Mixed Signals

I know I shouldn't have worn this skirt, I can't even breathe freely in them let alone work, the heels weren't helping either, I couldn't help but to fasten my pace ,it was my first day at Vance holding and I couldn't help but frown about my choice of clothes or rather the one that was imposed on me by jenny my house mate to , I've known her since uni days. She's literally the family I never had , Jenny is beautiful, her lips are full as that of a plum ,she is breath taking and she knows it. she was actually the one that told me about the opening at Vance holding, the most powerful real estate developer in the state. she has been my guide without her I wonder what my life would be like as a lady in her 20's living in LA.

I majestically stepped into Vance holding, "Good morning,Mac", I smiled as I saw the only person I knew in this enormous company, Mac was the security guard. " Beautiful morning,miss Sarah, you look ravishing ,pink is definitely your color " I chuckled and didn't say a word probably cause I wasn't feeling confident today, oh crap, it's almost 9! I was supposed to be there before my boss.

I know my first impression matters a lot right now,I was giving this job cause of advanced skills in computer,I can't fuck this up I can't afford a day without a job. I increased my pace and headed for the elevator, . I increased my pace and headed for the elevator, clutching a stack of freshly printed and highly confidential employee onboarding documents. They were for the new cohort of analysts, and I needed them on my supervisor's desk now.

The reception area was a landscape of polished marble and cold steel a masterpiece of corporate intimidation. The silence here wasn't quiet; it was heavy, weighted by untold billions. I power-walked, trying to make my high-slit pencil skirt conform to the length of my stride, but the tight fabric resisted every powerful movement. My heels, five-inch torture devices Jenny insisted were "executive chic," wobbled slightly on the smooth floor.

​Almost there. I pressed the button for the express elevator, feeling the familiar adrenaline rush that came with cutting it close. Just as the doors whispered open, a movement caught my peripheral vision—a figure emerging from the opposite hallway, moving with the alarming speed and certainty of someone who owned the building.

I stopped abruptly, but the momentum was already too much. My right heel caught the edge of the marble inlay, and I pitched forward, losing my grip on the stack of papers. I was falling,I close my eyes tightly waiting to collide with the cold hard floors. I didn’t hit the floor. Instead, I collided with something solid, warm, and utterly immovable. I gradually opened my eyes,My documents exploded like a confetti bomb, flying everywhere onto the marble, against the steel walls, and all over the person I had just violently crashed into.

The air rushed out of my lungs. I scrambled to regain my balance, my hands flying out to brace myself against the expensive fabric of a perfectly tailored suit jacket. When I looked up, fear and apology dying on my tongue, I met the coldest gray eyes I had ever seen.

​It was Alexander Vance. The cold CEO everyone talks about. He's handsome, I couldn't help but notice

He didn't move an inch. He was introduced as a wall of power in the orientation video, and in person, he was an elegant monolith. His jaw was tight, his expression utterly devoid of emotion, save for a terrifying flicker of annoyance. His gaze was glacial, sweeping over my disheveled state, the high slit of my skirt, and the pile of papers at his feet.

​"You." His voice was a low, dangerous rumble that cut through the silence of the lobby. It wasn't loud, but it commanded attention—the sound of authority that needs no argument.

I felt a heat rush to my cheeks. "M-Mr. Vance, I am so sorry. I truly am. I wasn't looking, the—” I gestured vaguely at my ridiculous shoes.

He cut me off, the impatience in his voice razor-sharp. He didn't even bother helping me pick up the scattered files, which contained proprietary information about salary structures. He simply looked down at me struggling with the fallen files, his icy gaze lingering for a second too long on the restrictive hem of my skirt.

​"If you can't walk like a professional, Ms? , I don't need to know your name then you don't belong here," he stated, his words a final, humiliating verdict. "Clean this up. Immediately."

​He didn't wait for a response. He simply straightened his cuff and strode toward the elevator I had just opened. My internal thoughts were a storm of humiliation and fierce defensiveness. You arrogant, privileged jerk! I vow to hate you forever.

But then, as he reached the elevator, he paused. He looked back at me, not with the overt fury of a CEO whose time had been wasted, but with an intense observation. It was a strange, unnerving look that had nothing to do with my clumsiness and everything to do with me.

The elevator doors silently closed, taking Alexander Vance and my last shred of professional composure with them. I was left alone in the cold marble lobby, kneeling amongst the spilled documents, clutching my ridiculous skirt, and realizing that my first day at Vance Holdings was already a spectacular failure.