Fiona paused just outside the Obsidian Spire lobby, taking one last deep breath of the salty bay air before stepping inside.
She smoothed her charcoal pencil skirt, checked that her cream blouse was still tucked neatly, and buttoned the blazer one more time. Nothing flashy just clean, sharp, professional. The kind of look that said "I'm here to work, not play."
Her stomach gave a familiar little roll (morning sickness was becoming annoyingly reliable), but she ignored it. Ginger candy already down, water bottle in her bag, portfolio gripped tight. Seven weeks pregnant and nobody needed to know. Today was about landing the job, not the life growing inside her.
The lobby swallowed her in cool marble and soft golden light. The receptionist glanced up with a quick, practiced smile.
"Ms. Flare? Elevator to 42. They're expecting you."
Fiona nodded thanks and headed straight for the lifts. No lingering. No second-guessing. She'd spent the last few days prepping answers, reviewing her Glowara campaigns, practicing her elevator pitch in the mirror until it felt natural. This was her shot. She wasn't wasting it.
The ride up was quiet except for the soft hum of the elevator. She caught her reflection hazel eyes steady, hair in a low neat knot, lips set in a calm line. She looked like someone who belonged in a room full of executives. She felt like it too, mostly.
Doors opened onto the executive floor: hushed luxury, dark wood panels, huge windows showing the glittering bay and the sharp outline of the Elyrian Peaks. An assistant met her immediately.
"Conference room 3, right this way."
Fiona followed, heels clicking softly, portfolio held like a shield.
The room was sleek and intimidating in the best way: long black table, leather chairs, screens cycling Voss Éclat's latest campaigns. Two people waited.
The woman stood first forties, crisp blazer, warm but no-nonsense eyes. "Carla , Head of Talent. Thanks for coming in, Fiona."
Next to her, silver-haired man in navy, relaxed posture, easy half-smile. VP of Strategy. Your portfolio grabbed our attention."
No one else. No surprise third interviewer. Just the two of them.
Fiona shook hands firmly, sat, and jumped straight in.
Carla started with the easy ones: walk us through your Glowara work, why Voss Éclat, what excites you about luxury beauty right now. Fiona answered clearly, confidently talked about the campaigns she'd led, the metrics she'd moved, how she saw the market shifting toward real inclusivity instead of filtered perfection. She leaned in when she got passionate, gestured with her hands, kept her voice steady even when Victor threw a curveball about budget constraints on digital-first launches.
She felt good. Focused. Every answer landed where she wanted it to.
Halfway through Victor asked the one she'd practiced most: "If you started tomorrow, what's the first thing you'd want to change or rebuild?"
Fiona didn't hesitate. "The gatekeeping. Beauty still feels like it's only for people who already look the part. I'd push Voss Éclat to be the brand that says glow belongs to everyone no exclusions, no impossible standards. Make it accessible luxury without losing the premium feel."
Carla's smile grew. "That's the kind of thinking we need more of around here."
They wrapped up twenty minutes later. More handshakes. "We'll be in touch very soon don't be surprised if it's quick."
Fiona walked out feeling steady. Chest open. Like she'd actually put her best self on the table and it fit. She stepped into the elevator, exhaled, and let a small, real smile break through.
She had no idea that, just around the corner in a small observation alcove hidden behind frosted glass, a man had watched every second of the interview on the internal live feed.
Martin Mole.
Arms crossed. Jaw tight. Eyes locked on the screen.
He'd recognised her the instant her application photo loaded those hazel eyes, that determined tilt to her chin, the exact way she tucked a loose strand behind her ear. The woman who'd set his sheets on fire at Eclipse Lounge and then vanished before dawn.
He hadn't told Carla a thing. Just quietly asked to be kept out of round one and to get a live link when she arrived.
Now he had confirmation.
Fiona Flare.
The woman who'd left him hard and restless for days.
The woman whose perfume still lingered in his memory every time he closed his eyes.
He watched her disappear into the elevator blazer swaying, head high, completely unaware that the CEO she'd just interviewed for had been studying her the entire time.
She had no clue who was watching.
No clue the man she'd left sleeping in that velvet suite was about to become her boss.
No clue the game had shifted the second she walked through the doors.....