Chapter 2 A BIG JERK

CHAPTER 2

'James, when did you say the interview started?'

The voice slices through the air, cold and sharp. My stomach jumps to the floor the second I hear it. I turn my head, and there he is. The same man from the lobby, the one who spilled coffee on me and walked away like I was invisible. His ice-blue eyes are locked on me, his hands resting on the table, the casual confidence in his position making it hard to breathe.

James, a nervous looking guy in glasses and a grey suit, clears his throat. 'Uh, sir, the interview was scheduled for 9 AM sharp.'

The man nods, his gaze never leaving mine. 'And what time is it now?'

James glances at his watch. 'It’s 10:20, sir.'

The man shifts his weight slightly, the smallest movement, but it feels like the entire room leans with him. His eyes narrow. 'So you’re one hour, twenty minutes late,’ he murmurs calmly but coldly. 

I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out. The other two interviewers sitting at the long, glass table stare at me, one of them raising his brow, the other scribbling something down on a notepad. My throat tightens, the embarrassment crawling up my neck and flushing my face hot.

'I can explain,' I say, voice barely above a whisper, shifting my weight on one feet. 

His lips twitch, but not into a smile. More like a sneer. Or amusement,  or irritation, I can't tell. This man…he's cold and his expressions are unreadable. 'You can explain,’ he drawls, his eyes dragging all over me. ‘By all means, go ahead. And please do explain’

I swallow hard, feeling like the ground might as well open up and swallow me whole. I clutch my bag tighter to my chest, standing there like an idiot in front of them all.

'I had an emergency this morning, sir and I—'

'You had an emergency?' He cuts me off, raising one brow. 'Let me guess, the emergency involved a bar, too much tequila and the inability to comport and arrange yourself? Or am I wrong?'

My heart stops. How could he know? Did I smell that bad? Did my night paint itself all over me like some ugly, invisible ink?

'Look, I might have messed up my morning but—'

'Messed up?' His voice drops lower, firm and cold. 'You didn’t mess up. You wasted everyone’s time. Time, Miss Windsor, is something we value around here.'

I can feel every pair of eyes drilling into me. The shame, the frustration, the urge to run away all clash inside my chest. My hands clench the strap of my bag until I feel my knuckles ache.

'You’re not hired,' he finishes simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 'James, show her out.’ 

I take a shaky step back, but the words burst out before I can stop them. 'You didn’t even give me a chance. I was late, yes, but you don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve been through this morning.'

His gaze flicks down to me, bored and unreadable. 'And I don’t care to. This is a workplace, Miss Windsor,  not a therapy session.'

Something inside me snaps. I lift my chin, even as the tears threaten to sting my eyes. 'Maybe if you weren't too busy bumping into people and scalding them with coffee, you’d actually learn some basic manners too.'

His jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn’t reply. Instead, he turns and walks toward the large window, dismissing me like I don’t even exist. The eyes of other interviewers are fixed on me and I feel the humiliation crash through me. 

I needed this job. The pay would help me help my parents who were… I sigh. 

I stomp out of the room, my heels clicking against the marbled floor, holding my head held even though my chest aches with humiliation. Nobody would see me break. Nobody would see my pain.  The receptionist watches me leave, her eyes wide, but her lips quirked upwards in a smirk. 

The moment I step outside the building, the dam breaks. I pace the sidewalk, muttering under my breath like a crazy person.

'First, I was late to the interview, secondly, I had coffee spilled on me, then, that cold-blooded fucking jerk embarrassing me like that... what a day! What a fucking day!' I hiss, flagging down a taxi like my life depends on it. One finally pulls up, and I slide into the back seat, tossing my bag beside me.

The taxi driver glances at me through the rearview mirror. I can tell he’s listening as I keep murmuring, unable to hold the frustration in.

'Imagine starting your day hungover, skipping breakfast, almost getting run over by a taxi, getting coffee dumped all over your clothes, and then being roasted alive by Mr. Icy-Blue-Eyes like it’s his hobby,' I grumble, arms folded, head resting against the cool glass of the window.

‘I didn't even do anything, hmm. He just saw me and hated me for no actual reason. He spilled coffee on me first! And then what? He goes on to actually call it out that my clothes were stained. Of course they are stained with the hot coffee you dumped on me, jerk!’ I yell, waving my hands dramatically in the car.

The driver clears his throat awkwardly. I freeze, glancing up, catching his reflection. His face is twisted in second-hand embarrassment so strong it makes me want to disappear through the car seat. 

I clamp my mouth shut, slouching lower into my seat, my cheeks burning as I realise I've been actually too loud.

I let out an embarrassed small, nervous smile and lower my head. 'Sorry,' I mumble.

The rest of the drive is quiet, because i had made sure to clamp my mouth shut and when I finally get home, I collapse onto my bed without even taking my heels off. The pillow muffles my groan, but it does nothing to stop the ache in my chest. I stare at the cracked ceiling, wondering if this is the lowest point of my life.

A few hours later, my phone vibrates against the nightstand. I glance at the screen. My best friend, Ivy.

I swipe to answer, holding the phone against my ear.

'Hey,' I say, my voice barely hiding the defeat.

'How did it go?' she asks, her voice light but curious.

'I didn’t get the job,' I reply, swallowing the lump in my throat.

There’s a brief pause before she speaks again. 'You know what? Forget it. Let’s go out for a drink tonight. My treat. You need to get your mind off this.'

I sit up, wiping the corner of my eyes. 'Are you sure? I don’t exactly look bar-ready.'

'Who cares? Just put on something comfortable and meet me at O’Malley’s. We’ll drink, trash-talk the day, and pretend the world doesn’t exist.' 

I let out a weak smile as the call clicks to an end. Ivy. She always knew when I was down. When I'm at my lowest. I wonder how. 

Later that night, I find myself sitting across from Ivy at the dimly lit bar, a glass of whiskey in front of me. The place hums with life, people laughing, music thumping, and the scent of fried snacks filling the air.

I take a long sip, the liquid burning my throat but numbing the rest of me. It feels good to be away from my apartment, away from everything that reminded me of today’s disaster.

My phone vibrates again, and I almost ignore it, but the name on the screen makes my heart drop.

Silver Pine Nursing Home. My heart skips a bit. I excuse myself and go out to answer it. 

I swipe to answer, holding the phone tight against my ear. 'Hello?'

'Good evening, Miss Constantine,' the voice on the other end is cold and formal. 'We’re calling to inform you that your mother’s payment for the month is overdue. If the balance isn’t settled by the end of this week, we’ll have no choice but to terminate her accommodation.'

My stomach sinks. 'I understand. I’ll sort it out. Just… give me a few days, please.'

'We’ve already extended the deadline twice, Miss Constantine. This will be the last extension.'

The call ends, and I set the phone on the table, staring at it like it might explode.  Ivy notices the change in my expression immediately.

'Hey, what happened?'

I shake my head, sitting on my seat, picking up my glass and downing the rest in one go. 'It’s nothing,’ I smile, looking around. 

She places a gentle hand on mine. 'One more drink. Come on, it’s on me.'

If she notices my change in demeanor, she doesn't push. 

The drinks keep coming, and before long, the room feels lighter, the music louder, and my worries smaller. Ivy laughs at some joke, but her words start to blur. My body feels like jelly, light and heavy all at once. I find myself standing, wandering toward the dance floor without even realizing it, shaking my body to the beat. 

As I step back into the bar, trying to shake the dread off my chest, something prickles at the back of my neck. I glance toward the upper floor. The dimly lit VVIP lounge, all glass and shadows. A figure stands there, half-hidden with a glass in his hand.