One Door Closes, Another Opens

Elara POV

I scrambled away from my cramped computer desk, my mind racing a thousand miles a minute. An interview. An actual, formal corporate interview. I never in a million years expected to get this far. I sprinted to my tiny bathroom and took the fastest shower of my life, desperately scrubbing my skin to wash off any lingering dog hairs and the scent of the morning park. Having submitted my application to this prestigious, dog-focused advertising firm over three months ago, I had long assumed it was a lost cause, especially given my utter lack of a college degree. Yet, here was my golden ticket. This was a chance at the stability, the health benefits, and the disposable income I desperately needed to finally afford a nice apartment and adopt a dog of my very own.

Determined to make a lasting impression, I tore through my sparse closet. I threw on my best, brightest red business suit. It was a bold choice, paired with a long, professional-length skirt, but I needed to project confidence. I rushed out of my apartment, practically flying down the concrete stairs to catch the next train. Time was incredibly tight, so I hastily applied my makeup on the rattling subway car. I gripped a tube of mascara in one hand and a compact mirror in the other, ignoring the rhythmic swaying of the carriage and the strange, judgmental looks from the morning commuters. I swallowed my nerves, marching with false confidence out of the station and into the imposing, glass-and-steel company building.

The moment I stepped into the sleek, modern lobby, the atmosphere shifted. It was immediate and jarring. I felt dozens of eyes lock onto me. It wasn't just a passing glance from a few idle workers. Employees paused in their tracks, their conversations dying out instantly. They openly stared, their gazes tracking me with an intensity that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I tugged at my collar, suddenly hyper-aware of my breathing. Was the red suit a massive mistake? Did I look completely out of place?

Trying my hardest to ignore the heavy scrutiny, I forced my legs to keep moving until I approached the minimalist reception desk. A man and a woman stood behind the polished counter. Neither offered a greeting. Instead, they analyzed me with deep, unnerving suspicion.

"Hi, I'm here for an interview," I said, offering a strained smile.

The woman looked down at her computer screen, her brow furrowing. The man leaned over, exchanging a hushed, indecipherable look with her before turning his attention back to me.

"You're human?" the man asked bluntly, his nose twitching slightly as he took a short, sharp inhale.

I let out a loud, awkward laugh, assuming it was some bizarre corporate icebreaker or a weird inside joke tailored to a pet company. "Uh, I mean, what else would I be?"

Neither of them laughed. They just stared at me for another charged, deeply uncomfortable second.

Eventually, an unenthusiastic receptionist was summoned from a back room to lead me through the sprawling complex. As we walked the long, winding corridors, I continued to draw intense, inexplicable attention from everyone we passed. People stopped talking the moment I entered their vicinity. Office doors cracked open, and heads turned, their gazes tracking my every move like hawks watching prey. I caught my reflection in the polished glass walls, searching for a flaw, but found none. The sheer weight of their stares made me want to shrink into the floor.

Once we finally reached the interview room, the receptionist gestured toward the door and walked away. I twisted the handle and stepped inside. A bespectacled interviewer sat behind a sleek desk. He stood up, shaking my hand with a shockingly limp grip, and immediately asked the exact same baffling question.

"Human?"

I froze, my smile faltering. "Yes, of course," I answered, projecting an eager, confused confirmation.

My answer only seemed to leave him visibly disappointed. His shoulders sagged, and the disdain behind his glasses became painfully obvious, as if I had failed the very first test before the interview even began.

Taking a seat across the polished table, I tried to hand over my portfolio. He completely ignored it. He glued his eyes to his computer screen, typing away without sparing me a single glance. He blatantly dismissed my attempts to express my lifelong passion for dogs. I swallowed my pride and kept talking, determined to pitch my extensive freelance writing experience. I spoke for five straight minutes. I talked about my years volunteering at local dog shelters, my creative writing gigs for pet blogs, and how I understood their core demographic on a personal level. I poured my heart out to the back of his monitor.

"Look," he interrupted abruptly.

I snapped my mouth shut.

He finally looked up, his expression painted with utter boredom. "I’ll be honest with you, I don’t think your experience is going to be relevant here. Your education is also lackluster. I don’t really think you have the requirements to join our company in any capacity."

His words struck me like a physical blow. Shock hit first, cold and paralyzing, before a wave of hot rage flared in my chest. My hands gripped the edges of the desk.

"Why call me in if I didn’t meet the requirements?" I demanded, my carefully constructed professional facade cracking. "You had all that information on my resume already!"

"Our system glitches sometimes," he replied smoothly, without an ounce of remorse or empathy in his tone. "It was probably a mistake that your resume was accepted. One of my subordinates must have made some kind of clerical error."

"My job application was submitted three months ago," I argued, my voice trembling slightly. "Why accept a months-old application if you aren't even interested?"

"Look, we're very sorry, but you just don't meet our requirements." He looked back at his screen, dismissing me entirely.

Angry, hot tears of frustration pricked the corners of my eyes. I had rushed here, practically hyperventilating on the subway, dreaming of a better life. I had gotten my hopes up for absolutely nothing. I opened my mouth, ready to unleash a torrent of protest.

But before I could utter another word, the heavy oak door slammed open, hitting the wall with a loud, violent crack.

I jolted in my seat, spinning around.

Draken stood at the threshold, looking like a furious god in a tailored black suit. The dark fabric hugged his broad shoulders and emphasized his towering height, a stark contrast to his casual park attire. Zev was right on his heels.

The massive dog immediately bounded into the room, his nails clicking against the hardwood floor. He circled my chair, his tail wagging frantically, and happily nudged my trembling hand with his wet nose, whining for attention. Instinct took over, and my fingers curled into his thick fur.

Draken stepped fully into the room, the temperature dropping instantly.

"I called her in," Draken stated, his voice a low, dangerous rumble as his cold glare fixed on the interviewer. "Do you think that was my mistake?"

The interviewer instantly paled, all the color draining from his face in a split second. He scrambled backward, his chair squeaking loudly against the floor as he leaped out of his seat. He stood at rigid attention, shaking.

"Oh! Um, of course not, Alp— Sir Valkar."

Shock rooted me to my seat as the puzzle pieces rapidly connected in my brain.

The lavish building. The pet company. The sheer authority radiating from him in that expensive suit. The way the interviewer cowered in sheer terror.

Draken was his boss. The CEO.

My mind spun out of control. He had personally orchestrated this entire interview right after our conversation in the park this morning. Did he actually want to hire me, even though he had explicitly told me he didn't want someone 'frivolous' taking care of his dog? Why go through all this trouble to bring me into his corporate headquarters?

And more importantly, a horrifying realization hit me like a runaway freight train.

The bar. The drunken haze. The broad chest I had grabbed. The lips I had smashed mine against.

Did that mean I had accidentally French-kissed the billionaire CEO of a multimillion-dollar company? The very same CEO who now held my career prospects in the palm of his hand?

A cold sweat broke out across my forehead. My stomach dropped through the floor as I stared up at Draken’s imposing figure, my cheeks burning with the memory of the taste of his mouth.

I couldn’t help but inwardly scream.