5: Mr. Hale

SOPHIA

The man sat at the head of the table, his posture straight, with his face scrunched in concentration. Floral had managed to print my résumé and submit it. He didn’t look at me right away, but I recognized him instantly.

What role was he holding? If Floral was the manager, then who was he? I forced my face to stay neutral to hide the shock swirling in my chest. My palms grew damp, but I smoothed them over the fabric of the dress, grateful it at least made me feel composed and not out of place.

Another person entered the room and took a seat beside him. I braced myself for the worse, expecting them to realize I’d come this far because of my best friend, not by merit. But the man cleared his throat, his presence filling the space before a word left his mouth.

“Mrs. Sophia Carver,” he began in a commanding voice. He motioned to the chair across the long desk. “Please, have your seat.”

Without a word, I settled down across from him.

“Good morning,” he continued. “Let’s begin. I’m Adrian Hale, regional director and owner of Glamour Galore.”

My breath caught. Owner? I assumed he was a manager, maybe a higher-up at best. But Floral’s superior? I wasn’t prepared for that. But it explained the clerk’s fear now. 

Adrian nodded to the woman next to him. “This is Ms. Davenport. She’ll be assisting me with the interview.”

Ms. Davenport gave me a small smile, but my attention was still locked on him. Adrian Hale. The man who once stepped in to defend me at the store. The man who gifted me a dress like he knew I’d need it soon. And now, he held my future in his hands. I couldn’t miss this chance. 

“I’ve heard about your previous contributions,” he said, glancing at his notes with a stern smile. “Several of the designs Glamour Galore has archived still bear your name. They’re some of our strongest pieces to date.”

He knew? I swallowed, struggling to speak. He looked up at me, his dark eyes assessing. “Why did you quit?”

The room seemed to shrink around me, and my fingers twisted in my lap. I thought about lying, giving neat, professional answers. But his raw expression stopped me.

“Well, I got married,” I admitted quietly. “My husband wanted a family. I thought I could balance it all, but after the stress of giving birth to our son, I had to take a break. I quit everything to focus on him and on our home.” 

What I didn’t add was: I now regret it.

The truth tasted bitter, but though only a part of it was out, I felt strangely lighter. Adrian nodded slowly, as if absorbing every word. He didn’t pity me. He understood.

We resumed the interview with lighter topics. He asked questions on design processes, trends, and management. I replied as best I could, my nerves softening the longer I spoke. At the end, he dismissed me with a polite nod.

“You’ll hear from us soon,” he said.

Was that a good or bad sign? I left the room with my heart racing, jumping when someone tapped on my arm.

Floral. She was waiting outside. “How did it go?”

“Good?” I let out a shaky laugh. “I really don’t know.”

“Were you able to answer all the questions?”

“Yes,” I replied, nodding. “But I’m still so nervous.”

“Don’t be,” she said firmly. 

Taking my hand, she guided me through a hallway, into what I assumed was her office. The space opened wide, and sunlight poured through tall windows overlooking the city. Racks of fabric swatches lined one wall, while sketches were pinned neatly across another, some framed like artwork. 

A sleek glass desk sat in the center, stacked with folders and a laptop pushed slightly to the side. A vase of fresh lilies gave the room a soft fragrance, a reminder that this was still Floral’s space. Organized, creative, and alive.

“Sit,” she said, pulling out a chair for me before moving behind her desk. I dropped into the seat, the leather cool against my skin. My nerves buzzed as I glanced around. “Trust me, you’ve got this. Mr. Hale will make the right choice.” 

“If you say so,” I mumbled. 

Floral laughed, and we spent the next hour catching up. I didn’t have much to say, so I listened for the most part. Her phone buzzed, interrupting us. She glanced at her watch. 

“It’s time.” Flashing me a contrite smile, she told me, “I have to run to a meeting. Are you fine waiting for me?”

“No need,” I said. “I’ll head home.”

“Let me call you an Uber,” she said. 

“No. I want to look around for a bit.” 

Her eyes softened, and she slipped me a few dollar bills before rushing off. I stayed inside for a few more minutes before stepping out. It felt odd to have this much time on my hands. No cooking, no cleaning, and no looking after anyone else, but myself. I couldn’t say I liked or hated it. 

The afternoon air was cool against my skin. I was starting to breathe easier when a sleek black car pulled up to the curb. The back door opened before I could run.

Adrian sat inside, and the sight of him calmed me.

“Get in,” he said simply.

My first instinct was to refuse. But I remembered he knew I was married with a five-year-old son. He wouldn’t try anything. It was what I told myself as I slid into his car.

We didn’t go far. Just across town, up a tall building, to a rooftop restaurant. My stomach clenched as I realized where we were. The place looked elegant and private.

“Mr. Hale—”

“Call me Adrian.”

Butterflies scattered in my belly. I cleared my throat, tugging at the hem of my dress. “I’m not dressed for this. And I don’t think I want anyone to see us together.” 

“You’re fine,” he said smoothly. “And you don’t have to worry about anyone. I reserved the place. Just for us.”

Warmth crept up my neck, and my cheeks burned. No one had ever gone out of their way for me like this. With his words echoing in my head, I followed him to a table. He pulled out a seat for me, lingering for a moment after I sat down before taking the empty chair across from me. 

His expression was unreadable as he watched me eat. When his lips curled into a small smile, I almost blushed. 

“It’s an honor to dine with such a beautiful lady.” 

The fork nearly slipped from my grip. It had been years since anyone, man or woman, had called me beautiful. 

Lunch passed in a blur of soft, gentle conversation and delicious food. I felt invisible until my phone buzzed. 

The sound broke the spell, and the food lost its taste. It was Marc. My chest tightened, and I pressed the red button to end the call. He called again, and I switched to flight mode before setting it face down on the table.

Adrian’s gaze locked on me. “Someone bothering you?”

“No. It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure? You look rattled. Who was that?”

I hesitated for only a minute. “My husband. He’s been… giving me a hard time lately. I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Adrian didn’t react with anger or pity. “You still have my card, right? If you need help, use it. Call me, Sophia.” 

My mind flashed to the card buried at the bottom of my bag, untouched since the day he gave it to me. I nodded, offering him a tiny, grateful smile. Maybe my future wasn’t so bleak.

“Thanks,” I told him. “I will.”

We finished our meals, and he insisted on taking me home instead of letting me use an Uber. I thanked him quietly, still flustered by his unexpected kindness. 

But as we stepped out of the restaurant, something felt off. The sunlight seemed too bright, and the air too thin.

“Are you okay?” he asked as we walked toward his car.

“Yes,” I said quickly.

But my stomach churned, and my knees wobbled. I reached for the door handle as the world tilted, and my vision blurred. Then everything went black.