I have an interview at ten this morning. After a week of measuring my options, I decided to go for Ellington's offer to work at his tech company, even though I'd been very clear with him that I want it to be fair and square, to which he fully agreed.

I've applied to a few more places, but so far only Hi-Five seems to have a more solid opportunity for me than the rest: the local bank needs people who are ready to relocate, and the tourism company that interviewed me on the phone back in Las Vegas said they'd get in touch.

So far, nothing has worked.

"How do I look?" I ask Camilla who almost drops her coffee mug off her mouth upon my appearance.

"Are you trying to steal someone's heart or something, Hermosa?" she teases, comically using some foreign accent that resembles Spanish.

I stare at myself from top to bottom, unsure. "I didn't overdo it, did I?"

I'm just wearing a pair of black high-waisted slacks with a tucked-in chiffon blouse, as white as snow, and black heels; I only want to look professional. Well, maybe a thick golden belt around my waist outlines my curves a little too showy, but it's not too much.

"You're perfect," Camilla says. "And your makeup is, as always, very simple and natural..." She sighs a bit dramatically then smiles. "God, you look radiant in red lipstick. Go break a leg, girl; I know you'll nail it."

I smile back, especially when Isla says, "You are so pretty, Ara," while munching on her scrambled eggs.

"Thanks, baby." I flounce away from the stairs, eyes inside my handbag to make sure I haven't forgotten my phone and wallet.

"Breakfast?" Camilla asks.

"No, I'll grab a coffee or something on the way." I don't think I can stomach anything right now.

I'm not nervous; I'm just uncertain.

"You can use my car then," Camilla offers, a piece of sprinkled donut graciously held in her hand. "I think Isla and I will go to the park later to walk Thor and Loki so we won't heed a car. Right, bestie?"

Isla nods, her two poodles parading around the floor, sniffing and licking, as though they're on a new planet with a food factory and abundant companionship. They look well-groomed.

"Cool. I'll see you later. " I grab the car keys from the console, flying a grateful smile her way. "And...hey." I stop by the door before making my full exit. "I've been meaning to ask. Are you on leave or something?"

Camilla chuckles. "Why? Do I look like an accidental character in The Real Housewives of Atlanta or something?"

"More like a side character from Jane Austen's novel who just sits in the drawing room, drinks tea, gossips, and maybe gets invited to the ball when she's extremely lucky." I don't laugh, but Camilla does loudly, which makes me laugh. "Where is Camilla Avlon I met her in the lake house, who had an hour to board the plane to Toronto? What did you do with her?" I ask for she's been spending days babysitting Isla and playing house with the puddles from dawn to dusk, barely touching her computer for a week now.

I'm concerned.

"Well, I'm waiting for my destiny to be decided by the person I work for," she replies, propping her long legs onto the coffee table, one over the other. A languid smile breaks on her face as she adds, "I don't mean to kill the buzz, but I think Adrian will be here tonight, Ara. He and I have something to discuss and it's either I go to his place or he comes here. I'll let you decide."

A bile grows bitterly in my throat. Indeed, I don't want to see that man after what he did to me last time I slept in that godawful suite of his, but at the same time, I won't give him the satisfaction by admitting defeat from the pain of his plain rejection.

"It's alright. He can come over; this is your home so you get to bring anyone you wish to bring, Cam. I'm good," I reply, and the thought that I planned to cook a special dinner tonight for the girls makes me feel anxious.

Will he think I'm doing it for him if I go through with my plan?

Well, to hell with him! I won't stop living my life because of him.

___

The infamous Hi-Five has its own building perched in the borough of Brooklyn near the East River. As I take a seat at the HR Manager, a young Caucasian woman who is more or less older than me, I see the Brooklyn bridge streaming distantly through the window.

"Pardon my tardiness; I'm Cheryl McCoy." She takes a seat behind her pristine office desk, as white as the little dress she's wearing. "I've gone through your resume...and I must say I'm impressed that you pulled a train wreck called a dying café back to its rail in six months; not to mention the powerful reference from a reliable source that came along." Her nude lips twist into a smile, although slim and professional, as she rears her back onto a rest.

"Um, thanks?" I sit cross-legged, trying to keep my cool despite the minor confusion. "Whose reference are you talking about?" I don't think it was Mr. Wang or any of the bosses I had the pleasure of working for through my many odd and shady jobs in Las Vegas restaurants, nightclubs, and casinos.

They don't count as powerful references, do they?

Cheryl smiles a wide, tight-lipped smile, and I can already tell that she won't answer my question no matter what.

"Just someone who happens to know your potential and believes you're made of capable bones," she says vaguely, and I guess that's all she can give.

I've never been interviewed by a young woman before. An old lady, yes—may Mrs. Wang and her beautiful soul rest in peace—but not a vibrant and firecracker like Cheryl McCoy. Either way, she asks me basic questions, only a few, mostly about my work experiences.

"You're familiar with digital currencies and... stockbroking. Interesting." She eyes up at me, her smile small with intrigue.

"Only theoretically."

"Maybe it's about damn time you use their magic. I'm just saying," she utters simply, a no-retort kind of suggestion.

Yeah, maybe. I had no luxury to take bigger risks before... but now I probably can.

"So, what made you move from Nevada to New York, leaving something you worked so hard for... only to end up applying for a salary job at a tech company that you have absolutely no experience with?" Cheryl interlocks her paintless manicured fingers on her stomach.

I sigh softly and reply, "Change."

She lifts a thin eyebrow, demanding clarity.

"I heeded change for myself, and my family in general after several traumatic events we've gone through over the years of living in Las Vegas, especially the last couple of months that were... Well, a bit tougher to say the least," I go on, keeping my churning emotions at bay. "I aim to start over, and it doesn't matter which company I apply to as long as I get to put food on the table and make sure my sister is in school. I know my experience in the tech industry is lacking, but as they say...numbers don't lie. I'm confident I can learn the rest along the way."

Lips pressed tightly, Cheryl succumbs to silence, studying me gently but intently. I'm not afraid of losing, as I said before; I didn't even plan to be here for starters. Whether I pass this interview or not, I doubt it would thwart me whatsoever.

I just need surety over most decisions I make lately, and maybe this is a good start.

But when I least expect, I hear Cheryl ask, "When can you start?"

"Um...next week?" I leap of joy pulls a smile on my face, but a frown of confusion manipulates my features.

"Cool." Cheryl leans forward and begins to type something on her highly sophisticated computer. "Health Insurance, employee discount, shopping and weekend gateway vouchers that are to be earned based on performance, and a gross salary of $4,500 monthly. That's what Hi-Five can offer to you, Ara Lincoln." She looks up at me, hopeful.

I sigh heavily with intrigue in my eyes. "Negotiable, right?"

Cheryl laughs quietly. "Why? Is it too small?"

"Is money ever enough?"

She laughs again, loudly. "I guess I see why Ellington was so insistent that I interview you myself."

"Excuse me?"

"On Monday, Ara. We'll see how negotiable you are then. I'm looking forward to it." She winks, her face rife with a smile.

Did I just get hired? Wow!

—

Camilla hands me a glass of Cristal as I make dinner in the kitchen. I smile hugely at her, somewhat trapped in the chasm of joy after the interview I passed, whilst a sane part of me is still on a reel regarding this whole New York gig even though it's a done deal—a little too late to have a second thought.

It's gonna be alright.

"It should be me doing you the honors of playing cuisinière du jour," Camilla enthuses; she's leading idly against the cabinet wall, facing my moving back.

My lips widen into a grin. "Except that we know a monstrosity of a cuisine you're capable of making, so merci, madame!"

We share a scandalous laugh.

Camilla is bad news in the kitchen, something in common with my cousin Sally. Last time she tried making chicken stew, we could literary taste the chicken broth with our eyes. And the salt—Lord knows how many littles of water my poor stomach had to shelter.

"Well," she says while pouring herself another glass of champagne, "I'll leave you to your dinner preparations, since you may have an ulterior motive, after all. Correct me if I'm wrong."

I glance at her over my shoulder, temporarily abandoning the stakes of lamb I've been filling in the grilling tray.

"You're wrong, Cam. I always cook something fancy when in the best mood and today I certainly am," I tell her truthfully. Hopefully. "Now pass me the red wine vinegar from that bag, and I'm gonna have you make a pie for dessert—all you need to do is follow my instructions."

Camilla gives me a look of horror, and laughter reverberates through the walls as she abandons me in the kitchen.

A doorbell rings a little earlier than any of us expected. That sense of Deja vu rushes back to me like a speedboat on the fishing rodeo. I remember how Adrian came for dinner in my house back in Las Vegas, how things used to be, which is quite the opposite of now.

"I'll get it." Camilla leaves as I set the table, and my heart pounds ineffable beats and I despise how dysfunctional I get whenever he's in my vicinity.

Turning around, Adrian Castle is here. Tall, dark, and captivatingly handsome like the golden flames of sacrificial fire. Deadly and leather, yet hypnotizing and bewitching.

"Arabella," he says, greeting me.

"Adrian. Welcome." Curtly, giving him not so much as a smile, I walk back into the kitchen.

What I hear next is Isla jumping on him from God-knows-where. She screams his name with sheer complacency; it makes me cringe. I pull out the fried potatoes, a compliment to the Grilled lamb and salsa Verde—an Italian thing.

Am I obsessed with him?

I hate myself.

"Hello, Isla!" He lifts her in the air, just like Josh used to do. It makes me smile for a split second until I recollect who this man is. "I brought you this," I hear him say. It's torture. "Open it." He's put her down and she's still panting with joy.

Curiosity wins me over.

I stop doing everything and watch. Isla looks over the moon holding a pink box. She sits on the sofa; Camilla and Adrian remain up on their feet, staring at her smilingly.

"A laptop!" Isla exclaims.

What? I wanna kill this man.

I grab the bowl of potatoes, ready to give him the piece of mind about overstepping his boundaries and buying my sister the things I don't want her to have yet as though she's his daughter or something. How dare he!

But suddenly he says, "Well, it is an iPad for kids like yourself, but it's programmed with all the famous ballet recitals. You told me you love ballet, right? I hope you can learn more from the best," while crouching himself down in front of her.

Isla has never been happier ever since we moved here. As much as it kills me that Adrian is still lurking around my life like a shadow I would never get rid of—not that I want to—I don't think I can wreck my sister's heart by throwing tantrum about this cheating move.

But our ship sank, why is he still doing this?

________

A/N: This was a very long chapter so I had to divide it into two. Expect another update tomorrow—still under editing. Thank you for sticking around XoXo.