Chapter 3 - The Interview
The phone rang twice before a deep, calm voice answered. “Cole.”
“Hi, Ethan,” Claire said, her voice shaking slightly. “It’s Claire Morgan.”
There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by a subtle shifting of paper. “Claire. Is everything alright? Is Sophie okay?”
“Sophie is fine. She’s sleeping,” Claire said quickly. “I’m calling because… well, I’m calling about work.”
“Work?”
“Your company’s customer support system. I know you mentioned last night that you didn't see my resume, but… I’m in a desperate situation. I received a disconnection notice for my electricity today. My current job doesn't cover my bills, and I need something better. Not charity. I want to work.”
Another long pause stretched across the line. Ethan didn't sound angry or annoyed; he sounded thoughtful.
“Can you be at my office building downtown in one hour?” Ethan asked.
“An hour? I… yes. Yes, I can.”
“Good. Tell security at the front desk you’re meeting with me. They’ll bring you up to the penthouse floor.”
The line went dead.
Claire stared at her phone in disbelief. She didn't have a car, which meant she had to bundle Sophie up, strap her into the stroller, and catch the city bus in the freezing wind. It took her forty-five minutes of frantic rushing, changing diapers, and throwing on her warmest coat, but she made it.
Cole Global Solutions occupied the top twelve floors of a gleaming glass tower in the heart of downtown Indianapolis.
When Claire stepped through the revolving glass doors, holding the stroller with frozen fingers, the lobby security guard looked at her badge-less coat and worn-out boots with immediate suspicion.
“Can I help you?” the guard asked, his tone flat.
“I’m Claire Morgan. I have an appointment with Ethan Cole.”
The guard raised an eyebrow, picking up his desk phone. He tapped a few buttons, spoke in a low murmur, and then looked back at Claire with a completely altered expression.
“Take elevator three, ma’am. Press thirty-two. Mr. Cole’s assistant will meet you at the doors.”
The ride up in the glass elevator made Claire’s stomach churn. When the doors slid open on the thirty-second floor, she stepped out into a world of polished marble, minimalist art, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the frozen skyline of the city.
A sharp-suited woman with silver-streaked hair stepped forward. “Ms. Morgan? I’m Victoria, Mr. Cole’s chief of staff. Right this way, please.”
She was led past a row of empty executive offices into a vast, sunlit corner office. Ethan Cole stood by the window, looking out over the city. When the door clicked shut behind Victoria, Ethan turned around.
He had changed out of his charcoal overcoat into a dark navy suit that fit him impeccably. But his eyes were the same ones that had looked at her with such profound understanding the night before.
“You made it fast,” Ethan noted, walking over to a seating area. “Sit down, Claire.”
Claire sat on the edge of a sleek leather couch, keeping the stroller close beside her so Sophie could sleep undisturbed.
“I didn't mean to ambush you,” Claire said, launching straight into defense mode. “I know calling you like this was unprofessional, but—pardon my bluntness—your automated HR system is garbage. I’ve worked in customer escalation for six years. I know how to handle abusive callers, technical troubleshooting, and high-volume ticket queues without losing my composure. But because I took nine months off to save my daughter’s life, your algorithm tossed my resume into the trash.”
Ethan listened in silence, leaning back in his chair. A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth.
“Is that your pitch?” he asked softly.
“My pitch is that I am the hardest-working person you will ever interview, because failure is not an option for me,” Claire said, her voice steady and clear. “I don't want a handout, Ethan. I want a job that pays enough to keep my lights on and my daughter fed.”
Ethan stood up, walking slowly toward his desk. He picked up a folder, flipped it open, and slid a single sheet of paper across the polished wood toward her.
“That is an offer letter,” Ethan said quietly. “Director of Customer Experience Operations. Salary: seventy-five thousand dollars a year, with full health benefits and remote-work flexibility.”
Claire stared at the paper. Her breath caught in her throat. The numbers blurred before her eyes.
“Seventy-five thousand?” she whispered. “Ethan, I applied for a $32,000 support role. I’m not qualified to be a Director.”
“You managed a sixty-bed nursing unit through an understaffed pandemic, coordinated patient care under extreme legal and emotional pressure, and managed to navigate a high-risk neonatal crisis while keeping your head on straight,” Ethan said, his voice dropping into a register of absolute conviction. “You are more qualified to manage human experience than ninety percent of the people sitting in these corporate offices.”
Claire looked from the paper up to the billionaire who had bought her baby formula twelve hours earlier.
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“Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Really? You don't even know me.”
“I know what it looks like when someone is drowning and refuses to let go,” Ethan said simply. “Sign the paperwork, Claire. Let’s get your lights turned back on.”
