Page 14 of Second Chance with the Enemy CEO
“Finally,” I mutter, leaning back on the couch. Some peace and quiet at last. But the thought of her invaded my mind thanks to a stupid person who played the damn song.
Chapter five
Hazel
Standing outside NextPhase Performance Technology, I cannot help but admire the building. I am not one to get impressed easily by buildings, but even I have to admit, it’s got presence. Sleek, modern, and screaming money. The glass panels stretch skyward, reflecting the golden hues of the morning sun. The place looks more like a futuristic palace than an office on Autumn Cove’s outskirts.
For a moment, I wonder if I should have dressed up more…, appropriately. You know, a pencil skirt and an office-worthy shirt, which I have seen from the ladies moving up and down so far, is the appropriate dress. Instead, I am dressed in a fitted black blazer over a sky-blue shirt paired with tight black skinny jeans, and black ankle boots. Oh well, to each their own style. My blazer adds just the right touch of corporate, and frankly, I look good.
Unapologetically…, me.
It is time to get this over with. Squaring my shoulders, I tug the lapels of my blazer into place and take a deep breath.
“Confidence is key. Hazel, you are who you portray yourself to be. You have faced worse and come out shining. Today’s just another step. Own the room, own the moment, and let them seeyou. Let’s do this,” I mutter my self-motivating mantra that Edna made me repeat in the mirror every day she was alive.
Sliding through the sleek glass door is like entering another world. As expected, the lobby is a picture of elegance, holograms here and there, and a front desk that looks more like an art installation than a place where people work.
I cannot wait to meet the CEO in charge of this amazing building.
I make my way to the receptionist, who has a painfully tight bun and the fakest, brightest, well-rehearsed smile I have ever seen.
“Good morning, how can I help you?”
“Hi, I’m Hazel McKee,” I say, matching her smile with one of my own. “I’m here for the photography brief for the campaign meeting.”
She types something into her keyboard, her nails clicking softly. “Ah yes, you are on the list. Please head to the waiting lounge on the third floor.” She gestures toward a set of elevators gleaming in the corner.
“Thanks,” I say, offering a polite smile before heading off.
The hallway of the third floor is lined with motivational posters about innovation and teamwork, their glossy designs making me roll my eyes internally. I find the door marked ‘Waiting Lounge’, stepping inside to find three other people seated.
Two females and one male.
I do not know if it is a thing among us ladies or if there is a hidden rule somewhere that I have not found yet, but we all silently assess each other. From head to toe, front to back, everything. The scrutiny stretches into an awkward five minutesof standoffish glances and polite smiles, and just when I am wondering if this is some sort of silent competition, the guy sighs, running a hand through his dark, slightly messy hair.
“All right, ladies,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Enough with the Mean Girls audition. Sit down, take a breath, and let’s act like professionals. Take a seat, will you?”
My brow arches instinctively at the intrusion, but his tone has a mix of humor, impatience, and the ever-classic arrogance a guy like him would have. I shrug internally and settle into a nearby chair without a word.
“That’s better,” he mutters before turning his attention to his phone as if the whole encounter were not in the least bit awkward.
Before I can even decide what to make of him, one of the women, a blonde with a friendly smile and effortlessly perfect curls, chuckles. “You’ll have to excuse Grumpy over there,” she says, jerking a thumb in his direction, “he has zero social skills before lunch.”
He does not even look up; he just gives a low grunt in acknowledgment, and I cannot help but smirk.
The blonde leans toward me. “I am Brooke, by the way. Love the outfit - especially the blazer. It has that effortlessly stylish vibe.”
“Thanks,” I replied, smoothing the lapel instinctively. “I was not sure if the ripped jeans screamed ‘professional’ or ‘corporate enough,’ though.”
“It’s perfect,” she reassures me, her tone warm. “Corporate’s overrated anyway.”
The other woman, a petite brunette with a sharp bob and thick glasses, nods in agreement. “Totally. You look amazing. I am Lydia, by the way. Brooke and I work at Aperture Collective.”
“Aperture Collective,” I echo, genuinely impressed. “I have seen your work - it is fantastic. You guys at Aperture are doing some really cool stuff.”
Lydia beams. “Thanks! We have been grinding, but it’s worth it. You are Hazel McKee with FocusLens Studios, right?”
I nod, a little surprised. “I am. How’d you know?”
