Olivia
Sweat is dripping on the sides of my face but the cold wind is refreshing. It's not the best first impression to show up windswept but I have no choice.
I pedal faster. I want to arrive a little bit earlier so I have time to freshen up, and prepare myself. Preparation is always the key, I've read that somewhere. Interviews are always nerve-wracking and this is no different.
This morning is important to me. It can make or break my future plans. My savings are dwindling by the day. We'll be out on the streets if I don't land a job by this month.
I've donned my best attire, especially for this appointment. I have exactly five semi-formal blouses and this is my favorite white top. My denim lucky pants and my sensible shoes, my loafers, are the only pair I have that have no holes. They're perfect when riding my trusted bike.
I've had this bike since I was a teenager. I don't care what other people say, I still use it since it's better than walking. Besides, bikes are fairly common here in the parks and forests surrounding the city. It's not this kind of an old bike, but still.
I live just outside the city and it takes me a good while to pedal myself out of traffic and into the heart of downtown Portland where the city’s business district is at the heart of it all. There are numerous bicycle lanes here and I take one towards the skyscrapers. I’m trying my luck in applying to Cane Industries. It’s one of the biggest conglomerates and I really need to make a good impression. This is a big opportunity for me and frankly, I need the money and success badly.
My interview is in an hour and I'm planning to get there in 10 minutes. I pedal faster.
I see the parking lot to the building in the distance. As I turn to that side, I cross my mental checklist of the items I would need for my interview.
Resumé, check. Inside the folder. Phone in pocket, check. I have my...
Blaring horns ring in my ears. Everything is white.
The entirety of the left of my body is numb. I'm lying on the pavement.
I snap my eyes open. I blink back the spots in my eyesight. My head hurts. There's a pounding at the back of my skull. I shut my eyes. My ears are still ringing.
Where's my bike? I need my bike. Shit, my left foot hurts so bad.
I need my bag. My phone. Oh no, my resumé must be crumpled.
I shake my head, forcing my eyes open again. My vision is clearer now.
There's a shadow blocking the sunlight. I try to wipe the liquid on my eye, obstructing my view. Blood mixed with sweat causes smarting pain on the open wounds on my face.
It hurts to move my left arm.
A quick glance confirms I have skid burns from my bicep down to my wrist. The skin is red, raw, and tender. There's shouting in the distance and I come to my senses.
I've collided with a vehicle, landed on my left side and I'm now face-planted on the hot cement of Cane Industries.
There's an insistent hand pressing on my shoulder. I flinch on instinct, moving my body in the opposite direction but it hurts to do so.
I force my body to roll over and get up. I'm on my knees, blindly bracing my right hand on what feels like the tire of a car.
Looking down, a button on my blouse is missing. There's blood on my white top. It’s ruined. No more good impression.
I have to get to my appointment!
Checking around, I see the front tire of my bike is flat. The handlebars are bent in an angle. The back tires are spinning wildly, almost mocking me.
Oh no, no, no. It took me months to save up for that bike.
A man is shouting somewhere above me.
"What the actual fuck?! Why did you cross the street?"
"What?" I see my bag is open, my belongings scattered on the street.
"I said the light was red! You came out of nowhere."
I reach over and check my phone. Shit, the screen is cracked.
“Huh?” I must be still in a state of shock. Nothing is registering. It’s a man, he’s speaking but I don’t understand what he's saying.
"Didn't you see the stop light? Are you blind or just stupid?!" The man's grating voice tries to get my attention.
Well, that's annoying. I'm bleeding here on the street, with my wrecked bike and cracked phone, and this guy would not quit swearing at me.
"I was on the bike lane, you asshole! And the sign was clearly green! You ran me over!"
"No, are you insane? Why would I do that?"
"Oh, I don't know! Maybe you're the crazy asshole! Why are you blaming me? You're the one with the big ass car! You dickhead!" I flip the bird in his general direction. I'm screaming my lungs out, certain that I'm causing a scene.
I really actually do not care. I might have a concussion, that's my excuse.
I look up in a rage, ready to curse him some more when I finally notice his appearance.
He is not bad-looking. Not at all. My mind is busy listing his attractive features against my will. Stop it, Olivia, I am so mad at this guy.
He cocks his head, he looks me up and down. From my ankle to my crumpled and bloodied shirt and focusing on my face.
He squints.
The sun must be too hot this morning since my face is burning. I focus my eyes on the pavement in front of me. Searching for my other belongings.
"So what now? You wrecked my bike." I point to my crumpled transportation. "You have to pay for that."
He’s still studying my pitiful appearance.
"What an ass," I added, just for the sake of the insult.
The next thing I see is his calling card next to my now swollen ankle. Is this his way of apologizing? What in the actual hell? I snatch it up and pocket it safely so that I know how to contact this prick and make him pay.
He moves so fast, that I barely catch the back of his clearly expensive suit as he slams his car door and drives into the building's parking lot. Clearly not minding that he just almost killed someone. He just drove away without a care in the world.
Meanwhile, I’m left here on the pavement with my whole world upside down. Who does he think he is? Even if he is the most attractive man I’ve ever seen, that doesn’t give him the license to be a total and complete dick.
I want to follow him, maybe I'll get lucky and slap his stupidly proportional face.
At least I know where he works. I can just look for him at this building after my interview. He's not escaping me, I'll make sure of that.
The cars keep on blaring on the street, it brings me back to my current dilemma.
At this point, the building's security is eyeing me with a skeptical look. Great, this is just making my blood boil. I was the one who was run over but he's looking at me like this is all my fault? What is wrong with these people?
It's that rude guy's fault entirely! And he doesn't even have the decency to ask me if I'm okay or drive me to the hospital. If I don't have an interview, I would definitely hunt him down and give him a piece of my mind.
I'm still swearing at him when I finally gather my belongings. Looking around, I limp towards my bike and pick it up. God, this sucks. I prop what's left of it up against the wall.
I smooth out the rest of my attire. There's blood on my white blouse and I'm pretty sure my face is bleeding and scratched as hell. Even if I have the money for makeup, no foundation can cover this amount of damage.
I check my watch if I have time to wash my face and appear decent before my interview.
I have exactly 5 minutes.
I run towards the elevators and hope for the best.
Olivia I rush towards the lady behind the solid marble counter at the entrance of Cane Industries. It's almost 10 am, I only have 2 minutes left. I'm not going to salvage any remaining kind of good impression if I don't arrive on time. I angle my injured side away from the receptionist, hoping she doesn't notice the dirt marks and blood on my outfit, and throw me out of the building before I reach my interviewer. I’m not exactly sure how many wounds I have at this point. Better to just hide my whole body under the marble counter. Placing the phone down, she mutters "What?" in my general direction. Not looking at my face but lips turned up in a sneer upon my disgruntled appearance. "I have an interview with Mr. Austin?" I almost didn't want to disturb her. "10th floor." She spits out, still not looking at me. I lift my left ankle, it's still tender. It might be sprained. I scurry towards the area of the lifts. Entering, I tuck my messenger bag on my side. Wipe my sweaty palm
Austin Cane She scrambled after me. I stepped aside so she could enter the lift. I looked up at the mirror on the side of the wall to observe the new hire. The girl is nervous. She's fidgeting with the corner of her top. "Stop squirming so much. You weren't this shy yesterday." She nods in acquiescence. Takes a deep breath and lifts up her chin. As if an automatic switch has been flipped, she straightens her posture right before my eyes. Her wavy dark hair sways down to her hip. She clutches her small notebook. I exit the lift before I notice more things about the new girl. "This side is Cane Constructions Inc. I'm expecting you to know this already since you've had an orientation regarding the companies under Cane Industries." I don't wait for a response. Entering the HR department and going straight to the manager's room, I level the woman seated at her desk with a look. "Evelyn." "Yes Mr. Cane, sir?" The HR head looks up from her laptop. Startled at my sudden appearance. E
I am mortified. It wasn't enough that Mr. Cane saw my decaying neighborhood and dilapidated house, but I think he also caught a glimpse of Augustus being his lovely self. Why did he even drive me home? Why did he insist on it even when I said no? It's just so damn annoying. Jumping off a moving vehicle is not fun at all. Yes, I'm certainly ashamed of where I live. Who wouldn't be? We aren't homeless, but Centennial and the surrounding area are something else. I don't even want to consider that he saw Augustus. Just, no. I lean on the dirty window of the bus. The muggy air wafts through my nose, public transportation from the poorest part of Portland isn't the best. Clutching my bag closer and tucking it to my side, I see that I'm near downtown. It takes me 2 buses to get to work and a long ride if it's on my bike. Unfortunately, I need to cough up the extra dollars just for these bus rides. It's so mortifying to get a ride from Mr. Cane but he isn't aware of how that helps with
Austin "No, I had no idea." I grit my teeth. "Yes, it's over." I hang up, no longer wanting to hear the disappointment in my father's voice one more second. My father is a man of few words. When he speaks, he chooses his words carefully. The reason it upsets me more whenever I hear that tinge of disappointment coloring his clipped voice. Luke Cane is a business tycoon. He built Cane Industries with his ingenious business acumen. Although one would argue that he had the fortune to rely on, I always counter that it takes so much more in order to stay afloat and even multiply that fortune. I stare at the files on my dark mahogany desk, Evelyn's testimony. Her confession did not shock me, I knew it the second I saw the look on her face when I stormed into her office. It's convenient that the new girl found a way to cement the evidence against her barring accounting documents. She found a credible witness, that carries more weight. Flicking my eyes towards the door, I picture her behi
Austin Nocturn Number 20. Chopin's haunting melody perfectly portrays my mood when I step into the threshold. The classical number permeates the walls of Cane Estate. Mother lounges in the parlor with a glass of what I'm assuming is her 10th cocktail for the day. She greets me with a Bourbon Old Fashioned instead of a motherly hug or kiss. It would be too much for Mrs. Cane to show affection. Even to her son. A week is not a long enough distance. "Austin dear, was that what you wore at the Trade Fair?" she said, picking the olives from her martini. Not even sparing me a glance as she questions my appearance. "Yes, mother. It was fairly casual." "Hmm," she replies. Running her hands on a throw pillow. "Meredith is stopping by." "Yes. You mentioned earlier." "Would it hurt if you would be more enthusiastic?" She finally graces me with a disparaging look. I knew it would only be a matter of time. "And would it hurt if you actually listened? As I've said, we've broken up. She cheat
“He did not even hear me out,” I mumbled to my sandwich. I can’t keep the resentment inside. After crying my eyes out, I had lunch with the girls. I tried to be quiet about it but they’ve already commented about my visibly red and swollen eyes. “Girl, what are you so snippy about over there?” Charlie inquires. It’s lunchtime and they are gossiping. As usual, everybody’s intrigued about Mr. Cane’s hissy fits. “I didn’t get the chance to defend my side. That’s what pisses me off the most. It would have been better if he didn’t just explode like that. Nothing wrong with getting the facts first, right?” I try to be objective about it. “This about the crew in Montana? We’ve already sent people over. Did he not know you helped interview some? Thanks by the way. With the whole Evelyn business, people are quite distraught,” Andrea said. She is now officially part of the group. “Yeah, anytime,” I say distractedly. Watching her fork a few pieces of the cold chicken she packed for lunch. Sing
I shut the wooden door behind me. Careful to not cause any noise. I walk past the dark living room and dirty kitchen and head straight to my room. I hang my jacket carefully on the hook beside my door. Lining up my shoes under it, I rearrange the order. Place some stray shoes in their proper place. Mom must have borrowed a pair. I take my socks and carefully place them in my clothes hamper. I take my jeans and blouse off and fold them, piling them on top of my dirty clothes from the other day. I need to do laundry soon. I plop down my old chair. Grab a pen and add soap to my list of things to buy at the grocery store. Hand washing everything is time-consuming but I honestly don’t have a choice. I’m counting down the days until I receive my first pay from Cane Industries but I doubt buying a new washing machine is on top of my priority list. Maybe a repair? I added it to the list. I’m getting lightheaded. The food I bring for lunch at the office just isn’t enough. I’ve finally set as
I was wrong. The fight last night didn’t end with just Augustus walking away. Of course, just when you think you’re safe, that’s when shit really happens. Round 2 wasn’t just shouting and threats, by the end of it Mom managed to barricade herself inside her room and we were both sporting fresh bruises. Make-up is expensive so I’m being stingy about the amount of foundation I can put in order to cover up my face. This single tube I found at a gas station nearby is a godsend but it’s running out. I quickly chuck it inside my drawers when the elevator dings. A bruise on the cheek is easy enough to mask but a split lip is harder to hide. I bow my head when Mr. Cane walks down the corridor. In the corner of my eye, I could see him sauntering over. He really is meant to be on a runway or at least in a studio making commercials or a film. Maybe he can be a leading man type? Hmm.. maybe an action star? He looks like he works out. He’s got this lean but muscular figure. No, no.. he’s more