The Billionaire secret Addiction

Lora's POV

The waiting room was suffocating.

I sat on one of the hard plastic chairs, my hands gripping my folder so tightly my knuckles had turned white. Around me, at least twenty other people waited for their turn. Some looked confident, dressed in expensive suits with perfectly styled hair. Others looked as nervous as I felt, shifting in their seats.

I tried to steady my breathing but it was hard. My heart kept racing, pounding so loud I was sure everyone could hear it.

The door to the office opened and a woman walked out. She was young, maybe my age, wearing a professional pantsuit. But her face told the whole story. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her mascara had run, leaving black streaks under her eyes. She clutched her resume to her chest like it was the only thing holding her together.

She walked past all of us without looking up, her heels clicking quickly against the floor. She was practically running toward the exit.

My stomach dropped.

I looked down at my own documents, the folder sitting on my lap. My resume. My portfolio. References from jobs I'd worked years ago when I was still somebody. When people still knew my name.

Was I even qualified for this? Managing director of one of the top marketing firms in the city? Who was I kidding?

Two years ago, I wouldn't have needed to interview for anything. Agencies came to me. Designers fought to have me walk their runways. Magazine editors called my agent begging for photo shoots.

Now I was broke, desperate, and one bad month away from being homeless.

My rent was due in five days. I didn't have the money. I'd already missed last month's payment and my landlord had been very clear. One more missed payment and I was out. No exceptions.

Then there were the other debts. Medical bills from when I got sick last year and couldn't afford insurance. Credit card payments I'd been avoiding. A loan I'd taken out just to buy groceries.

I needed this job. I needed it so badly my chest hurt just thinking about it.

"Did you see her face?" a woman whispered beside me. She was talking to the man sitting next to her. "She looked destroyed."

"I heard the CEO is brutal," the man whispered back.

"Cold as ice. Chard Anderson. They say he fires people for breathing wrong."

"I heard he rejected fifteen candidates yesterday alone," another voice added from across the room. "Apparently nobody meets his standards."

My hands started shaking. I pressed them flat against my folder, trying to make them stop.

Chard Anderson. I'd read about him online when I was preparing for this interview. Billionaire. Self-made. Built Anderson Marketing Corporation from nothing into one of the most powerful firms in the country. He was only thirty-two but people talked about him like he was some kind of legend.

Or a monster, depending on who you asked.

The door opened again.

This time, a tall, slim woman walked out. She wore a skirt so short it barely covered anything and a tight blouse that left little to the imagination. Her makeup was perfect. Her hair was styled in perfect waves. And she was smiling.

Actually smiling.

She walked past us with her head high, confidence radiating from every step. She didn't look rejected. She looked like she'd just won something.

The whispers started immediately.

"Did she get the job?"

"Look at what she's wearing. Of course she got it."

"I bet she used her looks. That's the only way."

"Typical. Men always fall for that."

I tried to ignore the comments but they stung anyway. Was that what it took now? Looking a certain way? Dressing a certain way?

I glanced down at my own outfit. A simple black blazer and matching pants. Professional. Conservative. The kind of thing you were supposed to wear to an interview.

Was it not enough?

Before I could spiral further into doubt, a man with glasses stepped out of the office. He was holding a clipboard and looked tired, like he'd been doing this all day.

"Lora Brown," he called out, his voice flat and emotionless.

My heart stopped. Then it started racing twice as fast.

I stood up quickly, my legs shaking beneath me. I smoothed down my blazer and picked up my folder, holding it against my chest like armor.

This was it. My one chance.

I walked toward the office, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. Don't trip. Don't stumble. Just get to the door.

I was so focused on not embarrassing myself that I didn't see the blonde woman.

She came from the other side of the hallway, moving fast, and we collided hard. My folder flew from my hands. Papers scattered across the floor in every direction. My resume. My portfolio pages. Everything.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" I dropped to my knees immediately, scrambling to pick up my documents. "I didn't see you, I'm so sorry."

The woman didn't move. She just stood there, staring down at me with disgust twisting her beautiful face.

"Are you blind?" she snapped, her voice sharp and cold. "Watch where you're going, you old hag!"

I froze, still on my knees, a paper halfway to my hand. Old hag? I looked up at her, confused. I was twenty-six. What was she talking about?

"I said I'm sorry," I repeated, my voice quieter now. "It was an accident."

"Accident?" She laughed, but there was no humor in it.

"You probably did it on purpose. Pathetic."

I stared at her, completely lost. What had I done to deserve this? I'd never seen this woman before in my life.

She looked expensive. Designer clothes. Designer bag. Diamond earrings that probably cost more than my entire year's rent. Everything about her screamed wealth and privilege.

People in the waiting room were staring now. I could feel their eyes on me, watching the scene unfold. My face burned with embarrassment.

I wanted to say something. To defend myself. But my throat had closed up and no words would come out.

The woman looked me up and down one more time, her lip curling in disgust. Then she turned and walked away, her heels clicking loudly against the floor.

I stayed there on my knees, frozen, my papers still scattered around me.

Then I heard it. A deep voice from inside the office. Cold. Commanding. Impatient.

"Who is Lora Brown?" the voice demanded. "If she isn't ready, then her name should be cancelled from the list."

Panic shot through me like electricity.

I scrambled to my feet, grabbing papers as fast as I could. I didn't even check if I had everything. I just shoved them into my folder, my hands shaking so badly I could barely hold onto anything.

I turned and ran toward the office.

My heel caught on something and I stumbled but caught myself before I fell. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might explode.

I reached the doorway and stopped, breathing hard, my hair probably a mess, my folder clutched against my chest.

This was it.

No turning back now.

I stepped inside.