Chapter 4 The Interview

The Interview

Beauty's POV

One month Later

“Number 27 and 28,” a sultry female voice cut across the waiting room.

I shifted in my uncomfortable plastic chair, watching two nervous-looking candidates hurry toward the interview room. The waiting area buzzed with tension as other hopeful candidates sat clutching their resumes and portfolios. I pressed my sweaty palms against my black pencil skirt and tried to calm my racing heart.

The lady beside me had been fidgeting for the past hour, her leg bouncing so violently that I could feel the vibrations through the floor. Every few minutes, she would adjust her blazer, smooth her hair, or check her phone with trembling fingers.

I couldn’t take it anymore. “Hey,” I said softly, turning toward the anxious lady. “I’m Beauty Marino.”

The lady startled, her wide brown eyes meeting mine. “Oh! I’m Agnes. Agnes Mark.” She attempted a smile but it came out more like a grimace. “Sorry, I’m just… I’m terrified.”

“Your first interview?” I asked, though I already knew the answer from Agnes’s obvious nervousness.

Agnes nodded vigorously. “Is it that obvious? God, I’m such a mess. I’ve been preparing for weeks, but now that I’m here, I can’t remember anything I practiced.” She let out a shaky laugh. “What about you? You seem so composed.”

I almost laughed at that. If only Agnes knew how my stomach was doing somersaults. “It’s my first interview too, actually. I’m just as scared as you are, trust me.”

“Really?” Agnes’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “You hide it well.”

I glanced down at Agnes’s name tag and felt a small surge of relief. “You’re number 30, and I’m 29. Looks like we’ll be going in together.”

Agnes followed my gaze and her face brightened for the first time since I had been watching her. “Oh thank God. At least I won’t be alone in there. Maybe they’ll focus more on you and I can just blend into the background.”

“Don’t say that,” I said firmly. “You deserve this job just as much as anyone else here. We both do.”

Before Agnes could respond, two women in business attire walked past us toward the coffee machine in the corner. Their heels clicked against the polished floor, and their conversation carried clearly across the quiet waiting room.

“I feel sorry for whoever’s interviewing today,” one of them said, inserting coins into the machine. “Mr. Venturi is conducting them himself.”

“Poor things don’t know what they’re walking into,” the second woman replied with a bitter laugh. “He’s absolutely brutal. Cold as ice and twice as cutting. I’ve seen grown men walk out of his office in tears.”

“Remember that woman last month? She came out looking like she’d been hit by a truck. I heard he tore her apart in the first five minutes.”

The first woman shook her head sympathetically. “He’s brilliant, I’ll give him that, but he has no mercy. Zero tolerance for weakness or mistakes. The turnover rate in his department is insane.”

I felt my confidence crumble with every word. Beside me, Agnes had gone completely pale.

“Did you hear about his last assistant secretary?” the second woman continued, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Lasted three days. Three days! He made her redo a simple filing task twelve times because it wasn’t ‘up to his exacting standards.’”

“The man’s a perfectionist and a tyrant. Handsome as sin, but absolutely ruthless.”

The women collected their coffees and walked away, their voices fading as they disappeared down the hallway. The waiting room fell silent except for the nervous shuffling of papers and the occasional cough.

Agnes grabbed my arm, her fingernails digging in slightly. “Oh God, Beauty, what have we gotten ourselves into? Maybe I should just leave. I can’t handle someone tearing me apart. I’ll probably start crying before he even asks the first question.”

My own throat felt tight with anxiety, but I forced myself to project calm for Agnes’s sake. “Hey, look at me.” I waited until Agnes met my eyes. “We don’t know if those women were exaggerating. Office gossip is often worse than reality. And even if he is difficult, we’re both strong women. We can handle this.”

“But what if…”

“Number 29 and 30,” the sultry voice called again, interrupting Agnes mid-sentence.

My heart slammed against my ribcage. This was it. I stood on unsteady legs, smoothing down my skirt one final time. Agnes remained frozen in her seat.

“Come on,” I whispered, offering my hand. “We go in together, remember?”

Agnes took a shuddering breath and accepted my help standing up. Her hand was ice cold and trembling. “Beauty Marino and Agnes Mark,” she whispered, as if rehearsing our names would somehow make this easier.

We walked across the waiting room, our heels echoing loudly in the sudden silence. Every eye in the room followed us, some with pity, others with relief that they weren’t the ones being called. I felt like I was walking to my execution.

The receptionist with the sultry voice smiled at us from behind her mahogany desk. She was stunning, with platinum blonde hair pulled back in a perfect chignon and makeup that belonged in a magazine. “Right through that door, ladies. They’re waiting for you.”

My hand hovered over the polished brass doorknob. Through the frosted glass, I could see the silhouettes of several people seated around what appeared to be a large conference table. My mouth went dry.

“We can do this,” I murmured to Agnes, though I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince.

Agnes nodded jerkily beside me, clutching her portfolio so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.

I turned the handle and pushed open the door.

The interview room was impressive… floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city skyline, and a massive mahogany table dominated the center of the space. Four people in business suits sat along one side of the table, their faces serious and evaluating.

But my attention locked immediately on the man sitting at the head of the table.

Time stopped.

The portfolio slipped from my nerveless fingers and hit the floor with a dull thud.

It was him. The stranger from the hotel room. The man who had seen me at my most vulnerable, who had made my body sing with pleasure I’d never experienced before. The man I’d left my number for like some desperate, lovesick fool.

Marcello.

My one-night stand was sitting behind that imposing desk in an expensive charcoal suit, his dark eyes fixed on me with an expression I couldn’t read. His black hair was perfectly styled, his jaw clean-shaven, and he looked every inch the powerful businessman those women had described.

The room tilted sideways. I grabbed the back of the nearest chair to keep from falling as the blood drained from my face. My carefully prepared answers, my confident demeanor, my professional composure… everything evaporated in an instant.

This couldn’t be happening. This had to be some kind of cosmic joke. Of all the companies in the city, of all the job interviews I could have landed, I’d walked into his.

Agnes was saying something beside me, probably introducing herself to the panel, but I couldn’t hear anything over the roaring in my ears. I felt like I might vomit or faint or both.

Marcello leaned back in his leather chair, his penetrating gaze never leaving my face. A slight smirk played at the corners of his mouth, as if he was enjoying my obvious distress.

“Have you seen a ghost?”

That was Marcello’s voice, cold as ever.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​