Blinding panic sears through me, making my limbs tremble and my mind spin. I pull on the door, yanking it roughly and making it rattle. It doesn't budge. From outside, I hear laughing.

"Good luck with your interview, Ivy!" Serena shouts, and I hear her laugh disappear.

Tears, hot and heavy threaten to spill. My lips quiver and I kick the door in frustration. I resist the urge to collapse to the ground and sob. Instead, I look around in a mad rush, trying to figure out something, anything, that could get me out of this room.

There is nothing.

No windows, no other doors and definitely no spare keys lying around.

I shut my eyes and take in a long, slow, deep breath, trying to calm myself down. It doesn't work. Rage and frustration make me strangely, stiflingly hot. A clammy sweat breaks out across my skin and my hands shake violently.

How did I not see this coming? I practically walked into her trap. Twice.

I groan, angry as much with myself as I am with Serena. I know better.

I turn back to the door, still taking in slow breaths to try and calm myself. Panicking won't get me anywhere. Still, I can't get the thought of either arriving late in my sweaty gym gear or standing up Marcus and the other interviewers out of my head. I can feel my cheeks flushing with embarrassment already.

I need to get this job. My realm relies on me doing so.

Yet, a small part of me, a tiny niggle in the back of my mind, wants to work with Marcus. A slightly bigger part of me doesn't want to let him down.

I shake my head as though that will get rid of those thoughts, and focus on the task ahead. How am I going to get out of here? Brute force isn't going to work. The door is far too thick and heavy. I look at the hinges. No, they are screwed in too tightly and I have nothing on me that would get the free.

So, the last option is the lock. I've picked plenty of locks in my time, and this one doesn't look special. It isn't electronic, thank goodness. I just need something to pick it with.

Spinning on my heels, I look toward the hairdryers. A smirk forms across my face. The door may be too sturdy for my brute-force approach, but shitty hairdryers won't be.

I walk over to them, praying they'll have some sort of wire inside I could use in the fine gap of the lock. I pull the closest dryer from its holder on the wall and then slam it on the countertop. There is a satisfying crunch, and I can't help but smile.

I slam it down again, being careful so it doesn't shatter and shred my hands. With every loud bang and crack, a little bit of tension leaves me. Smashing things is a great way to release anger.

After a few good slams, the cheap plastic of the dryer has broken apart, revealing the wires and metal inside. I stare down at it for a few moments, wondering if I'll get electrocuted if I start messing around with it. Looking at the wall it's connected to, I try and see if there is some sort of switch to turn off the power.

"Ah," I say, grinning, seeing it above the mirror, close to the ceiling. I probably should have done this first, but oh well.

Climbing onto the counter, I stretch up trying to reach for it. Getting onto my tiptoes, my teeth grit as my fingers desperately claw for the switch. With a small jump, I flick the switch off.

Nothing else happens that I can see. No lights turn off and no alarms sound, so I assume it is the hairdryer's switch.

Jumping back down off the counters, I gaze down at the dryers once more.

"Right," I mutter and carefully pull away some of the shattered plastic to get a closer look. I feel sorry for maintenance after this.

I spot a few silver wires and coils and reluctantly, carefully, reach out to touch them. A breath of relief leaves my mouth as my finger presses against the metal and I'm not launched across the room. There isn't even a tingle.

I make quick work of pulling out some of the metal wires, yanking them out with as much force as I can muster. Once they are free, I rush over to the door and crouch down. With my mind completely focused, the angry shake has stopped, leaving my hands steady.

Luckily for me, it's one of the metal cylinder locks that have small silver keys. The metal strips I have fit in perfectly. It takes a few attempts, but eventually, there is a nice satisfying click as the lock opens. With no hesitation, I yank open the door and rush out.

The changing room beyond is empty, everyone having already left for their interviews. I look down at my watch. Half an hour. Okay. That's doable.

I am about to run out of the changing room to go and get my phone and wallet when a thought occurs to me.

Serena surely wouldn't have left with my clothes. Right? I mean, she had to have them otherwise she wouldn't have been able to put my towel and shower gels back when I talked to Marcus.

I rush to the closest wall of lockers and begin opening them all in a mad frenzy. When I open a random locker right at the top and spot a familiar pile, I let out a scream of sheer relief.

My hands wrap around the soft material of my dress and I yank it from the locker. Everything of mine is there, and surprisingly, has been left untouched by the looks of it.

I change quickly. I put on a little extra perfume and deodorant to help try and cover the sweaty mess I have become in my panic since the shower.

My hair is still wet but I'm not risking going back in the shower room to use the dryers. I towel dry it as much as possible and then drag my brush through it, yelping as it catches the many knots.

I don't even bother with makeup. My heart flutters madly and I can practically hear time ticking down. Not only do I have to go and put my bags back at my desk, but I have this whole building to navigate and now only twenty-five minutes left to do so. I don't even know where the interviews are taking place.

Grabbing all my stuff and throwing it into my bag, I run from the changing rooms. My heels pinch my feet as I run, but I ignore it.

It takes me no time at all to get back to the office. Leo looks up as I storm in.

"There you are," he says, standing and rushing over to me, taking my bags from me. "What happened? Serena came in here all smug and wouldn't answer us when we asked where you were."

"It's a long story," I say, panting slightly. The others still in the office look at me with narrowed eyes. Those friendly with Serena are either snickering at my dishevelled appearance or madly texting, their jaws clenched. I assume they are informing Serena that I'm free.

"How do I look?" I ask, trying to ignore them.

"You need to tie your hair into a bun or something. The wet messy look isn't it. At least if it is in a bun, you can try and go with a slick look or something. Make it look intentional."

I grab my brush from my bag and pull my damp hair into a tight ponytail, tying the band as securely as I can. Then, I curl it around into a ball. When I'm done, my scalp stings and aches with how tight it is.

"Better?" I ask.

"Yeah," Leo replies, passing me my handbag. "Take a few moments, Ivy. You look like a flustered mess. Get yourself some red lippy on and walk in there confident and calm."

"Yeah, you're right," I sigh. I take out my phone and my lipstick, using the camera to see what I'm doing. Then, I apply some mascara.

"How do I look?" I ask once I'm done. I straighten the skirts of my black dress and square my shoulders.

"Like a badass. Especially with those stilettos. How did you manage to move so fast in them?" he jokes. I laugh, relaxing slightly.

"Practice," I tell him.

He laughs and then gestures to the door. "Get out of here, you should be in the waiting room right now."

I groan.

"Hey, don't panic. Play it off calm and show them the annoyingly perfect and put-together Ivy we all know and love."

"Was that an insult or a compliment?" I ask, laughing. Leo grins.

"The highest form of flattery, I assure you."

I roll my eyes and slap him lightly as he laughs.

"Go. Stop wasting time," he warns.

"Alright, I'm going," I say and spin on my heels, rushing toward the interview rooms in what I hope is the right direction.

As I make my way through the sterile white corridors, I focus on calming myself. Leo is right. I have an image to maintain. I also have a man to impress. Marcus's face pops into my head and I feel a slight blush play on my cheeks. I've already humiliated myself enough in front of him today. Now, I have to be perfect. Calm, composed, effortless. Sexy, but in an elegant way. Intelligent but in a humble way. Confident, but not arrogant.

It's all a fine line. But with my mother's training, after all these years, laying on the charm is now as easy as clicking my fingers. After this morning's errors, I'm really going to have to work on Marcus on the other interviewers.

You can do this.

I scan my card and open the door to the meeting rooms with ten minutes to spare. We were meant to arrive at our interviews twenty minutes early just to check in and do final preparations, but oh well. At least I'm here.

The man at reception looks up at me.

"Name?" he asks.

"Ivy Astor," I reply. He clicks at his computer and then frowns.

"We were told by one of the other candidates that you had pulled out," he says.

"She was mistaken," I reply, keeping my voice even and free from any of the venomous hatred I feel toward Serena.

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

"You're signed in. You may go and wait with the other candidates until your name is called. The interviews have already started so be silent as you enter. You're lucky I'm even allowing you in."

"Thank you," I reply and turn toward the door.

Taking in shallow a breath, I square my shoulders once more and straighten my dress. Then, I open the doors and walk confidently inside.

The room beyond goes silent except for my stilettoes clicking on the floor. Everyone turns to face me, but I ignore them. I see Serena sitting in a chair near the door to the interview room. She looks impeccable, annoyingly. The white, smart dress is pristine and elegant. She's tied her hair into a low bun and she must have used gel or something, because not a strand looks out of place.

Her make-up is also perfect. Subtle eyeshadow and shimmery pink lips, with a contour that makes her cheekbones look sharp and angular. I hate to admit it, but Serena looks great. Well, she would, if she wasn't shooting me one of the nastiest glares I've ever seen. I almost start laughing but I hold it in, not wanting to give anything away.

I take a seat in one of the chairs and then pull out my phone, silencing it completely and then just turning it off. I peek a glance at Serena, who is whispering in her friend's ear. I almost roll my eyes as she looks my way.

Subtlety is not her strong suit.

I put my phone in my bag and straighten. My heart flutters with nerves as I wait. I wonder what they're going to ask in this interview. It has all been very secretive.

What if they start poking holes in my cover story?

That thought sends waves of dread through me, making my stomach drop and churn uncomfortably.

No. That isn't going to happen. If it does, I'll just talk my way out of it.

Silence falls across the room. My stomach twists itself into knots and I play with my fingers, resisting the urge to bite my nails. On the wall, the clock ticks, filling the eerie, uncomfortable silence.

After about ten minutes, the door opens, making me jump. One of the other candidates comes rushing out of the interview room. She keeps her head down and she pretty much sprints for the exit. I don't miss her red face and bloodshot eyes. Nor do I miss the sniffle.

What did they do to her?

"She's only been in there for what, ten minutes?" I hear someone near me shakily whisper.

"They've all come out like that," someone replies.

Before I can ask questions, Marcus steps out. His eyes scan the room and then fall on mine. A beautiful smile lights up his handsome face and my heart nearly skips a beat.

Pull yourself together, Rowan.

"Ivy," he says and opens the door wider, gesturing for me to follow. I smile widely and stand.

I have no idea what's waiting on the other side, but if no one's been in there longer than ten minutes and they've all come out crying, it can't be good.

My stomach continues to twist and I ball my hands into tight balls to keep them from shaking.

This is it, Rowan. Don't fuck it up.