"Gosh!
I was overwhelmed at a Street, gripping my pitch folder tightly, as the cab suddenly halted.
Today marked the arrival of 'the day'.
The campaign I had worked on for weeks could either secure our team, the largest luxury fashion client we had ever worked with or force me to start over from scratch.
When I entered the elevator, I noticed that something was not there. My mobile device.
I let out a groan. I had left it charging at my house. Not a major issue, I reassured myself.
This is the pitch that currently holds significance. I need to move on, no time for now. I don't bother about missed messages or phone calls at the moment.
Furthermore, I was prepared as soon as the elevator doors opened.
Self-assured, refined, skilled. I felt like nothing could stop me. And the presentation exceeded my expectations.
It was wonderful that the conference room was filled with excitement, some smiles, and even a chuckle, especially when I made a joke about how millennials spend money.
When Lucia's CEO reached out to shake my hand, I was excited—I knew I nailed it.
I was working out from the building, and I felt towering at ten feet tall. I only became aware of the man I collided with when his abrupt and demeaning voice interrupted my thoughts.
Be mindful of your direction.
I glanced upwards, surprised. He was tall and had broad shoulders, with eyes that seemed to look right through me.
His eyes shifted to my folder, then returned to meet mine, a smirk forming on his lips.
"He muttered quietly about yet another ambitious person, then began to walk away."
"Can you please repeat that?" I expressed my frustration rather than feeling scared.
However, he continued. I didn't even turn around to look back.
Rude," I muttered, shaking my head and heading for the exit.
Little did I know that encounter was just the beginning with him.
When I got home, I finally checked my phone. Fifteen missed calls from David.
I felt my chest constrict. I tried calling back, but it went directly to voicemail.
And then I saw the text:
Lisa, we're done. Don't bother explaining anything to me. Good luck with whomever you're seeing now.
What? My stomach dropped. I cleaned up my eyes to read the message again. Is this coming from David? I tried calling again, my hands shaking. No answer.
David had always been quick to assume the worst, but this? This was insane. I had been at work all day.
How could he think I was seeing someone else? I paced the room, replaying every recent conversation we'd had, every text.
What had I missed?
"Don't just sit here crying over him," Jane's voice snapped me out of my spiral.
My closest friend always had a knack for navigating through my disorder.
She arrived with food and wine, but her expression made it clear she didn't want any sympathy.
You must have a conversation with him. In person. She instructed them to ensure he listened.
Therefore, I did. The following day, I visited his flat. As soon as I approached the building, I stopped in my tracks. Looking out the window, I observed him laughing with a woman.
Leaning in and brushing his arm, she caused my stomach to twist.
I departed without rapping. Rage surged within me, intense and unmanageable.
Did he use this as a plan for progressing? Are you doing this, David for an excuse? I was asking myself several questions without anyone to answer me.
I returned and worked away to block out the chatter in my mind.
Immediately, my phone vibrated with a text message.
That's when I received the email notifying me that I was chosen to attend a charity event on behalf of my company later that night.
My boss had clarified that missing the major networking opportunity was not acceptable.
Superb. Precisely what was required.
I arrived in a dress borrowed from Jane, my friend, a black dress that was slightly fancy enough to fit in.
As soon as I entered the ballroom, I was stunned by its overwhelming grandeur.
The ceiling was decorated with crystal chandeliers, while the gentle jazz music mixed with the clinking of champagne glasses.
I didn't own this world, but I could imagine it for one night.
I moved through the crowded gathering, giving smiles and nods, but I still felt like I didn't belong.
That was the case until I caught sight of him. The individual from the lift.
He stood by the stage, engaged in a deep conversation with an older man who appeared to be a perfect fit for 'Forbes'.
Our gazes locked, and briefly, his demeanor relaxed, as though he knew who I was. Afterward, the grin came back.
"I can't believe this is happening," he exclaimed as he approached me. "Is this something you often do – running into people like this?"
I aligned my backbone. Perhaps you are trailing me.
That took him by surprise. I briefly thought I noticed a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
He introduced himself as Sam Whitmore, reaching out his hand.
He heard his name. My name is Sam Whitmore. CEO who is a billionaire. The man whose name was featured in half of the country's magazines.
"I am aware of your identity," I said while shaking his hand.
"Then you'll see why can't I waste time on chit-chat," he stated, his tone becoming grave. "Let's get straight to the point."
Before my reply, he leaned closer, speaking in a soft tone. I have a proposal to offer you. Listen to me.
I made a displeased facial expression. "An idea or suggestion?" I'm uncertain if I—"
"Simply pay attention." He looked around quickly to ensure no one else could hear. I remain calm and ready to listen. "I require a female partner for marriage." He said without hesitating.
I closed and opened my eyes quickly. I cleared my throat." Pardon me?" He continued.
"Act like you're my future wife," he stated, his tone relaxed, as if he was just providing a casual suggestion.
My family is pressuring me to settle down, but it's a complex situation. "Act your role, and I'll make sure it's worth your time."
I looked at him, attempting to understand his words. "Are you asking me to deceive your family?"
What reason would I have to consent to such claims?
The color of his eyes shifted to a darker shade. "Since I can resolve your issues." Monetary ones, to be exact.
I became rigid. Did I really show my true feelings so easily? Was he aware of my father's medical expenses in some way?
"I appreciate it, but I will pass," I replied, spinning on my heel.
"Consider it," he shouted as I walked away.
I didn't turn my head to look back.
However, everything was different by the end of that night.
My phone rang as soon as I arrived home. My mother was the one calling, her voice trembling. "Lisa, it's your dad." "He has returned to the hospital."
I felt a tightness in my chest. She described how his state had deteriorated and how the healthcare costs were accumulating quicker than we could handle.
I ended the call, my thoughts moving quickly. My small amount of savings was insufficient to pay for this.
No amount of promotion, sales pitch, or achievement in one's career could resolve this mess immediately.
I sat down on the sofa, my hands shaking. I had always valued my independence and never relied on others for assistance.
And what about this? This was larger than myself.
The next day, I found myself dialing Sam's telephone number.
"Did you have a change of mind?" he asked, with his voice staying just as smooth as it was. I can't imagine Sam always being straightforward.
"I stated briefly that this is just at this time." "Kindly abstain from engaging in any form of thinking."
"Absolutely," he responded, with a clear hint of a smirk in his tone.
That evening, I returned to the gala with his invitation. Sam wanted to "introduce me to" his group.
He said that it was an experimental test. I characterized it as torturous.
Still dressed once more in borrowed clothing, I stepped into the stunning ballroom, my nerves about to snap.
I was greeted at the entrance by Sam, whose impeccably expensive tailored suit immediately caught my attention.
"Would you like to start?" he asked, reaching out his arm towards me.
I stayed quiet, linked my arm with his, and prayed my trembling hands wouldn't be seen.
Nevertheless, as we joined the busy crowd, something unexpected happened.
A woman approached us, narrowing her eyes as she looked alternately at me and Sam. "She's the one," she commented, showing doubt in her voice.
I stared at Sam in puzzlement. "Is she that woman?"
He stiffened, his jaw tightening.
The woman had a cold smile on her lips. "His upcoming spouse," she commented, her voice so sharp it could cut through glass.
Before I could respond, it seemed like the room shifted its position. Murmurs spread rapidly, directing focus towards us.
"What is going on?" I quietly murmured to myself.
Sam chose to stay quiet. He increased his hold and kept a steady balance on my arm, but his face stayed unreadable.
During the height of suspense, a man came up to the stage and softly placed his hand on the microphone.
"Dear visitors, we are thankful to have you join us this evening." I want to make a significant declaration.
Sam transformed into a block of ice.
I also had a similar performance.
The man announced loudly, "Introducing Sam Whitmore and his future wife," filling the room with his booming voice. Everyone was staring at us.
This was out of the agreement between us.