An Unexpected Choice: Excuse me

‎My throat tightened.

‎My brain had officially abandoned me.

‎Say something.

‎Anything.

‎Apologize.

‎Run.

‎None of those felt like a good idea.

‎Mr. Moretti's fingers tapped the mahogany desk once.

‎“Mr. Hart.”

‎His calm voice snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts.

‎“Sit.”

‎My legs felt strangely heavy as I crossed the room and lowered myself into the chair opposite his desk. His presence felt overwhelming.

‎I shifted uneasily in my seat, my palms damp with sweat as I clasped my hands together.

‎He picked up my résumé, scanning it in silence.

‎The quiet stretched long enough to make me wonder if he'd forgotten I was sitting there.

‎Finally, he spoke.

‎“So... tell me about yourself.”

‎I cleared my throat.

‎“My name is Elias Hart. I graduated with a degree in Accounting and worked as an accountant at—”

‎“I've already read your résumé.”

‎My words died instantly.

‎His piercing gray eyes lifted to meet mine.

‎“I'm asking about the person behind the paper.”

‎My mind felt blank as the words I was about to say seemed to vanish.

‎“Why do you want to work here?”

‎“Because Moretti Corporation is one of the leading companies in the country. It would be an honor to—”

‎He interrupted me calmly.

‎“The honest answer.”

‎I was tongue-tied before I managed to answer.

‎“...Because I need the job,” I said after a brief hesitation.

‎His lips curved slightly.

‎“Better.”

‎He turned another page.

‎“You were dismissed from your previous position.”

‎I stiffened as memories of my previous job flashed through my mind.

‎“Yes, sir.”

‎“Why?”

‎“I was framed for something I didn't do.”

‎“You expect me to believe that?”

‎“I don't expect you to believe anything, Mr. Moretti.”

‎“I only want you to give me the chance to prove it.”

‎The room fell silent.

‎Mr. Moretti studied me without a word.

‎He leaned back.

‎His direct gaze made my eyes lower, unable to meet his.

‎He said nothing for a long moment.

‎"Tell me, Mr. Hart..."

‎"...do you always speak your mind?"

‎I immediately knew he was referring to what had happened downstairs.

‎"I..."

‎"You seemed rather confident in the lobby."

‎I lowered my gaze. "I didn't know who you were."

‎"Would your answer have been different if you had?"

‎"...Yes."

‎"Honest."

‎His fingers tapped the résumé once before he continued.

‎"Tell me."

‎"...what do you value more?"

‎"Your pride..."

‎"...or your livelihood?"

‎I frowned.

‎That wasn't an interview question. Before I could think about it, the answer slipped out.

‎"...My pride."

‎One of his brows lifted slightly.

‎"Yet you're here because you need a job."

‎"...Yes."

‎“Why shouldn't I throw your résumé in the bin and ask you to leave?”

‎I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry.

‎“Because despite what happened downstairs...”

‎“...I'm good at my job.”

‎Silence.

‎My heartbeat thudded painfully against my ribs.

‎Mr. Moretti closed the résumé and placed it neatly on the desk.

‎Silence settled between us.

‎He simply looked at me.

‎I couldn't tell what he was thinking.

‎Then he rose.

‎One hand slipped into the pocket of his tailored trousers as he walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows.

‎The city stretched endlessly beneath him.

‎His back remained to me.

‎That was my answer.

‎Of course.

‎I lowered my gaze.

‎I'd insulted the CEO before the interview had even begun.

‎There was no world where I walked out of this office employed.

‎I forced myself to nod.

‎“Thank you for your time, Mr. Moretti.”

‎I turned toward the door.

‎“Mr. Hart.”

‎My hand stopped on the handle.

‎“Yes, sir?”

‎He didn't turn.

‎“When you walked into this building...”

‎“...you spoke to me without knowing who I was.”

‎A pause.

‎“Most people become very careful once they learn my name.”

‎His gaze remained on the skyline.

‎“You didn't.”

‎I wasn't sure whether that was a compliment or a warning.

‎Another silence settled over the room.

‎Then—

‎“I expect you to be early tomorrow, Mr. Hart.”

‎I frowned.

‎“...Sir?”

‎“For someone who claims to be good at his job...”

‎“...your comprehension is quite disappointing.”

‎My grip tightened around the handle.

‎“I don't understand.”

‎“No.”

‎He finally turned.

‎Those cold gray eyes settled on me once more.

‎“You don't.”

‎A beat of silence.

‎“You're employed.”

‎I stared at him.

‎Unable to speak.

‎".. Sir?“

‎"You'll be my personal secretary.“

‎“Don't give me a reason to regret it.”

‎He dismissed me with nothing more than a look.

‎The interview was over.

‎I stepped out of the office in a daze, the heavy doors clicking shut behind me.

‎What had just happened?

‎Before I could make sense of it, a man in a tailored navy suit approached from the opposite end of the hallway.

‎He barely glanced at me before stepping inside Mr. Moretti's office.

‎---

‎The office door opened without ceremony.

‎Matteo walked in as though the office belonged to him.

‎“You're late,” Dante said, his attention never leaving the document in his hand.

‎Matteo chuckled as he dropped into the chair opposite the desk.

‎“Good to see you too.”

‎His gaze drifted toward the closed office door.

‎“I passed someone on my way in.”

‎Dante remained silent.

‎Another page turned.

‎Matteo leaned back, slight curiosity flickering across his face. "Who is he?"

‎For the first time since Matteo entered, Dante looked up.

‎A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

‎He leaned back in his chair.

‎“Someone interesting.”

‎Matteo frowned. "Since when do you interview candidates yourself?"

‎Dante said nothing.

‎Matteo let out a quiet laugh.

‎"There you go again. You really don't know how to keep a conversation going."

‎He kept talking, though Dante had already turned his chair toward the floor-to-ceiling windows.

‎Far below, Elias stepped out of the building, weaving through the stream of employees leaving for lunch.

‎Dante's gaze followed him.

‎Matteo's voice faded into the background.

‎A slow, dark smile curved across Dante's lips.

‎"I was beginning to think..."

‎A pause.

‎"...I'd have to come and find you myself."

‎His eyes never left the figure below.

‎"...little fox."

‎Matteo stopped mid-sentence.

‎"...What?"

‎Dante didn't answer. His eyes never left the figure disappearing into the crowd below.

‎