The Interview in Heels Too Tight

Chapter 3: The Interview in Heels Too Tight—Alina’s first real step into a world that’s nothing like the one she’s used to. She's about to walk into a place that gleams with glass and steel, hiding a man as cold as winter behind those luxury walls. And she’s not ready… but she's willing. Let's go!

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Chapter 3: The Interview in Heels Too Tight

The receptionist looked like she’d been carved out of marble and dipped in perfection. Her bun was tight, her nails manicured, and her smile didn’t even think about reaching her eyes.

Alina, on the other hand, was wearing borrowed heels from the shelter’s donation box—half a size too small—and a navy blouse with a stubborn wrinkle that no amount of patting could flatten. Her hands were clammy. Her heart was a jackhammer.

“I’m here for the entry-level position,” she said softly.

The receptionist gave her a once-over that probably counted as emotional assault. “Have a seat. Someone will be with you shortly.”

Alina nodded and walked to the waiting area, her steps painfully awkward as her toes screamed in protest. She sat stiffly, clutching her resumé like it was a lifeline. Her eyes drifted to the modern artwork on the wall, the way everything gleamed and sparkled—so far from her world of dim lights and broken tiles.

Ten minutes passed.

Then twenty.

Then—

“Miss Rivera?”

She jolted up. “Yes?”

“Mr. Vale will see you now.”

Wait. Mr. Vale? The CEO?

She followed the assistant down a long hallway, her nerves unraveling with every step. And then the door opened, and she walked into an office the size of her old apartment.

He sat behind a sleek black desk, sleeves rolled up, hands steepled beneath a jawline that could cut glass. Dark hair. Piercing gray eyes. And an aura that said don't waste my time.

Damien Vale looked up from his laptop and locked eyes with her.

“Miss Rivera,” he said, his voice smooth, low, and devoid of warmth. “You're either very brave… or very lost.”

Alina swallowed the lump in her throat, straightened her shoulders, and met his gaze with quiet fire.

“Maybe both, sir. But I’m here to work.”

And for a moment—just a flicker—his expression shifted. Curiosity. Amusement. Maybe… interest?

But just as quickly, the glacier returned.

“Sit,” he said.

She did. And somewhere deep inside, the smallest part of her smiled.

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Damien scanned her resumé with the same expression he’d probably use to evaluate quarterly losses—disappointed, detached, mildly annoyed.

“You’ve worked at a diner, a convenience store, and… a laundromat.”

Alina nodded, fingers clenched around the fabric of her skirt under the table. “Yes, sir.”

He looked up slowly. “No formal business training. No degree. No connections.”

Another nod. “Also correct.”

He leaned back, eyes narrowing. “Then why are you here?”

Her heart pounded, but she didn’t look away. “Because I learn fast. I work harder than anyone else. And I don’t give up, even when I have every reason to.”

Damien stared at her for a long moment, as if weighing her soul.

“Miss Rivera,” he said slowly, “this company is fast-paced, high-pressure, and merciless. We don’t have time to hand-hold people who are still figuring out which end of the stapler to use.”

Alina blinked. Then—innocent as sunshine—she asked, “You ever been burned by someone with nothing to lose, Mr. Vale?”

That got his attention. His jaw flexed.

“Excuse me?” he said, voice like velvet stretched thin over steel.

Alina smiled sweetly, softly. But her eyes didn’t back down. “You asked why I’m here. I think I’m here to prove people like me don’t break… we bend. And I have a feeling you don’t hire soft people, do you?”

Damien didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his eyes locked on hers like he was trying to decode a language he’d never bothered to learn.

“Tell me something,” he said finally, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “When everything falls apart again—and it will—what’s going to keep you from running?”

Alina met his gaze dead-on. “I’ve already run. This time… I stay and fight.”

The tension between them sharpened—thin as a wire, humming with unspoken something.

Then, without breaking eye contact, Damien tapped a button on his desk.

“HR?” he said. “Send Miss Rivera the onboarding paperwork.”

Her eyes widened just a little. “I… I got the job?”

A slow smirk ghosted across his lips, dangerous and delicious.

“Welcome to hell, Miss Rivera.”

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