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"Oh, Zach… That's the spot…"

This is not how I thought my long-awaited job interview would go. Being stuck in this bathroom with my hurt hand and hearing the clear sounds of kissing and a zipper coming undone makes my heart want to burst.

How did I even end up in this situation? I

Just yesterday, I was overjoyed when I received a call from the prominent company inviting me for an interview. Now all I can think of is how to gracefully leave this embarrassing scenario without causing a scene.

I press myself against the bathroom counter, hoping they won’t notice me. But my clumsiness strikes again. My elbow knocks over a perfume bottle, and it clatters loudly.

Now, I’m so dead.

“Did you hear that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I heard something. Someone’s here, Zach.”

“It’s just us. No one else is on this floor.”

“I’m certain of it. Hold on, I’ll check it out.”

The sound of heels clicking closer makes me pace back and forth like a headless chicken. Oh God, please save me. I promise I’ll be better from now on. If only I could flush myself down the toilet and disappear forever.

Just as I’m about to hide behind the curtain, the bathroom door flies open. A woman in a bikini stands there, glaring at me from head to toe. “Who the hell are you?”

My mouth parts, but no words come out. I cradle my bandaged hand and shake my head as though begging for mercy.

The woman’s eyes narrow as she takes a step closer. “I asked you a question,” she snaps. “Who. Are. You?”

Before I can stammer a response, heavy footsteps approach. A male voice calls out, “Sophie, what’s going on in there?”

The woman turns her head toward the sound but keeps her eyes on me. “There’s someone in here, Zach!” she yells back. “And she won’t even explain herself.”

The footsteps quicken. A moment later, a man appears in the doorway, shirtless and wearing only trousers.

My breath hitches as I recognize him. Oh no. He’s Mr. Zachary Langston, my final interviewer.

“Who are you?” he demands.

“I’m… I’m here for an interview. The HR head sent me,” I finally find my voice, though it’s weak.

“What’s the meaning of this, Zach? An interview, really? In your bathroom?” The woman turns on him, shoving his chest. “This is just another one of your games, isn’t it? Another woman for your collection?”

“For God’s sake, Sophie. I don’t even know her!” he shoots back, pointing at me. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have let her in, since I already told Michael to close the hiring for the meantime.”

“I don’t believe you, Zach. You and your best friend are always up to no good. Well, I’m not sticking around to find out because I’ve had enough of your lies. I’m breaking up with you.”

“Are you kidding me? This is ridiculous, Sophie. Why would you think I would hide a woman in my bathroom?”

“This has happened before with your ex-girlfriend, remember? I can’t trust you anymore. Goodbye, Zach.”

With that, Sophie storms out of the room, and Mr. Langston follows her, demanding that she listen to him. I, on the other hand, remain frozen against the wall as though I’m part of the furniture. With everything that’s happened, I know I’ve lost the chance for this job. I’ve ruined my own opportunity.

“This is all your fault, woman!”

I barely have time to register his approach before his hand clamps around my arm. Without a word, he pulls me out of the bathroom, dragging me into the living room.

“Wait, please!” I stammer, my flats skidding against the floor as I struggle to keep up. “I’m sorry, Mr. Langston! I didn’t mean to—”

“Shut up!” He shoves me down onto the couch and leans over me. His long arms trap me, one hand gripping the backrest, the other on the armrest.

“I have only a single question for you, and you will answer it correctly,” he demands. The closeness between our faces is suffocating, making me shrink back against the couch. “Are you a spy for my competitors, sent to dig up dirt on me?”

“W-What? No. I’m only here for my interview, I swear. I’m not some kind of a spy!”

“Of course, you are. A clumsy, bleeding girl in flats and a secondhand blouse was sent to spy on me. Makes perfect sense,” he scoffs. “You have no idea how much money I just lost because of your snooping around!”

I’m confused by his last statement, but I still try to explain. “Look, sir. I knocked over a figurine, and I cut myself. That’s why I ended up in the bathroom looking for first aid supplies.”

“Figurine?” In a flash, he strides to the counter where the shattered frame lies. He picks it up, glaring at the cracked glass before turning to me. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

I open my mouth to apologize again, but he cuts me off.

“This photo is the most valuable thing here. And you destroyed it!” he shouts, holding it up like evidence in a trial.

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to break it. I—I was just curious, and it slipped—”

"You were curious?" He returns the frame to the counter with a huff. Before I know it, he is back in my face. The way the pupils in his hazel eyes constrict tells me he's furious, and I wish the sofa would swallow me whole. "Who would hire a clumsy girl who goes around touching things that don't belong to them?"

He straightens, only to pull a phone out of his pocket and begin dialing a number. “I’m calling my security team to escort you out of here immediately.”

“S-Security team?”

I watch as Mr. Langston presses his phone to his ear. My fear feels like a living thing, but as the seconds drag on, I realize his treatment of me is completely unjustified. I’m not a freaking spy, let alone a criminal. I’m tired of being judged by everyone just because I’m less fortunate.

“Wait!” I shoot up from the couch. “No need to call for security, sir. I can walk my ass out of here.”

He freezes mid-dial, raising an eyebrow as if surprised I have the nerve to interrupt. “Excuse me?”

I straighten my shoulders, lifting my chin despite the tremble in my hands. “Look, Mr. Langston, I admit I made a mistake by touching something that wasn’t mine, and I deeply regret breaking the figurine. But treating me like I’m some spy or a criminal? Calling security to drag me out? That’s way out of line.”

He lowers the phone and angles his head to the side. “You trespassed into my penthouse, ruined my property, and caused chaos. What exactly do you think is ‘in line’ for that kind of behavior?”

“I didn’t trespass,” I snap, despite the quiver in my stomach. “The door was open! I came here for a job interview because your HR department told me to come to this exact room. And if you’re mad about that, maybe you should look into why your staff can’t coordinate properly instead of taking it out on me!”

His face twists into a scowl, but he doesn't say anything. The silence he's giving me is more intimidating than any words could be. I swallow hard, hoping I haven't just made things worse.

But I believe I've dug myself an even deeper hole when the corner of his mouth twitches, as if he's concealing a snicker.

Then, he exhales sharply through his nostrils and waves dismissively. "Leave then. You have already wasted enough of my time."