Disloyalty

- Brewing Opportunities -

The shrill alarm tore through the silence of my apartment, dragging me from the thin veil of sleep. I pulled the covers tighter around me, trying to cling to the last bit of warmth in the cold, empty room. My eyes drifted to the other side of the bed—bare, untouched. I sighed.

 With a reluctant groan, I forced myself to sit up, swinging my legs out from under the covers. The cold floor bit at my feet as I made my way to the window.

But that peace was fleeting. A knot twisted in my stomach as the thought of the interview crashed into my mind. I turned away from the window and stumbled into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face, hoping to shake off the lingering fatigue—and maybe some of the dread gnawing at me.

No room for tiredness, I thought, especially not when there was a chance I'd need to make a quick escape from kidnappers posing as interviewers at a random coffee shop.

What am I doing? I splashed more water, harder this time, as if that would somehow knock some sense into me.

With a deep breath, I tied my hair into a ponytail and slipped into the outfit I had carefully chosen the night before—pressed trousers, a smart top and my trusty trench coat. The layers did little to soothe my nerves, but at least they'd keep me warm. I wrapped a scarf around my neck, pulled on gloves, and glanced at the clock. Time to go.

Before heading out, I paused, my body moving on muscle memory, wanting to turn to the kitchen where Isaac used to stand every morning. I almost walked in there, almost kissed him on the cheek, wishing him a good day at work. But of course, the kitchen was empty. My chest tightened for a brief moment, but I shook it off. There was no time for that now. I was already running late.

I grabbed my coat, locked the door, and headed toward the elevator. Naturally, it was still broken. I let out an exasperated sigh and took off down the emergency stairs, hoping I wouldn't trip and tumble to my death. A concussion was the last thing I needed right now. By the time I reached the bottom, I was sweating despite the cold, which hit me like a wall the moment I stepped outside.

The air was crisp and sharp, waking up every sense in my body. Yet, oddly enough, instead of feeling weighed down by dread, I felt a strange sense of calm. 

My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as I navigated the slick roads,  My mind, however, was somewhere else entirely. I had rehearsed a few things I wanted to say, but the truth was, this whole situation was spiralling out of control. 

The unpredictability of it all was unsettling. What if they asked questions I hadn't prepared for? My skin prickled with unease at the thought. I hated being unprepared, yet here I was, diving headfirst into a situation I couldn't fully control.

My GPS announced I had arrived. I glanced around. The neighborhood was surprisingly upscale, lined with quaint boutiques and a flower shop selling overpriced arrangements worth 60p. The streets were clean and had flower boxes making it feel like a town out of a storybook.

I parked my car and checked the time. One minute to 9 a.m. Perfect. I hurried along the pavement, careful not to slip like I had last week. After turning a few corners, passing yet more overpriced flower shops aswell as boutiques selling clothes no one like, I finally found the café. 

Medium-sized, fogged-up windows framed with frost, and alas more potted flowers outside. I checked the time again. Two minutes past nine. Not great, but not disastrous. I pushed the door open and stepped inside, the warmth hitting me instantly.

I scanned the room. A man with his dog, a family in the corner—none of them seemed like a potential interviewer. I mean who the hell even holds a job interview in a coffee shop anyway? wait ,maybe the job is for the coffee shop, I hadn't thought of that. 

I continued looking, hoping to spot something that would clue me in. And then, in the far corner, I saw a man.

A man sitting alone at a table for two, his back facing me. He wore a neatly pressed suit, thick black hair styled perfectly, a coat draped over the back of his chair. He seemed... promising and professional. Taking a deep breath, I walked toward him.

I stopped just behind him, my heart racing, and cleared my throat to get his attention. His head jerked up from his phone, and the moment his eyes met mine, the world seemed to tilt.

Andrew Graham.

My breath hitched. No. No, this couldn't be happening. I stood there, frozen, my mind struggling to catch up.

"I—I'm sorry, I think I have the wrong person," I stammered, already turning to flee, but before I could take a step, his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. My heart pounded so hard, I was sure he could hear it.

"You're two minutes late," he said, his voice calm. "Oh wait, no... three now." and he tilted his head shaking it sarcastically.

Excuse me?

I turned slowly, pulling my wrist from his grasp. He didn't seem shocked to see me. In fact, he looked amused. He twisted in his chair, gesturing toward the empty seat across from him with an infuriating smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"You're here for the interview, right?"

I stood there, paralyzed by confusion and disbelief. This wasn't happening. But there he was, sitting in front of me like some cruel joke the universe had decided to play. 

I couldn't escape this man if I tried