Falling, Falling, and Fallen

“I am so going to be late, dammit!” Frantically darting around my cramped two-bedroom flat, I scoured every corner in a search for my elusive shoes.

Simultaneously, I wolfed down my breakfast, the ticking clock serving as a constant reminder of the impending deadline. At last, after discovering my shoes hidden beneath an inconspicuous pile of clothes, I dashed toward the door, orchestrating a mental checklist to ensure I hadn’t missed any crucial steps.

Windows secured, keys and purse in hand, I opened the door to catapult myself into the bustling day. My phone buzzed, and I quickly snatched it up, seeing Grace’s name flash across the screen—my best friend, the one constant through every twist and turn in my life.

Grace and I had grown up together, inseparable since childhood, and she’d stuck with me even through the worst of the drama with my family. When things had gotten messy—really messy—she’d been the one who’d held me together, always ready with a joke or a plan to escape the chaos for a while.

And when I’d made the impulsive decision to move to London, she hadn’t hesitated for a second. She’d packed her bags and had come with me, no questions asked, just the same unwavering loyalty she’d always shown. I couldn’t imagine facing any of this without her.

Smiling, I answered the phone. “Hey, Grace.”

“Hey, sweet,” she replied, her familiar voice instantly soothing. “Just called to wish you luck.”

Still rushing around, trying to get everything together, I managed a breathless “Thanks.”

There was a brief pause before she asked, her tone shifting slightly, “You ready?”

I glanced at the mess around me—half-packed bags, scattered notes, and my heart racing in sync with the chaos. “Honestly…not really. I’m trying, but everything’s a mess.”

Grace laughed softly on the other end. “You’ll be fine. Just take a breath. You’ve got this.”

I let out a shaky exhale, hoping she was right. “I hope so.”

Grace laughed, then added with her signature mischief, “And if all goes to shit, flashing them always works.”

I couldn’t help but burst into laughter, shaking my head. “Grace! You’re impossible.”

“Hey, desperate times, right?” she teased. “But seriously, you’ll crush it. Just remember to breathe… And maybe don’t resort to flashing unless absolutely necessary.”

“Noted,” I chuckled, feeling a little lighter. “Thanks for the pep talk, though. I’ll chat to you later,” I said with a smile, feeling the tension ease a bit.

“Good luck, babe. You’ve got this!” Grace chimed in one last time before hanging up.

As I put the phone in my bag, I took a deep breath, her playful words still echoing in my mind. Time to face whatever was coming.

Cursing under my breath, I realized my passport was still missing. In a swift motion, I sprinted back into my bedroom, grabbed the vital document, and darted back out.

With bags clutched tightly and the door firmly locked, I raced down the stairs in pursuit of catching my Tube. Having recently returned to London, I’d lucked into a flat in the East.

The city’s vibrant energy, towering buildings, and riverside strolls along the Thames were the elements I’d sorely missed. Regret lingered as I wished I had never left, but circumstances had dictated otherwise.

I’d snagged an interview for an assistant position at Blackwood Industries. The company was expanding, and its new headquarters in England presented a promising opportunity. I had applied for the role just a week ago, and the quick jump from a phone call to an interview felt like a dream.

Glancing at my watch, I noted I had a mere twenty minutes before my interview, prompting me to walk more briskly.

I swiped my Oyster card, then descended the stairs just in time to spot the waiting Tube. Nearly tripping in my haste, I made a last-minute leap into the train, eliciting amused looks from fellow passengers. Collapsing into a seat, I focused on catching my breath.

I checked my watch again and realized I actually had half an hour before the interview. With the Tube ride only taking ten minutes and a brief five-minute walk to the building, time was on my side. Plugging in my headphones and playing Jax Jones’s “Breathe” on repeat, I closed my eyes, attempting to regain composure.

I pulled out my umbrella and headed toward the building where my second chance awaited. While I waited at the traffic lights, a car sped through a large puddle, drenching me from head to toe. My umbrella offered no protection.

I closed my eyes in utter horror and embarrassment, hoping it was all a bad dream. But when I opened them, the nightmare was real.

I looked down at my clothes, now completely ruined. I quickly looked around, trying to figure out what I could do. I didn’t have time to run home and change, but if I went to an interview like this, I definitely wouldn’t get the job.

Then, I spotted a store, and hope began blossoming within me. I quickly made my way to the store, avoiding the curious eyes staring at me in shock and horror.

I grabbed clothes off the hangers hastily, barely looking at them and probably getting the wrong sizes. I rushed to the till, paid for the items, and then sprinted to the changing room.

I threw on the new clothes, stuffed my soaking wet ones into my bag, and dashed out the door, hoping this last-minute effort would save my chances at the interview.

I managed to reach the building where my interview was being held. Standing before it, I thought the structure appeared unremarkable compared to its neighbors, yet it seamlessly blended into London’s architectural tapestry, contributing to the city’s unique allure.

The stone facade and tall windows reflected the timeless charm of the area, making it easy to overlook its simplicity. As I entered, a large mirror caught my eye. My reflection revealed a disheveled appearance.

My hair was still dripping wet, and the new clothes I’d hastily bought were wrinkled and clearly several sizes too big. The oversized shirt hung awkwardly, and the pants were bunched up at the waist, cinched with a belt to keep them from falling.

Despite my best efforts, I looked like a child playing dress-up in an adult’s wardrobe. Taking a deep breath, I tried to smooth out the wrinkles and tame my damp hair, hoping to salvage what I could of my professional image.

Navigating through the bustling lobby, I observed a vast entryway reminiscent of a football pitch. White marble floors stretched beneath, complemented by gray concrete walls and mirrored surfaces reflecting sunlight. Despite the absence of adornments, the interplay of natural light created a breathtaking ambiance.

Once my admiration for the building’s interior subsided, I sought out the reception desk to sign in for my interview. Stopping a passing woman for directions, I received an ungracious response, leaving me with a less-than-pleasant encounter.

Undeterred, I continued down the hall and discovered the reception desk—a lengthy structure resembling the surrounding walls, eerily reminiscent of a movie sacrificial slab.

Approaching the impeccably groomed receptionist, I cleared my throat to gain her attention. Her flawless appearance, from the perfect ponytail to the white blouse and gray pencil skirt, exuded professionalism.

Engrossed in her computer, she acknowledged me without looking up. “Welcome to Blackwood Industries. How can I help?”

The woman was obviously American because of her accent. “Hello, I was wondering if you could help me? I have an interview at ten o’clock for a secretarial role and was wondering where I need to go?”

After an intensive session on her computer, the receptionist finally glanced up, raising her eyebrows in acknowledgment. Rising from her chair, she scrutinized me from head to toe, a sly smirk gradually appearing on her face.

She sat back down and carried on typing on her computer. When she was done, she handed me a visitor’s ID badge and, without even looking, said, “Go straight down the hall, take one of the elevators to level nine, and there will be someone there to sign you in.”

I followed her indication, glancing in the direction she pointed, and then turned back to her with a grateful smile. “Thank you,” I said.

I walked to the elevator, pressed the button, and patiently waited for the doors to open. As soon as they did, a rush of people surged forward, practically tackling me to the floor.

In the chaos, I slipped on my heels and landed on my hands and knees. Groaning in pain, I felt a gentle hand on my elbow and heard someone ask, “Are you okay?”

Getting off my knees, I stood up and found myself face-to-face with one of the most handsome men I had ever seen. His striking green eyes were paired with a messy mop of dark hair, and that jawline—Jesus Christ!

I have always been a sucker for a solid, strong-looking jaw.

My mouth kept opening and closing as the words were lost to me. I saw a smile start appearing on his face, and humor entered his eyes. I shook my head and tried to look away, turning my attention to my now dirty pants. I muttered under my breath, “Umm. I’m fine, thank you.”

I slowly lifted my eyes to look at his face and still saw that smirk. “Are you sure? You look like someone who’s been hit by a three-hundred-pound quarterback,” he said, laughing.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you for helping. I didn’t realize how many people were going to come out, or I would have stepped back farther.”

His smirk started getting more prominent as he noticed that I hadn’t stopped staring at him. “You okay?”

I shook my head and looked away, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Hmm? Oh! Yeeeaahhh, I’m fine!”

I then heard him ask me a question, but I was doing everything not to look at him. “What’s your name, darlin’?”

As he leaned in, his Southern drawl adding a charming touch, I found myself caught off guard like a schoolgirl getting attention from a popular guy.

My attempts to stay composed wavered, and when he asked for my name, I hesitated before managing to whisper, “Lina.” The air seemed to crackle with anticipation. I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze, my heart racing in an unexpected flutter.

Putting out his hand to shake, he said, “Well, Lina, I’m Adam.”

I looked up at him, and tentatively, I stuck my hand out to grab onto his. “It’s nice meeting you, Adam, and thank you for helping me back there.”

“It’s never a hardship to help a beautiful woman like yourself,” he said, grinning at me.

My eyes widened at his charm, and I felt a warm flush spread across my cheeks. Embarrassed and unable to meet his gaze, I quickly looked down at my feet, my heart racing. I began tapping my foot nervously against the floor, the rapid movement betraying the flurry of emotions inside me. My hands fidgeted at my sides, and I hoped he wouldn’t notice just how much he affected me.

“So, where were you headed?”

“I actually have an interview for a secretarial position on the ninth floor,” I said, giving him a timid, girlish smile.

Looking at my watch, I just then realized that I was late for it.

“Oh my God, late, late, soooo late.”

I ran into the elevator and pressed the ninth-floor button continuously. Adam walked into the elevator. “Late?”

“Very.”

He didn’t press any floor button, so I assumed he also needed to be on the ninth floor.

“Don’t worry, they’ll understand,” he said reassuringly.

“Doubtful,” I replied.

The elevator doors closed, and I anxiously waited for the ninth floor, which seemed to take forever to arrive.

“Relax. I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” he said, smiling at me.

“Easy for you to say. You have a job here,” I retorted.

“True, but it’s best to live life stress-free.”

“Oh my God, did I just say that out loud?” I looked at Adam in horror.

He just stood there, grinning at me. I smiled back and gave his shoulder a hard shove. He stumbled back, and we both burst out laughing at our ridiculous behavior.

Finally, the elevator dinged, and we reached the ninth floor. I bounced on my toes, impatiently waiting for the doors to open. The second they did, I rushed out.

“Thank you for helping me back there!” I called over my shoulder.

“Hold up! Let me walk with you and make sure you get where you need to be,” he said, smiling down at me.

Blushing, I thanked him. I reached the receptionist’s desk and saw a redhead who looked just as impeccable as the blonde downstairs.

Without looking up, she asked, “How can I help?”

“Hi, I have an interview at ten o’clock. I know I’m late, but I had an incident downstairs.”

“Doesn’t change the fact you should have been here five minutes ago,” she stated flatly.

I opened my mouth to explain, but she interrupted.

“We do not tolerate lateness in this company,” she stated firmly.

“But I can explain!” I began, but Adam stepped in, grabbing my arm and pulling me back. He cleared his throat, and Ruby Red immediately looked up, stood, and beamed at him.

“Oh, Mr. Blackwood! What a pleasure to see you! How can I help?” she said, giving him the biggest smile I’d ever seen.

“Mind letting this lovely lady in for her interview? She had an incident downstairs,” he said, flashing her a smile that could melt ice.

“Of course, sir, but you know how your brother is about late applicants,” she replied, still smiling.

“I think my brother will understand,” he said with a reassuring smile.

He looked back at me, and I just stood there, my jaw practically on the floor.

“You’re Adam Blackwood! As in Aaron Blackwood’s brother? One of the owners of Blackwood Industries?” I gaped.

“Yep, that’s me,” he replied with a grin.

I looked at Adam Blackwood, a cheerful and seemingly pleasant man. If I got the job—and that was a big if—maybe working for Aaron Blackwood wouldn’t be so bad.