Page 12 of The Toy Collector

I blink again, stunned. “This was an active listing. I was told—”

Her chair scrapes back. “Let me save you some time, Ms. Harrington. We’ve already narrowed our pool to candidates with… worthy referrals.”

My stomach drops. “But I… wait, what do you meanworthy?Minecame from a Georgetown alumnus. Doesn’t that qualify?” I ask, my tone is no longer sugary sweet or even polite. I’m not matching her disinterest, far from it, but there’s no masking the shock I’m feeling.

“Yes, well. Circumstances change,” she says, her tone final.

I don’t know what that means, not really. But it feels like a slap. I sit there, spine rigid, pretending this isn’t humiliating. Pretending I didn’t feel the shift in energy the second she looked up and saw me.

She stands. I don’t even remember finishing my sentence. “Thank you for coming in.”

That’s it; no feedback, no handshake, and still no fucking eye contact.

By the time I step back out into the sun, I can barely breathe. Christ, this wasn’t a bad interview, it was… fuck I don’t even know. It was humiliating, and it felt like a setup. Like a hazing or cruel prank. Those people didn’t want me there. They’d made up their mind before I ever walked through the door.

I don’t even remember walking down the block, but somehow I make it to the corner and order another rideshare via the app. I should’ve waited and gathered myself before stepping into another confined space with a stranger, but my pride’s already dangling by a thread and I can’t stomach the idea of lingering outside that building any longer.

The car pulls up, and I climb in without a word.

This time it smells like stale coffee. The driver says something polite, but I don’t catch it. I just nod, fix my eyes on the window, and pull out my phone to text Lena as promised.

Me: Interview was a total joke. Tell you later.

Her reply comes almost instantly.

Lee: WHAT?! Are you okay? Do I need to kill someone?

A dry laugh escapes me, small and humorless. I don’t answer. If I say anything else, I’ll cry, and I refuse to break down in the back of this car.

When we reach campus, the driver tells me to have a good day. I’m just about to give him a mechanical and polite reply when I catch myself. No, after what I’ve just been through I won’t treat someone else in such a brushoff-ish way.

“Thank you so much for the drive,” I say, forcing a smile. “Have a great day.” Then I step out into the sunlight and force myself to breathe.

Georgetown’s campus is busy, but not overwhelming. Still, I feel adrift. Like the rhythm of everything around me has moved on while I’m stuck playing a different beat. A slower, heavier one.

Just as I reach the front steps of the Political Strategy wing, a familiar voice cuts through the fog.

“Piper!”

I turn. Mrs. Ellis is striding toward me, her heels clicking with the kind of purpose that usually means someone’s about to be chewed out.

“There you are,” she almost snaps. “I’m so glad I ran into you.” She doesn’t sound glad at all.

My stomach sinks. “Did something happen?”

She sighs, adjusting a strand of hair that’s escaped her updo. “I just got off a call from Lauren Chase.”

The name lands like a slap.

“She said you were rude and unprofessional. While Lauren didn’t outright say that you wasted their time, she hinted at it,” Mrs. Ellis adds, voice tightening. “She even used the word entitled.”

My mouth opens—but nothing comes out. Then I blink, trying to catch up. “Wait… what? That’s not true at all,” I almost growl. “Not only was I early and prepared, I looked at her and smiled. Which is more than I can say for how she treated me. She acted like I was a bother from the moment we met.”

Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have said all that as it most definitely doesn’t sound professional. But seriously, fuck Lauren Chase and whatever crawled up her ass just before my interview.

“I’m not accusing you of anything, Piper. I’m just telling you what was said.” Mrs. Ellis’ tone softens, but only slightly. “It’s your word against theirs. And unfortunately, they’re the ones with the influence.”

Heat prickles beneath my skin. Shame. Embarrassment. Rage.

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