thin, unimpressed line. “I understand you were at your last job for five years?”
The information was right there on my résumé, directly in front of her, but I nodded. “Yes. I started as a marketing assistant and worked my way up, gaining valuable experience along the way.”
“I see.” She paused, and her gaze sharpened. “And why did you leave the company?”
She phrased it like a question, but I knew it really wasn’t one. I could already see the judgement in her eyes, telling me she’d spoken to my previous boss and he’d filled her head with lies.
This was the fifth time this had happened.
The first four years at my previous company, I’d worked under Julia, an incredible mentor who taught me everything I needed to know about succeeding in a corporate world that didn’t always make room for women.
When she left for another opportunity, I’d been optimistic about proving myself under new leadership.
Then I met Mr. Hull, and my optimism gradually diminished.
“Have you spoken with Mr. Hull?” The question came out on a sigh. I was done pretending this interview could be salvaged, or hoping there was any chance it would lead to a job offer. I’d been doomed before I ever set foot in this building.
“Yes,” Mrs. Wexler said, her tone clipped. “He made sure to fill me in on the issues he had with your conduct.”
A frustrated scream built in my throat, but I forced it down.
I’d purposefully listed the general department number on my résumé, knowing they would only confirm my employment dates and job title. But somehow—every single time—Mr. Hull caught wind of my applications and contacted whoever was considering hiring me, just to poison the well with his lies.
I didn’t understand why he was still doing this. He’d already fired me for refusing to compromise my ethics. Why did he feel the need to keep destroying my chances six months later? He had nothing to gain, and I could only assume his continued harassment was out of spite.
I wanted to argue and defend myself. I wanted to explain that my former boss was a petty, vindictive man who sabotaged his colleagues to make himself look better.
That his own work was mediocre at best, and he knew it, so he relied on manipulation and dirty tactics instead of being competent at his job.
But Mrs. Wexler’s expression had already calcified into something close to contempt. She’d made up her mind. Nothing I said would change it.
“I think I’ll just go,” I said, forcing my voice into polite detachment as I rose from my chair. I refused to let her see how much this hurt. The situation was humiliating enough without adding tears to the mix.
She didn’t argue. Didn’t even stand.
I kept my head held high as I walked out and headed for the elevators. One opened the moment I pressed the call button—the first scrap of luck I’d had all day—and I was grateful, because standing there waiting, exposed and raw, would have broken me.
The elevator was empty. I let myself sag against the back wall, shoulders slumping, head bowing as the car descended toward the lobby. The weight of it all pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating.
For the first time, a treacherous thought slithered through my mind: What if I had just played along with Mr. Hull?
He’d asked me to dig up information on his colleagues—their mistakes, their weaknesses, anything he could use against them.
He wanted ammunition to make others look incompetent so he could swoop in as the hero.
When I realized what he was doing, he’d tried to recruit me as his accomplice.
You’re my assistant, he’d said, as if that meant I owed him my soul. This is how the game is played.
I’d refused to be his accomplice. Flat out, no room for negotiation, refused.
As far as I was concerned, helping him tear down innocent people wasn’t part of my job description. More than that, it was wrong. I didn’t want any part of a toxic environment built on backstabbing and sabotage.
Look where that refusal to compromise my morals had gotten me, I thought bitterly.
Six months of unemployment and a savings account that was bleeding out with every passing week.
If I’d just kept my head down, just done what he asked…
I’d still have a job. I’d still have my independence.
I wouldn’t be standing in an elevator, fighting back tears after another interview imploded before it even began.
No. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I’d helped that man destroy other people’s careers just so he could climb higher. That wasn’t who I was or ever would be.
Some lines couldn’t be crossed, no matter the cost. Even if that cost was struggling to find decent work until Mr. Hull finally got tired of ruining my life.
I drove to my mother’s house afterward since she’d invited me over for dinner, grateful that it would be just the two of us. But when I pulled onto our street, not only was her car in the driveway, I spotted both of my brothers’ vehicles parked out front too.
I pulled in behind Mom’s sedan, and I thumped my forehead against the steering wheel as I slumped forward. A groan escaped me, low and defeated.
I loved my family. I truly did. But they all had their lives together in ways that made my situation feel even more pathetic by comparison. Now I’d have to face all of them and pretend I was fine with being unemployed and directionless.
What a miserable day.
When I opened the front door, laughter spilled out to greet me, followed by the familiar chaos of the people I loved talking over each other. The TV murmured in the background—the news, from the sound of it, though no one was watching.
I stepped into the living room and took in the scene.
Mom sat in her favorite armchair, and my brother Kurt leaned against the wall near the fireplace, a glass of whiskey in hand.
And on the couch, my other brother Miles sat with his girlfriend, Hazel, tucked against his side.
They’d been together for four years now, and I thought of her as family just as much as my actual blood relatives.
Hazel noticed me first, lingering in the doorway like I wasn’t sure I belonged.
“Hey, Raina,” she said with the warm, camera-ready smile that served her well as a journalist on a national network.
Everyone turned to look at me. I managed a smile that I hoped looked more convincing than it felt. “I didn’t know everyone was coming over today.”
“I invited them for dinner, too,” Mom said. “Chili’s in the crock pot.”
That explained the rich, savory aroma drifting from the kitchen.
“So,” Kurt said, not wasting a second, “how did the interview go?”
I hadn’t even made it fully into the room before the question was thrown at me. But I understood. Everyone here cared about me. They wanted me to find a job because they knew how stressed and miserable I’d been since losing the last one.
Both of my brothers had offered me money—multiple times, separately—to help me get by. I’d refused every time. I didn’t want to be a burden, and I hadn’t gotten that desperate. Yet.
I considered lying, just for a moment. It would be so much easier than facing their pity and concern, but I couldn’t do it. The truth would come out eventually anyway.
“It’s not going to happen,” I admitted, crossing the room and sinking into the other armchair. “Maybe I should just give up on finding a job like the one I had before. Maybe business isn’t for me anymore.”
Miles shook his head, frowning. “No, don’t do that. There are tons of companies in this city. You’re bound to find the right fit eventually.”
I looked at my brother—successful, popular, and a professional hockey player living his dream with the New York Lynx. They’d won the Stanley Cup last season. His life was the definition of having his shit together.
I tried to appreciate that his words came from a place of good intentions and genuine faith in my abilities.
But I couldn’t quite suppress the bitter twist of jealousy that tightened my chest. It wasn’t fair to resent him.
None of this was his fault, though I knew he partially blamed himself for the sacrifices I’d been forced to make.
If I’d finished my degree, I’d have more leverage and more doors would open beyond just my work experience. But life had other plans. I was in my third year of college when Mom was diagnosed with cancer, and suddenly I had a family crisis to manage. School became impossible.
Both of my brothers were older, already deep into building their careers. Miles was on the other side of the country back then, playing for a team in New Mexico, so the role of caretaker had fallen to me.
I didn’t regret it. Not for a second. Mom was healthy now, and that was worth more than any degree. But the sacrifice still echoed through my life in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
“Don’t worry about me,” I said, forcing a brightness into my voice. “I’ll keep looking. Worst case, I’ll be flipping burgers at McDonald’s.”
Tense laughter rippled through the room. I joined in, even though I wasn’t entirely sure I was joking.