Redesigning Fate (Revive #1) - A. M. Wilson Page 0,5

if it is entirely my anxiety’s fault or that damn pair of blue eyes I won’t be able to get out of my head tonight.

Reeling with post-interview excitement, I entered the quiet elevator, anxiety nerves long forgotten. My life rides on this roller coaster of emotions, rolling from the low to the high. And right then, I was cresting a high.

I despise interviews. They are straight up nerve-wracking no matter how confident you are. Half of the questions seem irrelevant, and the other half I’m not quick witted enough to answer without stalling with uh’s and um’s. The only decent answers are tiny little white lies told to make a good impression.

Several times during my interview, I quietly reminded myself it’s unprofessional to smear my previous employer. Especially when Michelle inquired about that job.

“What did you think of your previous boss?” She had asked, while smiling an overly bright smile of straight, white teeth. I think she was doped up on too much caffeine. Normal people are not that exuberant while giving interviews, at least in my limited experience. Interviewing seems tedious and time consuming and probably not very riveting.

“He was a Grade-A asshole.” I had wanted to say. However, I couldn’t tell her that. Everybody knows that’s Interviewing Rules 101.

Instead, I had said, “He was a likeable person, but we disagreed on what opportunities were available for me at the company, and I decided to move on to pursue new field.” Ugh, gag me. My skin crawls to paint that creepy bastard in such a flattering light. Likeable? As likeable as a piece of dog shit on the bottom of my flats.

After the standard “about you” questions, she moved on to the “what would/did you do” series of questions. The questions that turn my brain to mush. The type of question where you give your best ass kissing answer while hoping to prove you have outstanding morals.

I stumbled through what should have been well-practiced answers, hoping to make a good impression and not sound like as much of an idiot as I felt. Those questions always catch me of guard.

I miraculously impressed her. She hired me on the spot and handed me a packet of information regarding my first day on the job—where to park, what time to arrive, dress code, important job responsibilities, and a key for opening in the mornings.

The sudden ringing of my cell alerted me to an incoming call, bringing me back to the here and now.

As I dig through my purse for my phone, the elevator banks in the lobby. The doors slide open, and I step off, still searching the seemingly bottomless black bag. A black phone in a black purse was a terrible idea. As soon as I get a paycheck, I’m buying myself a hot pink phone case.

My eyes are down, staring unseeing into the dark abyss of my accessory when my thoughts are interrupted as I slam into a hard wall and bounce right back into the elevator, landing on the floor on my back. My head hits the floor with a crack, pain shooting through my skull, and my purse spills everywhere.

“Shit, are you all right?”

I blink. The obnoxious fluorescent overhead elevator lights blind me momentarily. As I pull myself into a sitting position, I crane my head to the left, then to the right. A dull thud starts near the base of my skull, to the tempo of my heart, thrumming through my head. I drop my face into my hands and let out a slow, pained groan.

“Hello? Are you okay?”

I hear the voice the second time and it pulls me from my internal wellness check. Without looking up, I know that the voice belongs to him. The beautiful man from the lobby. Oh yes, as if running into a stranger head on and falling on my ass wasn’t embarrassing enough, I had to run head on into this delectable specimen of a man. At least now I have first-hand experience his body is as hard as I fantasized it would be. Built like a freaking truck.

“I think I’m okay,” I respond, without raising my head. My cheeks are burning crimson. It’s much safer if I keep my head down. I’m in the middle of contemplating how to vacate this mortifying situation, when I feel a soft, warm hand lightly squeezing my shoulder. My head raises to stare into those blue eyes peering over my features.

God, they’re as stunning as the Caribbean Sea. I’m stranded on an island