“As we discussed,” he said smoothly, adjusting his cufflinks, “you’ll just need to read your prepared remarks to our audience of board members, shareholders, and executives. We’ll decide whether you move on to the final interview stage by the end of the week.”
“Understood, sir. Thank you.”
He stepped aside, already moving on to his next obligation, and I logged into my cloud one last time to confirm my speech was queued up and ready.
This was the eighth interview with them, and since I didn’t have any other true prospects, I didn’t have a choice.
They’d put me through endless stages and follow-up sessions, and I was exhausted. I was starting to miss the simplicity of being a barista, when my biggest concern had been oat milk shortages instead of executive politics.
“Candidate number seven for the CFO position…” Mr. Sharp announced over the speakers. “Miss Andrea Stone!”
Applause rolled through the theater as I walked out, heels echoing against the polished stage floor. I stepped up to the lectern, adjusted the microphone, and glanced down at my tablet.
“Good afternoon.” I read the screen. “When we met before, I told you that I’ve always loved numbers and that it would be a pleasure to serve as your CFO—But quite frankly, you don’t deserve me or my time.”
A sharp gasp rippled through the audience—loud enough that I heard it over my own voice.
What the…
My stomach dropped.
I stared at the screen, heart pounding, pulse roaring in my ears. I blinked, refusing to believe I’d said those words, that I’d ever written them.
Heat crawled up my neck and my palms went slick against the tablet.
I could feel every pair of eyes drilling into me, waiting for me to crumble.
A message flashed across the screen.
Unknown Number
Keep reading the speech. The entire speech…
I looked up at the crowd. People were murmuring now, shifting in their seats, shaking their heads. There was no saving this—and suddenly, I didn’t want to.
“I scored a perfect score on the CPA exam,” I continued, my voice steadier than I felt. “I worked for months under multi-billionaire Harrison Cross—a man who is far more successful than any of you will ever be.”
The room went dead silent.
“But since that wasn’t enough to hire me outright—since you decided to parade me through a circus process led by people who are nowhere near as qualified…”
My vision blurred.
“This is your loss,” I said, blinking hard. “And you will regret it forever.”
I scrolled to the final line.
“Oh—and I would say ‘thank you,’ but my former boss taught me never to thank anyone for wasting my time.”
The silence that followed was so complete I could hear my own breathing.
I lowered the tablet, picked up my phone, and turned to walk offstage—when clapping echoed from the very back of the theater. Slow and deliberate, it cut through the hush, drawing every head in the room as whispers spread and people turned to see who would dare applaud.
I squinted into the dim light and felt my breath catch.
Harrison.
Dressed in the same perfect charcoal suit he’d worn the first day we met, he stood alone, smiling at me, making my heart beat a rhythm that was just for him.
