Divorce to Destiny: Reclaiming My CEO Husband by Anney GW

I can't breathe..

Meeting this CEO is going to be the death of me. I've been throwing up from nerves all morning.

I adjust my blazer, trying to act like I'm not about to pass out, and glance over at Winona, who's giving me the look-the one that says she's about two seconds away from laughing at me.

I've never worn a damn blazer in my life. Give me a mini-dress any day.

"You know, I didn't sign up for this level of stress. I thought we were just going to grab lunch with some rich guy, not audition for a role in The Apprentice," I mutter under my breath, trying to hide the shaky hands clutching my bag. Winona raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "It's not The Apprentice. Just act like you know what you're doing. And for God's sake, don't spill a drink on the guy."

"Drink, do you think he'll offer some bubbles?" I deadpan.

"It's 9am, I think not, I meant coffee."

""Damn."

""You'll survive."

"Barely. I'm not cut out for this crap."

"You know it. I'll always be your personal cheerleader," she says, eyes glinting. "And if you mess up? I'll throw some confetti in the air and call it a party."

"If I mess up? Don't you mean when?"

She rubs my arm lightly. "You've got this."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, well, I'm the fake it till I make it expert, remember?"

her face softens. "But

"Who needs enemies when I've got friends like you,

drop out from under me. My chest is tight, my palms slick

is the moment. The moment

out for corporate. I'm a party girl. What the fuck was Lance thinking? He knew more than anyone how I detest the thought of a real job. I have money, who

kill this non-profit faster than a

born for this-cool, composed, walking like she owns the place. She's all business, all confidence. Meanwhile, I feel like a pretender in this suit, fidgeting with my briefcase like it's my life raft. "You okay?" Winona's voice cuts through my chaos,

but the word

second. "You'll be fine. You've got this. They're not going to eat

don't know, Winona," I

solda girl-guide cookie. I'm pretty sure they're gonna

overthinking. You're smart, you're

feels like

me. It's like my stomach is trying to eat itself, and my legs? They're

reach the door, and I read the plaque COLLINS CHARITIES and I can already feel my

is it. Walk in, keep your cool,

inside first, calm as a queen, like this is just another day in

area

of a magazine. Minimalist furniture,

and wealth. And me? I feel like m about

I'm too busy trying not to throw up. Winona doesn't hesitate, strolling forward with a confident stride. "Thank you." Her

try to step forward, but my feet feel like they're stuck in cement. My breath comes faster. I

and guides me with on hand as she opens the door with the other. "Go ahead," she whispers. "You got this." The door swings open, and then