Chapter 7: Jobless and Screwed
Nora's POV
The receptionist’s smile was as fake as a three-dollar bill. “We’ll be in touch, Ms. Frost.”
Yeah, right. Just like the last six damn companies this week.
I forced a tight nod, scooped up my portfolio, and got the hell out. Seventh interview in four days, and every single one ended with the same bullshit brush-off. On paper, I’m overqualified as fuck—my Skynova formula turned the skincare industry on its head last year. Yet here I am, getting the door slammed in my face.
I wandered through downtown Kingsley City, my mind a goddamn mess. My feet dragged me blocks before I realized where I’d ended up. Norton Group’s headquarters loomed like a middle finger to my sanity. Shit. Of all the places in this city, I had to stumble right to Sam’s turf? I tensed, ready to bolt, when—
“Nora? Holy crap, is that you?”
Too late. I slapped on the fakest grin in my arsenal and turned to face Sam Norton, the asshole who spent three years at Columbia with me, only to ghost the second his daddy snapped his fingers.
“Well, damn, what a surprise,” I drawled, sarcasm dripping like venom. “Sam Norton in the flesh.”
He looked good, the bastard. Navy suit tailored to perfection, hair styled just messy enough to seem effortless, that boyish smirk that used to make my heart race. Now it just made me wanna puke.
“It’s been ages,” he said, eyes lighting up like I was some lost fucking treasure. “You free? There’s a killer coffee spot next door. Let’s catch up.”
“Fine,” I shrugged. “I’ve got fifteen minutes to waste.”
Sam ordered some pretentious-ass latte while I stuck with black coffee, bitter as my mood.
“I owe you an apology, Nora,” he said, voice dropping low, all serious. “I fucked up. I should’ve been braver, fought for us.”
I sipped my coffee slow, buying time to keep my tone steady. “That’s ancient history, Sam. We’ve moved on.” Then I leaned in, eyes narrowing. “Or did you forget how you played me? Screwing your fiancée while dragging me to clubs like I was your dirty little secret?”
He blinked, looking like I’d slapped him. “What the hell are you talking about? Nora, I don’t even—look, I heard you’ve been interviewing around town. If you’re looking for work, Norton Group would kill to have someone like you.”
Rich pricks and their games. I stood, chair scraping loud. “I don’t need your fucking handouts, Sam. I’ll make my own way. Goodbye.”
I trudged up to my bedroom, ready to wash off the day’s bullshit. But when I shoved the door open, I froze.
Alexander sat in the armchair by the window, one ankle crossed over his knee, looking like he owned the damn world. Which, technically, he did.
He twirled a cigar between his fingers, green eyes cold as ice. “Light this for me.”
I stared, incredulous. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” His voice was a low growl. “Light. My. Fucking. Cigar.”
Some dumb, stubborn part of me refused to show fear. I snatched the gold lighter off the table, flicked it alive, and held the flame toward him.
But Alexander didn’t move to take it. He just watched, stone-faced, as the flame danced too close to my fingers.
“Don’t pull back,” he ordered when I twitched.
The heat crept nearer, a sharp warning of pain. My fingers shook, but I locked eyes with him, refusing to flinch.
“Where were you today, Nora?” he asked, casual as if we were chatting over goddamn brunch.
“Interviews,” I gritted out. “Like I told you.”
“And nothing else?” The flame licked closer, the metal searing hot now.
Pain bit into my fingertips, sharp and relentless. Still, I held steady, even as my eyes stung with unshed tears.
“No,” I lied, voice steady as hell for someone being slow-roasted.
“Interesting.” He finally took the cigar, puffing it to life. “Because my sources say you had coffee with Sam Norton today.”
I dropped the lighter like it burned worse than it did. “You’re having me fucking followed?”
“In Kingsley City, nothing happens without me knowing, Nora.” He blew a perfect smoke ring, smug as shit. “Especially when my wife’s meeting her ex behind my back.”
“He’s not—” I cut myself off. “You’ve got no right.”
“I’ve got every right.” He stood, towering over me, voice a dangerous rumble. “When you took that million-dollar check, you became Mrs. Claflin. That name comes with rules. So tell me, what did Norton offer? A job? A way out? Or are you just playing the cheating whore?”
“Nothing I wanted,” I snapped, truth cutting through my anger. “And speaking of loyalty, what about you and Daisy? You two looked real cozy at the office.”
“What I do is none of your damn business,” he shot back, eyes darkening. “I can do whatever the hell I want. You? Not so much. Our marriage is a transaction, Nora—and you’re the one who got bought.”
Something snapped. I grabbed the still-hot lighter and chucked it at him. “You don’t fucking own me!”
He dodged with ease, the lighter clattering against the wall. His gaze turned lethal.
“Do you know what happens to people who betray me?” he growled. “If I catch you messing around with your ex or anyone else, you’ll wish you’d never crossed me.”
“Then don’t meet other women behind my back either,” I spat, heart pounding. “Next time, the consequences won’t be so mild for you either.”
He turned to leave, pausing at the door. “Don’t test me, Nora. You won’t like the outcome.” The door slammed shut, leaving me with throbbing fingers and a rage that burned hotter than any flame.
