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5x17
___________ ౨ৎ ___________
BETTY stepped out of her bathroom, her arms shimmering with excitement. She looked in the mirror, her pink suit fitting her just right, the color a stark contrast to the white walls of her apartment. "Do I look professional enough?" she asked herself, twirling around to get a full view. The fabric fluttered around her, reflecting the soft glow of the pendant lights above.
Rory, her younger sister, poked her head around the corner, her eyes widening when she saw Betty. "Isn't that dress a bit... short?" she asked, her voice trailing off as she took in the full ensemble.
Betty's cheeks flushed, and she tugged at the hem self-consciously. "It's not short, it's business-appropriate," she protested, trying to convince herself more than anyone else.
Conrad rolled his eyes, lounging on the couch with his legs crossed. "Haters gonna hate, and you, Bee, look amazing," he said with a smirk, using the nickname he'd given her since childhood. His voice was deep and comforting, a stark contrast to the incessant doubt in Betty's mind.
"Thanks, Connie," Betty said, her smile growing genuine. She grabbed her phone and keys, slipping into a pair of matching pink heels. "I'm gonna go channel my inner Stella McCartney," she announced with newfound confidence, striding towards the door.
The woman swung open the heavy, ornate door, revealing a hallway bathed in the soft glow of pendant lights. She looked expectant, a hint of curiosity playing on her perfectly painted lips. "You must be Elizabeth," she said, her voice a melodious pattern of friendliness and authority. The name hung in the air, a question and a greeting wrapped into one.
Betty nodded, her heart fluttering like a caged bird. "Yes, but everyone calls me Betty," she replied, her voice echoing slightly in the grand space. She felt like a fish out of water, her simple attire stark against the opulent backdrop of the mansion.
"Very well, Betty," the woman said, her eyes scanning Betty with a practiced efficiency. "Mrs. Huntzberger is expecting you in the drawing room. I'm Mrs. Nesbitt, the head housekeeper. I'll show you the way."
Betty's heart skipped a beat as she followed Mrs. Nesbitt through the labyrinth of corridors. "Sorry," she blurted out, "Huntzberger as in Logan Huntzberger?"
Mrs. Nesbitt nodded without looking back, her heels clicking rhythmically on the marble floor. "Indeed. Mrs. Huntzberger is his mother, a formidable woman in her own right. She's quite eager to start your internship."
As they arrived at the drawing room, Betty's palms grew clammy. The grandeur of the space was overwhelming, with floor-to-ceiling windows framing lush gardens and a fireplace that could have swallowed her whole. Mrs. Huntzberger sat on a velvet settee, her silk blouse a stark contrast against the dark wood of the surrounding furniture. She looked up, her gaze sharp and piercing.
