It was my standard opening line — quick, blunt, effective at sorting out the ones who had no clue why they were sitting in front of me.
But her answer wasn’t standard. Not even close.
She spoke clearly, confidently — about sustainable design, client satisfaction rates, and company growth — quoting facts and figures I hadn’t even expected her to know. The more she spoke, the more my initial irritation morphed into something else entirely.
Interest.
I leaned back in my chair, studying her. “So if you have a degree in architecture, why aren’t you working as a junior architect?”
She didn’t flinch. “I’ve tried,” she said simply, “but everyone wants experience— and you can’t get experience until someone gives you a chance.”
A wry smile tugged at my lips before I caught it. “Ah yes, that old paradox. I remember it well.” I scoffed.
She smiled — not the fake, forced kind I saw in most interviews — but something real. It hit harder than it should have.
“Do you actually have any experience as an assistant?” I asked, trying to steer things back to the point.
“Yes,” she replied, gesturing to the CV beside me. “I worked for the owner of a high-end estate agency all through university. I’m organised, reliable, and good with clients.”
I glanced at her CV — the first one I’d actually looked at all morning. “Well,” I muttered, “I’m not exactly great with… people. That could be useful.”
The words came out awkwardly, like they’d skipped the part of my brain that filtered stupid comments. She tilted her head, and for the briefest moment, her lips curved — amused. The silence between us stretched, charged.
Her eyes lingered on mine, and suddenly the air felt too thick. My throat tightened, my thoughts jammed. I should have said something else,anythingelse, but my mind went blank.
Then she stood abruptly, breaking whatever spell had been creeping in.
“Can you start Monday?” I blurted before I could stop myself.
Her head snapped toward me. “Y–yes. I can start Monday.”
Good. Fine. End this.
“Official start time is nine,” I said briskly. “I’m usually here by eight. Take that as you will.”
It came out sharper than intended, but I needed the distance — the control. She threw me off balance, and I didn’t like it.
As she nodded and hurried out, I sank back into my chair, the weight of my decision settling in my chest.
Hiring her was either the smartest thing I’d done in months — or a monumental mistake.
Three
Matilda
4 Years Later.
Waiting in the lift each morning, watching the numbers slowly climb toward my floor, always fills me with the same sense of dread.Please be in a good mood today.
Henry Chase — my boss for the last four years — is the thorn in my side, the pain in my neck, and the dark cloud over every Monday morning. On the rare occasion he’s in a good mood, I might get agood morning, but it’s rare enough to count as a national holiday.
So here I stand, clutching my soy latte and his americano — our usual — praying that today will be a good day.
I’ve worked at Chase Architects for four years now, and for all four of those, I’ve been Henry Chase’s assistant.Henry Chase,CEO and founder of one of the biggest architectural firms in London.
I’m sure he isn’tallbad. I mean, he must smile occasionally, right?
Who am I kidding? The man’s the devil in a tailored suit.
