Face to Face

Amara’s POV

The elevator ride to the twentieth floor felt like ascending into another world. My ears popped with the pressure, but it was nothing compared to the pressure already sitting heavy in my chest.

I hugged my portfolio against me like a shield. This internship wasn’t just an opportunity—it was survival. Months of sending out résumés, sleepless nights of doubt, and pep talks in the mirror had led me here. If I nailed this, I could finally start paying down loans and maybe, just maybe, believe I had a future beyond struggling.

The doors slid open with a polished ding, revealing a reception area that looked more like a luxury hotel than an office. White marble floors. Sleek glass walls. An abstract painting that probably cost more than my entire apartment.

“Good morning,” the receptionist greeted with a perfect smile. She was the kind of woman who looked like she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine—smooth bun, immaculate blazer, not a wrinkle in sight. “You’re here for the internship interview?”

“Yes.” My voice cracked like a teenager’s. “Amara Lopez.”

She checked her tablet and nodded. “Please have a seat. Someone will escort you in shortly.”

I sat on the leather couch, gripping the edges so tightly my knuckles turned white. Across from me, other applicants shifted nervously—polished, confident, clearly from worlds different than mine. Their designer shoes and expensive watches screamed privilege. I suddenly became hyperaware of my scuffed flats and secondhand blazer.

Don’t compare, I told myself. You earned this chance.

Still, my stomach twisted. What if I made a fool of myself again? What if I ruined this the way I ruined Damian Cruz’s suit?

“Lopez?” A woman in heels that clicked like a metronome appeared. “Come with me.”

I followed her down a hallway lined with glass offices. Executives in tailored suits typed away or barked orders into phones. The air smelled faintly of cologne and coffee, like power and money wrapped in a neat bow.

When we stopped in front of a set of double doors, my heart nearly stopped.

The nameplate read: Damian Cruz, CEO.

My throat went dry. “Wait—my interview is in there?”

“Yes. Mr. Cruz wanted to oversee this year’s interns personally.”

I nearly tripped over my own feet. My pulse roared in my ears.

Of course. Of course my humiliation would come full circle.

The assistant opened the door and gestured inside. “Good luck.”

Luck. I needed more than luck. I needed divine intervention.

---

Damian’s POV

The interns were supposed to be a formality. A box to check for the board. My time was too valuable to waste on nervous college kids fumbling their way through questions. But I had insisted on sitting in this year.

Why?

Because fate has a sense of humor.

The moment I saw her name on the list, something clicked. Amara Lopez. I didn’t know her name that day in the café, but I remembered her face. The fire in her eyes. The way she stood her ground even when her hands trembled.

I told myself it was curiosity. Nothing more.

But as I sat behind my desk, reviewing her résumé, I realized curiosity wasn’t the right word. Obsession was closer.

The knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts.

“Send her in.” I said.

The doors opened, and there she was.

The girl from the café.

She froze the second our eyes met, her confidence cracking. My lips almost twitched at the recognition flashing across her face. She looked like she’d seen a ghost.

Good. She should be afraid.

“Ms. Lopez,” I said smoothly, gesturing toward the chair opposite my desk. “Have a seat.”

Her hands clutched her portfolio like it was a life raft, but she sat. Chin up, back straight—trying to act unshaken. Admirable.

“This internship is highly competitive,” I continued, my gaze never leaving hers. “Tell me, why should I choose you?”

She swallowed, then launched into a rehearsed answer about work ethic, determination, and a passion for learning. Her words were polished, but her voice trembled ever so slightly.

I let her speak, watching her squirm. Watching her fight to maintain composure under my stare.

When she finished, I leaned back, steepling my fingers. “Interesting. You certainly have… confidence. Though, if memory serves, you’re also clumsy. Isn’t that right?”

Her eyes widened, horror flashing across her face. She knew. She realized in that instant that I hadn’t forgotten her. Not even for a second.

I smirked. “You remember me, don’t you?”

She straightened, defiance flickering in her gaze. “Yes. And for the record, it was an accident.”

Bold. She could have apologized, begged even. Instead, she pushed back. Again.

This girl had no idea what game she’d stepped into.

“Accidents,” I said softly, “can be costly. Especially in this company.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t look away.

For the first time in a long while, I felt entertained.

---

Amara’s POV

My whole body buzzed with panic, but I forced myself to meet his stare. If I looked away now, I’d lose everything.

“Yes, I spilled coffee on you,” I admitted, my voice shaking. “And yes, I talked back. But that doesn’t mean I can’t handle this job. Everyone makes mistakes. What matters is how you move past them.”

For a second, silence stretched between us. His storm-gray eyes searched mine, unreadable.

Then—was that the hint of a smile tugging at his lips?

No. Couldn’t be. Damian Cruz didn’t smile.

“Interesting answer,” he murmured, leaning back in his chair. “Very well. Let’s see if your actions match your words.”

The interview continued, but I could barely focus. Every question felt like a trap. Every word I said seemed to carry more weight than it should.

When it was finally over, I stood on shaky legs, clutching my portfolio. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Cruz.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Ms. Lopez,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “This internship will test you. Harder than you realize.”

I swallowed hard. “I’m ready.”

Was I lying? Maybe.

But one thing was certain: I couldn’t afford to fail.

Not now. Not with Damian Cruz watching me like a predator circling its prey.