Bonds

Chapter 16

-Maya’s POV-

I sat on the plush chair, hating how distracted I felt knowing that Natalia must have put in a lot to get me this interview. My father’s words echoed in my head, each syllable tumbling through my mind. He’d shoved the papers at me, anger burning in his eyes, and demanded I sign them. My mother followed him out, a silent apology in her eyes that did nothing to soothe the storm raging inside me.

“Amaya Stone? Is Amaya Stone here?”

The voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I jumped to my feet, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. The other candidates watched me, probably judging me for not being focused.

“Yeah, that’s me,” I mumbled, shoving the stray hair from my face.

The woman who called my name gave me a warm smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She looked about my age, but carried herself with a confidence I envied. Her tailored black suit hugged her curves perfectly, her dark hair sleek and polished.

“No worries,” she said kindly, her voice like honey. “Nerves got the best of everyone sometimes. Follow me, Ms. Stone.”

I opened my mouth to correct her- it was Mrs. Stone technically, and McCall anyway – but the words wouldn’t come out. We stopped in front of a heavy wooden door with a brass nameplate that read “Ms. Edwards.” My guide took a deep breath, smoothing her already flawless outfit.

“Just a heads up,” she murmured, her voice losing a bit of its earlier cheer. “Ms. Edwards can be a bit… direct. But she’s fair, and she appreciates

honesty.”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “Direct?” 1 echoed, already picturing a stern woman in a power suit grilling me like a criminal.

She offered a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Just be yourself.”

I nodded, trying to muster some confidence. The woman gave the door

its usual confident tone. “Amaya Stone is here for her

desk. She was older than I expected, maybe in her late fifties, with silver streaked hair

“Thank you.

voice a low tone that commanded

The knot in my stomach tightened, and the questions about my father swirled around

smile.

a hand. “It’s

in return. Instead, she stared at my hand for a beat before reaching out and

her gaze still locked

sat down in the chair facing her desk. It didn’t feel like just an interview anymore. It felt like a test, an

stomach twisted as Ms. Edwards flipped through my portfolio. “Interesting,” she finally said, “Bold use of color, Ms. Stone, but not exactly.

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Chapter 16

cheeks burned. “I like to push

“And can you explain how that translates to happy clients? Not everyone wants

answers, the slick comebacks I’d prepared- vanished, “Well, …” I trailed off, feeling like a

Edwards sighed, her perfectly polished nails tapping a rhythm against the desk. “Interior design isn’t just about expressing yourself, Ms. Stone,” she began, a hint of condescension in her voice.

My father’s harsh voice echoed in my head, “Because they took everything from me.” Taking a deep. breath, I sat up straighter. “You’re absolutely right, Ms. Edwards,” I said, my voice surprisingly firm. “Understanding the client is key. But

of something, maybe even

Edwards,” I said, extending my hand.

Ms. Stone,” she replied, her

office, my mind swirled with emotions. The interview hadn’t gone as planned, but something had shifted in the room. Maybe it was the way my voice gained strength, the unexpected fire in my eyes. Maybe it was the connection I unknowingly made between my father’s words and my own design philosophy, finding my

I squinted against the sudden glare of the afternoon sun. Car horns blared, pedestrians hurried past in a blur of