A Rose and Its Thorns (Come Back To Me #2)

Chapter Two

Today is the day.

I think to myself as I attempt to pump myself up before this interview. After the last few rejections, it is hard to remain positive. However, I have a gut feeling that today really is 'the day.'

You're going to nail this interview.

I nod my head in agreeance with myself. My long, curly locks bounce as I convince myself that I am awesome.

You're going to get the job.

I give myself a once-over in the mirror. My makeup is flawless, and my outfit is trendy yet professional. The statement necklace was a nice touch.

In the reflection the door creaks open, and a sleepy Alex stumbles through the doorway. His eyes are still glazed over with last night's dreams as his hand reaches my hip.

"Mornin'." He grunts. What a loving greeting.

"Hey yourself," I plant a quick kiss on his cheek before turning away from the scratchy stubble that has grown on his face literally overnight. "Ew, you need to shave. Preferably before I get home. Before tonight definitely."

"Yeah," Alex lets go of me and splashes water on his face in an attempt to wake up. "Make me proud today so we have something to celebrate tonight, okay?"

I smile sheepishly. "That's the plan."

"Well, shit," Alex mumbles as he pulls his phone from his pocket. "If you don't get going you're going to miss it."

"Okay, okay. Okay. I'll see you tonight, then? Clean shaven? Clean in general?" I kiss him on the cheek. Alex nods to confirm and I hug him tightly in excitement. "Alright, I'm leaving."

"Hanna."

"Yes?"

"You have to let go of me if you want to leave."

"Oh."

I let go of Alex and take a step into the hallway. "I'm leaving. For real this time."

"You got it, babe. You can do this. I'll see you later!" I hear Alex yell as I practically sprint out of the house.

My Malibu is humming away in the driveway, all warmed up and defrosted. Alex must've done that. I smile to myself as I slide into the gray leather seats. If it wasn't for him, I would've been late for sure.

He knows me so well.

I plug my phone into the aux cord and put on some Lady Gaga to get me pumped up. She's been my go-to since I was a pre-teen, and some old habits die hard. The words to Paparazzi swirl through my stereo, and I find myself singing along as I back out of the driveway.

My insides are filled with conflicting emotions. Part of me is nervous as hell for this interview. My stomach is doing cartwheels while I sit at the redlight. My brain is rushing with the adrenaline that develops from being this nervous. I can't even think coherently without my thoughts being interrupted with "you can't mess this up, Hanna," or "you need this job."

The other part of my brain is happy-go-lucky and free of a single care in the world. This part of me is overconfident and lacking even a scintilla of doubt about getting the job. My left foot taps the ground excitedly with the prospect of being employed in not only a job in my field, but in one where I don't have to come home soaked to the core and smelling of french fries every single day.

Twenty minutes later, I find myself sitting in the most uncomfortable wooden chair ever. The worn out seat cushion has done nothing to save my bony bottom from pain. I'm fidgety nonetheless, going over my answers to the typical interview questions in my head: