Chapter 29
April
It’s interview day, and I’ve already been awake for… too long.
Long enough to panic, recover, panic again, and then somehow find myself in the hotel gym pedaling my way through a virtual mountain in Mallorca while a woman named Sunny yelled encouraging things at me through the bike screen.
I showered, blow-dried my hair, and did my makeup twice. I had coffee, a dry bagel, and more coffee.
Now I’m sitting in the lobby—fully dressed, portfolio in hand, knees bouncing like they’re training for a marathon—waiting for a car that’s supposed to pick me up any second now.
A few minutes ago, I got a text.
unknown
Good morning, Ms. Moreira. This is Lars, Mr. Smith’s personal driver. I’ll be arriving shortly.
Mr. Smith’s… personal driver.
Then I realize something painfully obvious. I don’t even know Max’s last name. I mean, I thought I did. I assumed Smith was one of those alias names people use for hotel reservations, right? Ma.
“I value my privacy” Smith.
But now? Now I’ve officially slept with a man who may or may not be named after the world’s most common surname.
Max.
Smith.
Sure. Totally legit. No red flags at all.
God. What if I am now a story he’ll tell his friends one day? "That time I went on a road trip with a girl who didn’t even know my last name and I fucked her into oblivion."
I shake the thought away.
Too late to back out now. His driver—yes, his driver—is on his way to pick me up for the biggest interview of my life, and we’re not even really talking.
He said he misses me, but still, I’m sitting here in full-on corporate chic, spiraling.
Then it happens.
A sleek black luxury car pulls up to the curb. It’s shiny, immaculate. It looks like it could be bullet proof, or hover, or maybe both.
The driver’s door opens, and a man in all black steps out—tall, polished, and definitely not just a tourist staying at this three-star hotel.
He strides into the lobby and walks right up to me. I’m still clutching my portfolio like it’s a floatation device and I’m drowning in self-doubt when he stops in front of me and says—
“Miss Moreira”
I blink up at him. “Yes?”
“I’m Lars,”
he says with a polite nod.
“Mister Smith’s driver. Are you ready?”
Oh my God. This is really happening.
I nod quickly, rising from the chair.
“Yes. Totally. Ready.”
Lars, ever the gentleman, opens the hotel door for me, then the car door, and I slip inside, sinking into the smooth black leather seat like I’m suddenly someone else—someone calm. Cool. The kind of woman who gets picked up in a luxury car owned by a man whose last name she doesn’t know.
Outside the tinted windows, the city is alive and humming. Inside the car, it’s quiet, and all I can think is, Who even am I right now?
The car glides to a stop in front of the building, and my heart skips a beat. It’s… beautiful. Sleek, modern, every bit the kind of place you imagine when you picture your dream job. Even more impressive than the pictures I’d obsessively googled in the weeks leading up to this.
Lars steps out, circles the car, and opens the door.
“Goodluck, Miss Moreira,”
he says with a small nod. I thank him—still not over the fact that I just got chauffeured to an interview—and step out into the bright Los Angeles morning.
The glass doors whoosh open as I enter the building, and I follow Violeta’s instructions to the letter, straight to the first-floor security desk, where I give my name and receive a sleek printed visitor badge. The security guard tells me which elevator will take me to the twelfth floor, and I ride up alone, my reflection staring back at me from the mirrored walls.
Don’t sweat. Don’t fidget. Don’t overthink.
When the elevator doors open, a woman is already waiting.
“April?”
she asks, smiling warmly.
“Yes,”
I reply, clutching my portfolio.
“I’m Mariana. We’ve been expecting you.”
She’s elegant, kind, and exactly the kind of person who makes you feel like you might actually be walking into something great. The hallway she leads me down is lined with modern art and soft lighting, and then she opens the door to a massive conference room.
“Have a seat,”
she says, motioning to the long table.
“They’ll be in shortly.”
I nod and step inside. The room is immaculate. Clean lines, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a panoramic view of the city. At the table: three places set with bottled water in glass carafes and little cups that are definitely made of something fancier than plastic.
I choose the chair facing the windows, the skyline stretching out in front of me like it’s cheering me on. You’ve got this, I tell myself. You belong here.
A minute passes, then two, and then the door opens. Two people walk in—one woman, one man. The woman is poised and elegant, with thick dark curls and the kind of effortless presence that makes you want to sit up straighter. She steps forward and offers her hand.
“Hi, April. I’m Violeta.”
Oh.
She’s even more amazing in person, but before I can say anything more, the man steps forward, and my heart just about stops.
Because I know who he is.
He doesn’t need to introduce himself, but he does anyway, extending a hand with a confident smile.
“I’m Paul,”
he says.
“And I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
I shake his hand, trying not to let my shock show on my face. Paul—the man whose name is all over this company’s executive board. Paul—the man who would be my boss if I got this job.
I nod, summoning a smile, and somehow find my voice.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
Paul gestures to the table, taking a seat.
“Shall we get started?”
My stomach flips.
It’s time.
Paul leans back slightly in his chair, his gaze steady.
“Now, tell me, April… this is the second time you’ve applied for this position. The first time, you interviewed remotely—understandably, during COVID. And now, you’ve come all the way to Los Angeles for this opportunity. So tell me… why here? And why now?”
I take a breath, fingers still loosely curled around the edge of my portfolio. My heart is pounding, but I know this answer can make all the difference.
“This has always been my dream,”
I begin, my voice steady but full.
“I became a photographer because of my love for this magazine. I grew up with it. It inspired me—taught me that storytelling didn’t just happen in words but in light and color and emotion. My ultimate goal has always been to be apart of the magic that is the team that brings Verve to life.”
I glance at Violeta, then back at Paul.
“A few years ago, I was given the opportunity to come aboard. It was… everything I ever wanted. But at the time, I had to walk away. Family matters required me to stay home.”
Violeta gives me a gentle nod, her voice kind.
“We remember. You shared after your last interview that your mother had been diagnosed with cancer. We were sorry to hear that.”
I nod, swallowing past the sudden burn in my throat.
“Thank you. She’s since passed on.”
I pause, choosing my words carefully.
“And I truly appreciated the opportunity you gave me back then—but I’m also… I’m glad I didn’t take it. Because I got to be there with her. I got to be her caregiver, her company, her daughter. I wouldn’t trade that time for anything.”
I glance down for just a moment, then meet their eyes again.
“But now… now, I’m ready. Fully ready. I’ve grown, I’ve worked hard, I’ve waited for the right moment to try again, and this is it.”
Paul and Violeta glance at each other across the table, a quiet conversation passing between them with just a look. Then Paul leans forward slightly, his expression softening.
“Well,”
he says.
“I’m truly glad that you made what was the best decision for you at the time. I’m big on family. I would’ve done the same thing.”
The knot in my chest loosens a bit.
“And I’m also glad you decided to apply again,”
he continues, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Because we loved you then… and we certainly love you now.”
My heart is thudding in my chest, and I feel it—relief. Hope. Something magical unfurling in my lungs.
“To tell you the truth, April,”
Paul says, folding his hands on the table.
“I’ve loved your work since the moment I saw your portfolio. You have an eye for story and a sensitivity that’s hard to find. I think you’ll be a great addition to the team. And…”
He pauses, smiling wider.
“You didn’t even have to come today. I already knew I’d offer you this job.”
I blink, and suddenly my vision is swimming. My throat tightens with the swell of emotion I didn’t know was still in there.
“I—”
I try to speak, but all I can do is smile, wide and trembling, as my eyes begin to sting. I nod, forcing the words out through the lump in my throat.
“Thank you. So much. This means everything to me.”
Paul chuckles softly.
“We had to conduct the interview as a formality, so I hope you don’t feel as if we’ve wasted your time. But again—I love your work, and I think you’re going to be an incredible asset to the team.”
He picks up a sleek black folder from beside him and sets it down in front of me with a smile that says everything before the words even come.
“I’d like to formally offer you the position you applied for, and you’re welcome to start as soon as possible. If you choose to accept, Violeta will go over the onboarding details with you.”
I press my hand to my chest and exhale, smiling through the tears pooling at the corners of my eyes.
“Thank you, Paul. You won’t regret this, I promise.”
He stands then, gathering his phone from the table and adjusting his watch.
“I have a meeting in a few minutes, but I’ll leave you in Violeta’s capable hands. I look forward to working with you, April.”
I rise with him, and we shake hands across the table. His grip is firm and warm, and I want to remember this moment exactly as it is—sunlight pouring through the windows, the sound of my heart still racing, and the overwhelming feeling that everything is finally, finally falling into place.
“Thank you again,”
I say, my voice thick but steady.
He nods, gives Violeta a quick smile, and walks out of the room. I’m still standing there in disbelief.
My dream… it’s happening. Right now.
Paul exits the room with a warm handshake and a smile that still doesn’t feel real, and just like that, I’m alone with Violeta. The mood shifts instantly, less formal, more relaxed but still grounded in purpose.
She turns to me with a genuine smile.
“Well, April, I meant what I said earlier. We’re really excited to have you join Verve. If you accept, I’ll be your direct onboarding contact. I’ll walk you through everything you need to get settled.”
“Oh no,”
I say, laughing through the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“I’m accepting. No hesitation. Tell me where to sign—I’m ready.”
Violeta chuckles, tapping the folder Paul left behind.
“That’s what I like to hear.”
She opens it and pulls out a few pages.
“Let’s talk logistics. How soon would you be able to relocate?”
I hesitate only for a second.
“I’d love to start as soon as possible, but I haven’t had a chance to shop around for apartments. I have a few places saved online, but I’d feel better making a decision once I’ve actually visited them.”
“That makes perfect sense.”
She nods.
“Just so you know, Verve covers relocation expenses. That folder has everything you need with specific instructions on how to submit deposit receipts for your new place, as well as any moving costs, and to make things easier, if you’re able to start within the next two weeks, we’ll cover a hotel stay for up to a month while you find your new home.”
My eyes widen.
“Wait… seriously?”
“Completely serious,”
she says.
“But if you’d rather spend a little more time getting settled—find the right apartment, move in without juggling a new job at the same time—we can push your start date to six weeks from this Monday.”
It’s generous. More than generous. It’s the kind of support I never expected but deeply appreciate.
“That sounds amazing,”
I say, still stunned.
“How long do I have to make a decision?”
“Take the weekend,”
she replies.
“Let us know by Monday. You have my direct number now, so just call or email when you’re ready.”
I nod, fingers brushing the edge of the folder like I need to confirm it’s still real.
“Thank you. Really,”
I say again, my voice soft with disbelief and gratitude.
Violeta offers a reassuring nod, then flips to the next page in the folder.
“Alright,”
she says.
“before we wrap up, I want to point you to this section here.”
She taps the paper.
“This outlines everything we discussed regarding the role—your title, compensation, job responsibilities, and a few notes on our expectations from team members at Verve. It's all pinpointed clearly in this document.”
She looks up at me, her expression kind but firm. “Your official contract will be sent to you electronically, but I strongly encourage you to read through these points thoroughly before signing. Especially this part here”—she turns to another section—“where we ask that any new hire disclose if they’re related to anyone who currently works at Verve, whether by blood or relationship.”
I blink, taken off guard.
“Oh—I don’t think I know anyone who works at Verve, at least not personally.”
“Still,”
she says with a friendly shrug.
“it’s one of those things we ask all new hires to double-check, just to be safe.”
“Got it,”
I say, nodding.
“I’ll make sure I go through it carefully.”
“Perfect,”
Violeta says, closing the folder and handing it back to me.
“Take your time, and let me know if you have any questions.”
I secure the folder against my chest like it’s some sacred artifact holding every detail about my future. Violeta glances at her watch.
“And now, the last part of today’s process—since you’ve accepted the position—is to introduce you to our CEO. Verve has been under interim leadership by the board for the past two years, but as of this month, our new chief executive is officially here. He’s in the building today, and I’d love to take you up to the 42nd floor to meet him.”
I blink.
“Oh, wow, um—sure. Of course.”
She smiles like it’s no big deal, but my stomach suddenly feels as if I swallowed a beehive. I’m about to meet the person at the top. The one whose signature probably will approve my offer letter, and here I am—barely holding myself together, still emotionally hungover from the most incredible few days of my life.
We leave the conference room, her heels clicking confidently down the hallway while I clutch my folder. When we get to the elevator, the chrome doors reflect just enough that I catch a glimpse of myself. I subtly smooth my hair, straighten my blazer.
“You’ll be fine,”
Violeta says, her voice light.
“Mr. Durán is very kind. No need to be nervous.”
I nod, forcing a breath into my lungs as she presses the glowing button marked 42. The elevator doors slide shut, and suddenly, I’m on my way to meet the man who runs the magazine I’ve dreamed about since I was a kid. The man whose vision I’ll now be helping bring to life. The man who holds the future of my career in the palm of his hand.
I square my shoulders.
I can do this.
The elevator glides to a smooth stop, and the doors open with a quiet ding. The forty-second floor takes my breath away. It’s even more stunning than the floor we just left. Marble floors that gleam like glass stretch out in front of us, leading to floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the Los Angeles skyline like a photograph. The sun is angled just right, casting everything in a warm, golden glow. There are abstract paintings on the walls, soft lighting, and the kind of quiet that feels expensive.
Violeta steps out first, and I follow, heels clicking softly on the marble. We approach a sleek reception desk where a woman sits poised behind a monitor, a headset resting gently on one ear. She’s elegant in a blue blouse and a tailored black blazer. She looks like the kind of woman who could organize a Fortune 500 executive’s entire life without breaking a sweat.
“April, this is Patricia,”
Violeta says with a smile.
“She’s Mr. Durán’s personal secretary.”
Patricia stands, offering her hand with a kind but professional smile.
“Hi,”
I say, shaking her hand.
“It’s really nice to meet you.”
She nods warmly.
“Likewise, April. He’s been expecting you.”
My heart skips.
Violeta smiles and says.
“Thank you, Pat.”
“Thank you,”
I echo, my voice softer than I expect it to be. I follow Violeta down a short corridor lined with glass panels and framed magazine covers. At the end are two massive mahogany doors—polished, imposing, beautiful.
She knocks.
A beat of silence. Then a voice—deep, smooth, familiar in away that sends my pulse into overdrive—says, “Come in.”
Violeta peeks her head inside.
“Mr. Durán, our newest hire, April Moreira, is here to meet you.”
Another pause, then he says, “Come in.”
She pushes the doors open fully and steps aside so I can follow her in… and there he is.
In a gray tailored suit, his back straight, hands resting on the edge of a sleek black desk. His deep-green eyes meet mine—the very eyes I’ve been dreaming about for the past few days—and the world tips sideways.
Max.
Max… Durán.
Violeta steps forward, oblivious to the way my soul just left my body.
“April, meet our CEO, Maximiliano Durán.”
My mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Max—Maximiliano—smiles at me, and all I can do is stand there, heart racing, knees trembling, brain short-circuiting, staring at the man I just slept with.
The man I road-tripped across four states with.
The man I gave my heart to without knowing his last name.
The CEO of Verve Magazine.
Oh. My. God.