Chapter Two: Personal Assistant For The CEO

Ciara's POV

"Ciara, trust me, this guy won't even notice," Indie said, pushing the dress toward me. "He's too busy to keep track of his employees' appearance. Just wear this and nail the interview for me, okay?"

Indie was a friend from college, but not as close as Ava was. We both bonded over our shared desire to drop out of college, and she dreamed of being a stay-at-home girlfriend for her sweetheart.

When her uncle secured her a personal assistant job at Guvucci Clothing Enterprise, Australia's most sought-after clothing brand, she asked me to take her place at the interview.

I'd been staying with her for a week, and out of pity, she wanted me to keep the job if I got it.

"Indie, I have a bad feeling about this," I said, hesitating.

"Ciara, I'm telling you again, if you don't want this spot, I'll give it to someone else. It's a waste if you don't take it," Indie said, unfolding her arms and sighing.

"This is your chance, Ciara. A chance to provide for your unborn child, to get a real corporate job. And let's not forget, rent is due on Sunday."

I sighed, breaking eye contact. The reminder of the due rent and the unborn child stressed me out. I desperately needed money to abort the baby before it was too late.

"Fine, I'll take it," I said, just to end Indie's pleading look.

She exhaled in relief, "Ah, thank God." She picked up the dress from her small bed, "Will you wear this one, please?" she asked playfully.

"I'm only doing this because I'm tired of sleeping on the couch," I said, standing up lazily. "And we're out of electricity," I added, to which Indie responded with a playful snort.

"Maybe when you're gone, I can finally fix up this place to make it livable for the meantime," I said, glancing around at the faulty pipes, exposed wires, and fading paint.

"Don't change it too much," she said, scrunching up her nose as she opened her small wardrobe.

"I won't," I assured her. "Thank you so much, Indie. I owe you one."

I was sincere, but she playfully pouted, "From where? You're broke, girl!" She laughed, holding up a dress.

"You should save up," she said, wrinkling her nose again. "I think I like this one more," she said, showing me the flowy red dress.

"Ohh," I exclaimed. "But it's not a gardener position, is it?" I teased, approaching her.

She lightly hit me for the bad joke, and I pretended to wince. "I'll tell on you for being a bad aunty," I said, gesturing to my flat stomach.

"I want to be like you when I grow up," she said with a teasing grin.

"Oh wow what a surprise, but Indians don't grow, I heard,'" I shot back, laughing.

Her eyes crinkled at the corners, but she tried to maintain a stern face, saying "Oh gracious, go ahead already, go, go, go ahead."

I playfully dodged her attempt to chase me into the bathroom, finally slipping inside and shutting the door behind me. I heard her sigh loudly from the other side.

I poked my head out, "I'll go, but only in your wedding dress," I teased, startling her.

She quickly unfolded her arms that were held to her waist and pushed me back into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly. I tried to open it again, but she held it shut with all her might.

"Try coming out again, and I'll give your spot to my ex," she threatened, making me scream in mock despair.

~~~

"All my life, what was I made for?" I stopped and sighed, feeling frustrated and defeated.

How could people be so mean and rude? After registering my attendance at the downstairs counter, I was directed to the third floor, only to be sent back to the second floor.

Why, why, why?

I was tired of climbing the stairs, and I couldn't use the elevator because it terrified me.

Just as I was about to give up, a kind looking lady almost passed but I interrupted my thoughts. "Excuse me, miss, I'm here for a personal assistant job interview."

She stopped. Thank goodness someone was willing to listen to me.

"Interview number?" she asked tersely, and I stuttered, panicking.

"Uhmm, I wasn't told that," I clarified, feeling embarrassed.

*You weren't assigned any?" She looked at me like I wasn't serious about the job and wanted to leave.

"The senior one," I blurted out, trying to recover.

"Oh, personal assistant for the CEO," she said, and my heart skipped a beat.

CEO's assistant? I wasn't informed that was the role I was going for.

Goodness, did I even prepare? Hopefully I don't mess things up.

I felt a sense of unease as she pointed with her finger. "Third floor, use the counter's service, she'll show you."

She walked away before I could even ask more questions. I turned away from the elevator and was about to head towards the staircase when she called out again.

"Use the elevator, it's faster. Plus, the third floor staircase is under repair, and you'll be sent back."

I clenched a handful of my dress anxiously.

"If I don't die today, nothing's ever going to go wrong in my life," I thought to myself as a distraction as I stepped into the elevator.

The two employees inside looked at my stiff figure but quickly averted their gaze, seemingly uninterested.

I moved to the back of the elevator and gripped the handrail firmly, shutting my eyes.

In what felt like a brief moment, the doors dinged open.

Thank goodness it wasn't a long ride, and I survived.

As instructed, I stood at the counter and announced, "I'm here for the personal assistant job interview."

The receptionist replied, "Okay," while typing on her computer.

"What's your interview number?" she asked, and I shook my head, indicating I didn't have one.

She glanced back at the computer and asked, "Name, please?" I provided my name, and after a few clicks, she informed me, "Your interview number is 020." I nodded in gratitude.

She gestured for me to take a seat and wait, which I did, anxiously.

Each time the door creaked open, my heart skipped a beat, only to be relieved when another candidate was called.

When there were only five of us left, my name was finally called: "Ciara Morgan." I raised my hand, stood up, and followed the receptionist into a luxurious and expansive office.

I was taken aback, and all I could utter was, "Wow..." due to my panic.

As I entered, I bowed my head to the receptionist who held the door open for me before leaving and shutting it behind her.

My purse, which I had clutched tightly to my chest, suddenly fell to the ground as I faced the CEO of Guvucci Clothing Enterprise.

My breath caught in my throat for what felt like an eternity, and I thought I might collapse, but I couldn't – thanks to my vasovagal tolerance, which made fainting impossible.

It was him, the man from four months ago was him.