Hate, actually ✔

Chapter 3

Maybe I'll just go back to blonde.

I spray some hair mousse into my hands and work it through my waves to give them a bit of volume and life, before I tie my hair up into a high ponytail.

This is as far as I go when it comes to trying to look decent. I've never had a job that required me to look classy or anything so I never bothered - besides, I was always too busy with trying to get through school with straight A's or looking after my mother to find the time to even learn how to do makeup or concentrate on the latest fashion.

I only ever care for mascara to give my eyes a bit of life, but that's it. My best friend Lauren - heaven bless her - took care of my Junior and Senior prom hair and makeup.

I smile thinking about just how much I don't deserve that girl.

Once I finish with my hair, I grab my phone and head out.

I decide to walk to the building to kill some time because I'm a little early.

I grab some coffee and a bagel on the way. It's a rare, mildly sunny day in the middle of January; which I highly appreciate.

When I reach my destination, I throw my trash into a nearby bin, go past the sliding doors, through the scanners and into the high and mighty, prestigious building that I'd mentally sworn I'd never return to.

An attractive, professionally tanned lady - who looks about twenty four - with a slicked back lengthy ponytail is manning the front desk. She's dressed in a white body-hugging dress from what I can see.

I smile politely at her.

Before I can even say anything, she speaks up. "We're not hiring any more ground staff at the moment as the board of directors are trying to execute some sort of investigation. You can come back next week and we might have a spot open for restroom cleaners," she says with a tight, forced looking smile.

I should feel offended at her assumption, but I can't bring myself to blame her considering I look like a sixth toe next to everyone who mills around the company. It's pretty evident in my dressing that I don't know the first thing about working a white-collared job.

I clear my throat. "Uhm I'm not here for that, actually. I'm here to see Mr Romano."

The receptionist's eyebrows furrow and she eyes me sceptically. "Oh. My bad," she says unapologetically, "do you have an appointment?"

"Yup. 10 AM," I reply, growing impatient. I'm curious about this so-called job.

She asks for my name before typing something into her laptop. I gave it to her and she finally hands me a pass.

"How to do I get to Mr Romano's office?" I ask, not knowing my way around.

"Top floor, second door to your left. His name will be on the door," she replies, totally uninterested in the conversation we're having (if even a conversation).

I mumble a 'thanks' before heading into an elevator.

Soft, classical music fills my ears as I step next to a blond guy in a crisp suit. He doesn't even spare me a glance and the duration of the lift is awkward to say the least.

I walk out, ready to get the meeting over and done with so I can exit the one building I've grown to dread over the past couple of days.

I find the office I was looking for pretty quickly, since it's near the elevator; and I knock lightly.

"Enter," a male's voice booms through the mahogany door.

I twist the door knob and I step into a large airy office. The A/C is on full blast and my teeth nearly chatter from the cold.