No Second Chances Ex-husband (Lauren and Ethan) novel Chapter 71

71 /200

LAUREN'S POV

“Now tell me, do you have any questions?” he asked, rolling a silver pen over his knuckles with an ease that spoke of long practice.

About his business life? No. About what happened yesterday? Yes. But I couldn’t ask that now. Not here, not with the sharp fluorescent lights humming above me and his calculating eyes fixed on my face. I just shook my head lightly and pressed my lips together. Best to keep my mouth shut.

“Does that mean I’m hired? If so, when do I start work?” I asked finally, trying to keep my tone neutral, almost casual

“Tomorrow,” he said, setting the pen down with a quiet click. “You can use today to get yourself prepared — iron your clothes properly and take care of your hair a little better than this.” His gaze lingered on my hair for a fraction too long, and his voice, though calm, felt like a slap.

My breath caught. I closed my eyes for half a second, not wanting to show the heat that was rushing up my cheeks in embarrassment. My fingers twitched as if they wanted to run through my hair defensively, but I kept them still in my lap. I had thought, prayed that no one would notice how disheveled I looked, how rushed I had been this morning. But clearly, I had been wrong.

Shame pooled in my stomach. A part of me wanted to snap back at him, to remind him that if he hadn’t insisted last night if he hadn’t pressed that glass into my hand with that look that dared me to refuse I would have been able to go home early, get a decent night’s sleep, wake up refreshed, iron my clothes, and tame my hair into something respectable. But what good would it do to lash out at my new boss? He held the position of power here, not me. So, I bit my tongue until I could almost taste blood and forced the urge down.

He slid my resume across the desk toward me, the paper whispering against the table. I picked it up carefully, forcing a polite, professional smile onto my face. It felt brittle, fake, and heavy on my lips. I rose from the chair, gave a small nod of thanks, and turned toward the door. Every step felt deliberate, like I was walking on stage and had to make sure I didn’t stumble.

The manager was standing just outside the door, waiting like a sentinel. Her eyes flicked over me, and I had the horrible, sinking feeling that she had heard everything. Every word. Thankfully, at least, we hadn’t said the things we weren’t supposed to say — the things no one else should ever hear. That would have been disastrous.

As I walked out, I noticed a label on the door, the bold letters spelling out Manager. My brow furrowed in confusion, and I slowed down, pointing toward it.

“Why didn’t we just use his office?” I asked, arching an eyebrow as I glanced at her.

“For something this unimportant?” she said with a soft scoff, already moving toward the door. “He’s not going to agree.” She slipped inside quickly and closed it behind her, leaving me standing in the hallway alone.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. My chest rose and fell heavily, my heartbeat loud in my ears. Slowly, I rolled my eyes, half in frustration and half in disbelief. A bad feeling settled into my gut like a stone dropped into water, rippling outward. Somehow, I just knew I was going to hate working in this place.

A bitter laugh escaped me under my breath. To think, just a few days ago, I would have done anything to get this position. I had been desperate, determined, clinging to hope like a lifeline. And now, standing here with humiliation still burning hot in my chest, part of me already regretted applying at all.