Chapter 2
The next day, I took half a day off.
The excuse? Stomach flu.
Minerva let out a snort over the phone.
"Young people these days, always weak," she said. "Get your time-off request to me by this afternoon."
"Got it," I replied.
I hung up and changed into a professional business outfit.
In the mirror, my gaze was steady—calm, yet lit with a spark of determination.
NovaTech's headquarters was right in the heart of the city's central business district.
It made our rented office look downright shabby by comparison.
After the receptionist confirmed my appointment, she politely led me to a meeting room.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the bustling city skyline was on full display.
On the table sat a bottle of Evian water.
Five minutes later, the door swung open.
Two people came in.
One was the headhunter who'd reached out to me yesterday.
The other guy had to be the interviewer.
He looked about forty, with a calm vibe and eyes that were sharp enough to see right through people.
"Ruby, nice to meet you. I'm Barnaby Morrison, the sales director at NovaTech," he said.
We shook hands.
His grip was firm.
He skipped the pleasantries, cutting right to the chase.
"We've looked over your profile. You're impressive," he said.
"Especially the NorthTech Project. We've tried to get in on that before—it's tough. Pulling it off is no small task."
"Just lucky, really," I said, keeping it humble.
"Luck counts as skill too," Barnaby said with a smile.
"We'd like to hear your plans for this role if you were to join us."
I pulled out my tablet, all set and ready to go.
I hooked it up to the projector in the meeting room.
My presentation popped up on the screen.
The title read: "Thoughts on Activating the Existing Market and Developing New Opportunities."
This wasn't just a basic self-introduction.
After staying up all night, I crafted a concise strategic proposal that directly addressed NovaTech's current market pain points.
I kicked things off by diving into their financials.
Then I broke down their product strengths and pointed out the gaps in their sales channels.
After that, I walked them through how we ended up losing the chance to secure the first phase of the NorthTech Project.
Finally, I laid out three concrete, actionable suggestions.
Each one came with a step-by-step plan and clear target KPIs.
Barnaby and the headhunter didn't interrupt me once.
They listened intently.
Their eyes went from sizing me up, to surprise, and finally, real admiration.
Twenty minutes later, I finished my presentation.
"Thank you for your time," I said, closing my tablet.
The room went quiet for a few seconds.
Barnaby started the applause.
"Ruby, you really went above and beyond anything I expected," he said.
"You weren't just here to interview for a client manager role—you just gave us a masterclass in strategy."
The headhunter grinned and gave me a big thumbs-up.
"One last question." Barnaby leaned in and looked me straight in the eye.
"Your current company has a good reputation and a strong platform. So, what made you want to leave?"
It was a standard question.
But it was also a trap.
Throwing shade at my old company would only make me come off as unprofessional.
I let the silence hang for two seconds.
Then I looked up and met his eyes directly. "Because my promotion to full-time has been stalled for three months."
I didn't add any embellishments.
I just stated the simple truth.
Barnaby was momentarily surprised.
Realization dawned on him soon.
He smiled.
"I see.
"Ruby, you're welcome to join us whenever you're ready," he said.
"HR will get in touch with you soon about the next interviews, but honestly, as far as I'm concerned, you've already passed."
I walked out of NovaTech's tower.
The sunlight at three in the afternoon was gentle, wrapping me in warmth without blinding glare.
Suddenly, the traffic and crowds outside felt like a vibrant canvas, alive with color and movement in my eyes.
The city no longer felt like a cold, suffocating machine pressing down on me.
Instead, it was a stage brimming with opportunity, just waiting for me to step into the spotlight.
I even splurged on the most expensive lemonade from a street vendor.
The ice clinked against the cup, making a crisp, refreshing sound.
The sweet and tangy drink slid down my throat.
It was the first time in six months since I started working that I'd bought a drink that cost more than 3 bucks.
I looked at my reflection in the glass wall.
The girl in the cheap shirt, hunched over coupons at the convenience store—that felt like a lifetime ago.
I tossed the half-finished lemonade into the trash.
Then I turned and flagged down a cab.
I gave the driver my office address.
I needed to go back, to give Minerva the hospital receipt, which was forged, as the company required when asking for a leave.
This was the last—and honestly, the most pointless—performance I had to give.
The cab pulled up outside my office building.
I was back in this place that felt familiar yet strange.
The lobby was chilly, the air conditioning cranked up high.
The receptionist glanced at me, then went back to scrolling on her phone.
Everything was the same as ever, stifling, suffocating, and completely drained of life.
The elevator doors slid open.
I stepped through the doors of the sales department.
Dozens of workstations, each like a little box, trapped everyone inside.
Some of my colleagues were on the phone, some were staring blankly at their screens, and a few were sneaking peeks at shopping sites.
My return went completely unnoticed.
I headed straight for HR.
Minerva's office door was still open.
She was carefully applying lipstick in front of a small mirror.
The bright red made her lips look extra harsh and mean.
I knocked on the door.
Minerva caught my reflection in the mirror, but kept on applying her lipstick.
"Where's your hospital receipt?" Minerva asked.
I handed Minerva the hospital receipt, making sure everything looked legit.
When you're faking it, you gotta cover all the bases.
That was what being professional was all about.
She took the hospital receipt and glanced at it casually.
Then she pulled open her drawer and tossed it inside.
That drawer was probably filled with countless papers just like this one.
All were holding all kinds of real or fake hospital receipts from the staff.
"Alright, get back to work," Minerva said.
She capped her lipstick with a sharp, crisp click.
It felt like she was doing me a huge favor.
I nodded.
I didn't say another word, turned, and was ready to walk away.
"Ruby, hold on." But Minerva stopped me.
I turned back.
She picked up the desk phone and dialed an internal extension.
"Mr. Brewer, Ruby's here. Do you want her to bring over the data now?" Minerva asked.
I couldn't hear what Theo said on the other end.
Minerva hung up.
Her face showed a hint of gloating.
"Mr. Brewer wants you to head to his office.
"He needs the NorthTech Project phase two data, and he wants it now.
"Oh, right," Minerva paused, as if something else had just come to mind.
"Looks like your workload has piled up after taking half a day off.
"Just a heads-up—when you're still on probation, your work ethic is under the microscope.
"Don't let minor health issues slow you down or leave the director dissatisfied."
I looked at her.
I stared at her lips—perfectly painted, yet delivering the coldest lines.
All of a sudden, she just seemed ridiculous to me.