"What do you say, bellissima?"
"Stop calling me that, Arius."
"Over my dead body, wife."
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
Lucian West was in desperate need of a job to pay for her mother's loan. When she finally gets the job, her boss offers h...
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《♡°♡°♡°☆°♡°♡°♡》
LUCIAN
"What the fuck?" The man from earlier exclaims, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. I feel a rush of heat rise to my cheeks, the full weight of the situation suddenly crashing down on me. Oh my god. This can’t be happening. He’s the boss.
The CEO. I spilled coffee on my potential boss. My stomach churns, and I want nothing more than for the ground to swallow me whole.
I break eye contact with him quickly, my throat tightening as I clear it nervously. I take a few steps toward the seat, hoping to salvage some shred of dignity. “Good morning, Mr. Moreno,” I say, trying to steady my voice. But he doesn’t respond, his gaze still fixed on his desk.
He’s probably already forgotten the earlier incident, or worse, he’s quietly judging me for it. The tension hangs heavy between us.
He gestures towards the chair across from him. “Please, take a seat.”
I do, moving slowly, trying to quell the butterflies in my stomach. This could very well be the most awkward interview I’ve ever had. My mind is buzzing with the realization of what’s at stake. I hand him my documents—my meticulously prepared resume and application, which feels so insignificant in this moment.
I look up at him, waiting for some kind of reaction, some sign that he’s even processing what I’ve handed him. But his face is a blank slate, impassive and unreadable. For a moment, I wonder if he’s even paying attention to me. His attention is solely on the papers in front of him.
“I’m impressed by your passion for architecture, Ms. West,” he says, finally looking up from the documents. His voice is steady, devoid of any warmth. He takes a sip from his coffee—definitely not the coffee I spilled on him, but another cup from the same place. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or even more embarrassed.
“Thank you,” I whisper, lifting my gaze just enough to meet his eyes. The intensity in his stare makes my pulse skip a beat. He’s looking at me like he’s searching for something, but I can’t tell what. Is he judging me for the coffee incident, or is this just his normal way of assessing someone?
“Excuse me?” I mutter under my breath, unaware that the words slipped out. Great. Just when I thought I couldn’t embarrass myself more, I manage to do it again.
He quirks an eyebrow. “Did you say something?”
“No, nothing,” I quickly reply, my voice faltering. “Just talking to myself.” I try to laugh it off, but it sounds more like an awkward cough.
The silence stretches on. I feel like I’m being weighed and measured under the intensity of his gaze. I silently pray he’ll choose me. I need this job more than anything. I worked hard to get to this point—graduated top of my class, honed my skills, and now I’m here, hoping that it’ll be enough.
