Appoint Her

The brisk morning air did absolutely nothing to settle the raw, twisting nerves in Clara’s stomach as she meticulously smoothed down her faded pencil skirt. Leaving the tiny apartment behind, she focused solely on the high-stakes interview ahead. She had woken up extra early to make a stack of fresh pancakes for Arthur, quietly leaving them on the tiny kitchen counter. Her mind raced with a singular, desperate thought: *I have to get this job. It isn't just about me anymore; I have Arthur to provide for now.* She popped a piece of mint chewing gum into her mouth, chewing rhythmically to stave off the hollow ache of skipping breakfast yet again.

Pushing through the towering glass doors of the prestigious Kensington Company, Clara’s bubbling excitement violently waned. She took a seat in the opulent, marble-floored waiting area and immediately felt entirely out of place. The surrounding candidates were intimidatingly glamorous. They were draped in high fashion, sporting designer handbags and flawless blowouts. Worse still, none of them seemed to care about the intricate details of the actual furniture provider position. Instead, they were entirely preoccupied with hushed, giggling gossip.

"I swear, if I get this job, I’m making a move," a blonde woman across from Clara whispered loudly. "Have you seen the CEO? I heard he’s single and smoking hot."

"Oh, completely," her friend chimed in, applying a fresh coat of glossy lipstick. "Whoever gets picked is going to be incredibly lucky. Who wouldn't want a daily treat for their eyes?"

Clara tuned them out, staring down at her worn sensible heels. They were discussing the company like it was a dating service, completely ignoring the fact that the role demanded a skilled female candidate to source custom wood furniture for the company's upcoming coffee shop expansion. Clara had been designing and building furniture alongside her late father since she was a child. She had a reliable network of trustworthy carpenters ready to materialize her precise designs. She was perfect for this.

But her mounting dismay instantly morphed into a sickening, physical dread when the empty chair directly beside her was suddenly claimed.

"You aren't going to get the job, sweetie, you know that right? They offer way too many premium benefits here for someone like you."

Clara’s blood ran cold. She slowly raised her head. Sitting right next to her, wearing a sickeningly evil, triumphant grin, was none other than Brianna.

Clara’s throat tightened, her mind blanking at the sheer audacity. *What the hell is she doing here?*

"What are you doing here, Brianna?" Clara demanded, unable to mask the hostility in her voice.

Brianna leaned in, invading Clara's personal space. The cloying scent of her expensive perfume was suffocating. "I'm here for the job, obviously," Brianna gloated in a venomous whisper. "And do you want to know why? Derek and I are officially getting married within the month."

An agonizing, invisible blade sliced directly through Clara’s chest. The sheer cruelty of the statement threatened to tear her apart right there in the lobby, but Clara violently forced a mask of total, unbreakable indifference. She refused to give her step-sister the satisfaction of seeing her bleed.

"Good luck with that, Brianna," Clara shot back, her tone dripping with biting sarcasm. She gave a careless shrug. "Honestly, I'm just thrilled to see that the girl who never once cleaned up her own mess is finally attempting to do an honest day's work."

Unfazed by the insult, Brianna arrogantly checked her reflection in her phone screen. "Keep talking, Clara. But guess what? This interview is a total joke. I’m already hired. The assistant manager running this furniture project happens to be a very close, personal friend of Derek’s. He gave us his absolute word. This position is strictly mine."

Clara’s spine stiffened, though her heart plummeted into her stomach. She remained firmly planted in her seat, stubbornly clinging to the fractured hope that actual talent might still outshine blatant nepotism.

Brianna let out a cruel, condescending laugh. "Don't look so down, Clara. Once I'm in charge, I’m totally willing to hire you as one of the lowly carpenters on my team. You need the charity."

Refusing to break under the immense weight of the humiliation, Clara met Brianna's arrogant gaze head-on. "Oh, I will gladly accept that imaginary carpenter role," Clara retorted fiercely. "Because without my actual expertise backing you up, you would undoubtedly get fired on your very first day."

Brianna merely rolled her eyes, pulling out a compact mirror to fix her makeup.

Despite Clara’s fiery defiance, the universe was fully prepared to deliver a crushing blow. The heavy double doors at the end of the hall finally swung open. A smartly dressed female recruiter emerged, clutching a clipboard. She offered a tight, professional smile and casually dismissed the entire room of waiting girls.

"Thank you all for your patience," the recruiter announced clearly. "You may all head home now. We have officially appointed the most deserving candidate for the position." She flipped a page on her clipboard and looked directly at the seating area. "Miss Brianna Whitmore?"

"Yes! That's me!" Brianna stood up excitedly, shooting Clara one final, gloating sneer.

"Please, come right this way," the recruiter instructed.

Brianna proudly strutted down the hallway, leaving Clara devastated in her wake. The surrounding girls groaned in disappointment, muttering bitter complaints about losing their golden ticket to meet the handsome CEO as they gathered their designer bags. Clara sat frozen, the bitter taste of utter defeat heavy on her tongue.

Meanwhile, miles above the bustling lobby in a sprawling, soundproof executive suite, the atmosphere was entirely different.

Secretary Colin stood respectfully before the massive mahogany desk, sliding a thick, highly detailed manila folder across the polished surface. "This file contains absolutely everything on Clara Whitmore, Mr. Kensington," Colin stated professionally. "I can provide the executive summary."

Vance Kensington leaned back in his leather chair, flipping through the dense pages of background checks and financial records. "Go ahead."

"She is merely twenty-two years old," Colin began, his tone meticulously even. "After her father’s passing, she lived with her stepmother and step-sister. She was recently engaged to her childhood sweetheart, but the reality is utterly tragic. He completely betrayed her. Clara discovered him in a highly indecent, compromising position with her own step-sister."

Vance’s jaw clenched as he stared at a printed photograph of Clara.

"It goes much deeper than just infidelity, sir," Colin continued gravely. "Derek and the step-sister orchestrated a systematic financial ruin. They maliciously stole all her life savings—money they had jointly saved for the wedding, which Derek entirely controlled in his personal bank account. Clara had also leased a premium apartment in Crest Horizon, but trusting him, she placed the sole ownership in his name. He illegally seized the property and refuses to return a single dime."

Vance’s grip on the file tightened, his knuckles turning stark white.

"Furthermore, Ms. Whitmore used to design custom furniture. She built a thriving wood furniture showroom. That business was entirely built on her original, brilliant designs. Derek seized that, too. She is utterly broke. She doesn't even have the funds to purchase a single plank of wood to start over. Derek completely blocked her from taking her clothes or personal belongings when she was thrown out of the apartment."

The horrific realization hit Vance like a violent, physical punch to the gut. The confusing puzzle pieces violently snapped together. It painfully explained exactly why his new wife was wearing the exact same faded pencil skirt to her interview today that she had worn yesterday at the diner. A dark, terrifying, and utterly uncharacteristic urge to murder Derek and the step-sister with his bare hands surged hot and heavy through the billionaire's veins. He wanted to rip them apart.

Sensing the dangerous drop in the room's temperature, Colin nervously cleared his throat, pivoting to a rather bizarre detail at the back of the report. "There is one more thing that might interest you, sir. We pulled her recent internet search history."

Vance raised his head from the depressing financial statements, his icy blue eyes narrowing. "And?"

"She searched: 'how to murder someone without leaving any proof'," Colin read aloud, glancing nervously at his boss. "Followed shortly by: 'How to kill someone without being suspected'."

A dark, rumbling chuckle threatened to escape Vance's chest at the sheer absurdity of his tiny, fierce wife plotting an undetectable assassination. But then Colin read the final entry.

"And the last one, sir... 'Does chewing gum suppress your hunger?'"

The mention of the chewing gum instantly sobered Vance. The dark amusement vanished, rapidly replaced by a profound, aching gravity. The image of her constantly popping gum into her mouth flashed in his mind. She wasn't just nervous; she was employing desperate survival tactics to combat literal starvation.

"Are we completely finished with the hiring process for the new furniture supplier on the coffee shop project?" Vance asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

"Yes, sir. We are," Colin replied, shifting uncomfortably. "But there is a significant issue regarding that. Our assistant manager happens to be personal friends with Derek. He entirely bypassed standard protocol to directly hire Derek’s fiancé, Brianna, for the position."

Vance's eyes hardened into chips of absolute blue ice. Blatant, corrupt nepotism occurring floors below him—stealing a job from Clara once again. He wasn't going to stand for it.

"Colin," Vance barked, making a swift, uncompromising decision that would alter the entire corporate structure of his current projects. "Have you already placed the advertisements for the State-level Head Manager position of our upcoming, highly funded women empowerment program?"

"No, sir. The ads are scheduled to be published tomorrow morning."

"Halt them immediately."

Colin blinked, profoundly shocked by the abrupt command. "Sir?"

"I said halt the advertisements, Colin," Vance commanded, his tone leaving absolutely no room for debate. "Draft a premium executive appointment letter for Clara Whitmore. Name her the new Head Manager. I want it finalized and dispatched to her mailing address by tomorrow morning."

Colin scrambled to write down the abrupt confirmation. "Consider it done immediately, Mr. Kensington."

As Colin rushed from the soundproof suite to execute the order, Vance’s heavy gaze drifted across the room to the ticking silver wall clock. The protective instincts he didn't even know he possessed flared to blazing life in his chest. He calculated the time since her interview ended. The harsh reality of her starvation and absolute despair gnawed at his conscience. She had nothing. She had no one.

Clara should have reached the apartment by now. The burning, undeniable question consumed his mind as he stared at the sweeping second hand.

Where is she?