Let's Play A Dirty Ass Game, Mr. CEO

Chapter 64: A REFLECTION OF WHO YOU ARE

LAURA

Mondays still remain at the top of my list of dreaded days of the year.

Every time I opened my eyes and it was Monday, I wondered why Sundays were not any longer than the rest of the days, and imminently, I’m reminded of what awaits me. Work. Work. Work.

Don’t get me wrong. I tried to enjoy the experience as much as I prayed and hoped for it.

But on some days, it’s just...hard. Especially after you spent the weekend at the engagement party of the man who fucked you five years ago and ruined your life in the best/worst way possible. You don’t just scramble out of bed like you have all the energy in the world, and go to make some dresses and supervise them being made.

It’s much a slower, harder process.

I really didn’t feel like getting out of bed today. Neither did I have the energy for it.

But I had to force myself because there would be innocent individuals waiting to be interviewed by me today. And they didn’t deserve to pay for someone else’s effect on me, by getting stood up.

Also, I would have to get my kid to school myself today. So many goddamn reasons to be out of this bed by all means.

Groaning, I threw the sheets off and clambered out of my soft bed to the bathroom. As I faced the mirror, another groan slipped past my lips.

I had slept for so long but I didn’t look half as good as the hours I put in. Maybe because I slept dreaming of all the things I wanted to do with Tristan...all the different scenarios our story could have played out of.

My eyes were bleary and lacking their usual sunlight. My hair was the mess that reared its ugly head at the slightest hint of agitation and anxiety and restlessness.

Heaving a deep sigh, I grabbed my toothbrush from the steel cup and committed to my daily bathroom routine.

Afterwards, I stalked over to Lance’s room and roused him from sleep. There was a dried path of drool on his left cheek as he turned into my chest for a hug.

I kissed his forehead. "Morning sweetheart." Then I pulled back and studied his face. "What do you say to that?"

"Good morning, mama."

I smiled and grabbed him up as I stood. "Time to get ready for school, come on."

I ran him a hot shower and scrubbed off the dirt of last night vigorously. Then I got him ready in his school uniform and loafers, and he was good to go.

"What would you like for breakfast?"

"Cereal!"

I winced as a streak of guilt crossed my mind. I mean...I kinda hoped he’d say that, because we were running out of time so I couldn’t make a proper breakfast.

So we went down to the kitchen and I poured him a small bowl of coco flakes. He swung his legs in his excitement as he watched me pour in the milk. Then I added a spoon and pushed it towards him.

"Stain your shirt and you’ll be staying home today," I warned, eyes flashing deliberately, "alone."

He pouted before he picked up his spoon. And I couldn’t help the sad smile that tugged on my lips.

He was too much like his father...too much that it hurt physically and otherwise to look at him, sometimes.

°°°

I was thirty minutes late by the time I finally arrived at the fashion house.

Hurrying inside and glancing at my wristwatch did not seem like the best decision because my heels caught in one of the interlocked floors and I almost lost my balance.

But I did not.

However, there were a handful of staff nearby and they did not fail to throw their sympathies at me.

I cursed under my breath as I nodded at their greetings and sympathies, struggling to balance my purse and some documents in my hand at the same time.

This was just one in a million reasons why I needed a personal assistant. The underlying fact remained that I needed one desperately, by the end of today. That was why I felt even worse about getting here several minutes later than the stamped time.

I mean...I would be screening and drilling through the interviewees, trying to make them understand the high importance of punctuality and time in general.

How was I supposed to do that when I set a bad example already?

The guilt in my chest intensified when I got to my floor and Mara was waiting with a scowl on her face, glancing at her wristwatch every now and then.

"God, Mara." I hurried past her, into my office. "I overslept."

"They’ve been waiting for thirty minutes," she snapped, forcing my gaze to her face in surprise. "Not a lot of time to wait, but what message are we passing across?"

"I know, I know," I shoved my fingers through my hair and picked up the assessment sheet that was already on my desk. "Not the best first impression. I feel bad about it."

Her brows pinched into a frown. "Are you going to apologize?"

"To who?"

She threw her hands up in frustration that further spiraled my surprise. "I don’t know! To the fucking universe maybe." Then she turned and started out of the office. She paused at the door, and without looking at me, she said. "There’s something called work ethics, Laura. And you might not know it, but they are in a way, a reflection of who you are."

I blinked repeatedly as I stared after the closed door. I couldn’t understand what just happened...or why she reacted the way she did.

But that was the least of my worries at the moment.

I arrived at the interview room hall to see there were about thirty-fifty people waiting there.

Fuck me.

All these people came to interview for the position of Phoenix’s personal assistant?

God. It was just really hard being famous, on some days.

Mara was already in the hall, addressing them. And for a moment, I seemed to understand why she was ticked off about my lateness. Maybe because she had been the one in charge of the recruitment process ever since I mentioned I might need a personal assistant.

I cleared my throat and she finally glanced at me. "I’m ready."

The interviewees turned in my direction and a clusterfuck of greeting rented the air.

Managing a polite nod, I turned and walked into the interview room adjacent to the hall. There were bottles of water on the table, and a surprise in one of the interviewees’ swivel seats.

I came to an abrupt halt just inches away from my seat when I saw my mother, sitting there with her legs crossed.

She smiled one of those cold, emotionless smiles, and I tore my gaze away, looking around frantically, in search of who let the gentle-looking-but-rabid-dog into my company...all the way into the interview room.

"You don’t look very happy to see me."

I whirled, glaring at her. "What the fuck are you doing here?"