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“Oh, what field is your father in?” Juan asks, with a sly grin toward his colleague.

“Investment banking. Howard Turner, you might have heard of him?” I reply, my voice tight. Juan and Lemon Face exchange a look, clearly unimpressed. My fingers clench under the table, nails digging into my palms. Of course, they don’t recognize the name. They’re only interested in their precious Chick’nFuck’nLick’n.

“Six years’ experience as an investment banker. That’s very impressive,Alexandra.” Lemon Face lingers on my name with a smile that doesn’t reach her brown eyes. “You are aware this position’s remuneration package is near minimum wage?” she inquires, interlocking her fingers.

My heart pounds in my chest at the talk of money—the desperate reason I’m here. I’ve no idea what the minimum wage is, but it sounds terribly poor.

“Yes, I’m sure when you offer me the position formally, we can discuss such details later,” I answer with a wave of my hand.

Their hands dart to their papers, both scribbling with pens. I frown, leaning forward as Juan appears to be drawing large circles for some reason. He notices me observing him with a nervous smile before shifting his gaze and paper.

“Right, you’ll be glad to know this is the last question, Alexandra,” Juan declares with a deep breath. “What would you say is your greatest strength and greatest weakness?”

I nod, knowing this question is a trick one. The true answer—that I have no weakness—is somehow the wrong answer, as I learned from searching the internet.

“My greatest strength is my passion. When I become focused on a task, I make sure it gets done, and gets done right.”Often, it also gets me into trouble.“My greatest weakness... God, there are so many!” I jest, laughing at the irony. An awkward silence greets me, forcing me to stop.

These two are so dull.

“My greatest weakness is I care too much. If something’s bothering me, I’ll get stuck on it until I can fix it.” I smile with satisfaction, recalling the advice I’d read.

The two interviewers scribble more notes, and I feel a sense of relief that this interview—my first one—is ending.

“Do you have questions for us,Alexandra?” Lemon Face mocks again, and if not for this formal setting and my desperation, I’d give her a piece of my mind.

I exhale deeply, taking the higher ground. “So, how does this work? You call me later, offering me the position?”

“Not quite,” Juan titters, sounding like an injured bird. “We have a lot of interviews remaining, but we’ll let you know as soon as possible.” He offers a greasy hand, which I’m loath to take, the moistness making me squirm internally. “Okay? Thanks very much for your attendance, Miss Turner.”

“Thank you for your time, Juan.” I offer a hand towards the woman, “And thank you, Lemon...” my words trail off, struggling to remember her actual name.

“Cathy,” she mutters darkly, offering a look of disdain.

“Of course it is! Silly me, it’s that damn heat again!” I give her the weakest and briefest of handshakes. I straighten my gorgeous Chanel suit, colored in light beige and trimmed in black. If I get this job, I’ll make it my mission to have her fired.

Ah, what a lovely thought.

Ten minutes later, I’m buoyed by a good mood, relief the stressful interview is over. I notice a branch of Goldman Sachs in the bustling high street. Stopping, I decide to take a selfie, posing with pouting lips and my head over a shoulder near the signpost.Gorgeous and stunning, as always.But the light isn’t quite right. I take more, many more, until I find the perfect one. This I post to my social media with the intriguing tagline “To new beginnings!”

This is a new beginning of sorts. I can sense it. A new job, my own money. No more begging from an increasingly stingy and ungrateful mother. I would never tell my many adoring fans on social media I’m working for Chick’n Lick’n! That’s ridiculous. Better to let them think I’m following in my father’s footsteps—a big-time investment banker. If only he cared enough... loved me enough, to want to meet me.

I shake my head, banishing the dark thoughts that often haunt me. This is a time of celebration, not worrying about my prick of a father. Determined, I make my way to my favorite cafe, easily passing the busy crowds, knowing this place like the back of my hand, and aided by the fact I’m tall at six feet, peering over the heads of the noisy mass.

Already, the chimes of the likes on my post ring out, each one like sweet music to my ears. It’s nice to know people out there appreciate me, even if my so-called family doesn’t.

I take a seat inside the Distro Bistro, finding my favorite spot snuggled into the corner away from the busy streets. The cafe is sophisticated, a seamless blend of contemporary chic and classic elegance. Rich, dark wood floors and high ceilings create a spacious, airy feel, while warm, ambient lighting casts a soft glow throughout the space.

But it’s the high prices that keep the place quiet that I enjoy the most. A welcome breather from the bustling high streets of the city. I sip on my mocha and take a small nibble of my cream-filled cinnamon swirl, squealing with glee as I notice the likes on my post already reaching over a thousand, with many comments of encouragement and heart emojis. Although my temper flares seeing a few haters calling me “ugly” and “fat,” it makes my blood boil.

Why don’t they just fuck off to hate on someone else?

I prepare heated replies until I stop myself with an effort, breathing deep.No, I won’t let them ruin my day. They don’t deserve it.

Scrolling through Prada’s new season catalog online, I spot a beautiful double-breasted twill trench coat. The belt would cinch my waist and accentuate my ample bosoms and hips perfectly. Plus, the cord texture matches my Birkin handbag so well—it must be fate!

I grimace seeing the four-thousand-dollar price tag, knowing I’m overdrawn and my four credit cards are maxed out.

Fuck it, I deserve this!