“Well, if it isn’t good old Sabrina.”
For a second, I forget how to breathe. Every single part of me seems to freeze. Except for my mind, of course.
It takes me backwards, to seven years ago.
Vividly, I can remember the lecture hall and the crowd that formed at the entrance. Me at the forefront as a spectacle, while Francis stands, arms folded and looking down at me with condescension.
Loud laughter follows, humiliating me. But what completely throws me off, is the look on his face.
He is calm and unbothered. Even slightly pleased. Like ruining me was his plan all along. And maybe it was.
The sound of murmurs snaps me back to reality. And once again, I’m at the centre of attention, and everyone is staring.
I turn slowly, my eyes meeting his, and I can’t help but be surprised.
I’d seen him online a few times, but I always quickly scrolled by. But now, seeing him in reality, I observe he has the same face. Same composure. Same infuriating calm.
Nothing about him has changed.
If anything, he looks...better.
More refined and expensive. Like everything has been just peachy for him.
I hate it. I hate that the rest of the room is probably seeing what I’m seeing. Someone handsome, popular and worth looking at. Unaware of the monster he truly is.
All I see is the past standing in front of me. His disdainful smirk as he revels in my mortification.
“Sabrina.” Vincent’s voice breaks the haze of a flashback. He’s angry, jaw and fist tightly clenched like he’s ready to enter a brawl.
“Come to my office. Now.” He commands. He turns and walks off immediately, his steps heavy, like the ground itself annoyed him.
People part for him, not wanting to take the brunt of his fury.
I follow him, as he asked. But not before my eyes betray me for just a second. I glance back to where Francis is seated, and he’s still calmly watching me.
Then he smiles. A wide smile which I can only interpret as one worn by a predator, when it’s cornered its prey.
I look away instantly.
I thought I’d overcome what had happened between us. Developed a thick skin and grown strong. Yet right now, I’m not ready to do any of this, when I’m so exhausted and confused about everything.
Especially because it’s him.
I ignore all the whispers around me, and I keep walking. Head and back straight, like I don’t hear any of it. Like it doesn’t matter, even if it does.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Vicky standing slightly to the side. Her phone is raised, and she’s recording Francis. Not even trying to hide it.
I almost stop and tell her she shouldn’t be happy meeting someone as malicious as him. But I tear my gaze away and keep walking.
Vincent’s office door slams the moment I step in, and echoes. I barely have time to turn before he starts.
“What the hell was that?” He snaps, though the question isn’t directed towards me. His hands run through his hair and he begins pacing in front of his desk.
“He thinks he can just walk in here and change things? Just like that?” He continues, his voice rising. “Who does he think he is?”
Francis Collins is who he thinks he is. But I don’t supply that information to Vincent. He already knows and it’s not like he’s talking at me. He’s ranting. Words spilling over each other.
“Inserting new conditions, exploiting loopholes like he owns the place. I should’ve known. I should’ve—”
“What are you talking about?” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
Vincent stops, and turns to me slowly. I don’t know where I get my courage from, but it must be the one unleashed after seeing my nemesis after seven years.
“You’re my boss and can vent as much as you want.” I continue, my voice tight. “But not when I don’t even know what’s going on, so I can provide a solution.”
For a moment, the room goes quiet and Vincent just stares at me. The way he looks at me suddenly changes. At first, I fear it’s anger, but when he speaks, I can tell what it is.
“You’re even bolder than usual.” He says, tone filled with interest.
I don’t respond. Because if I do, I might say something worse, and will make him more interested in firing me.
He exhales, running a hand down his face.
“I had a meeting with him yesterday.” He starts, his tone calmer now. “Francis Collins, I mean.”
I almost say I know he’s talking about him, but I force myself to stay silent.
“Both parties laid down terms.” He continues. “Contracts were reviewed. Agreements made.”
He pauses, then adds, more pointedly.
“I didn’t need to negotiate how my employees should be treated.”
Of course not.
“I did, however, make sure the PR team was included in the project. Since clearly, his team would’ve overlooked that.”
There’s a hint of pride in his voice. Like he expects me to be impressed he thought of my department.
“He’s already popular.” Vincent scoffs. “He doesn’t think he needs promotion.”
That sounds like Francis. Arrogant and so self-assured.
“The moment that bastard saw your name, among the workers we wanted to give important roles in making the show...” Vincent continues, his lips bending slightly. “He paused.”
I frown too.
“But I didn’t think much of it.” He adds with a shrug. “Probably trying to pronounce your last name.”
The insult lands, but I don’t react. People here pronouncing my last name wrong, and being perplexed over it, is something I’m familiar with.
Vincent has never said my last name properly. Not even once, and I’ve stopped correcting him.
“He said he’d personally decide the roles for the key staff involved in the production.” Vincent goes on. “I didn’t bother going over that part in detail. Left it to his team.”
‘Typical of you’ is what I desperately want to say. Because what type of irresponsible Chairman would skip some parts of a negotiation and contract?
To be honest, none of the children of our CEO are like her. Not at least, the two Hale heirs I’d met. Their brother, Victor, had been abroad for a few years.
“So what exactly is the problem?” I finally ask. I also want to add why it involved me, that I was urgently needed here.
Vincent surprises me by letting out a loud burst of laughter. “The problem?” He repeats. “The problem is that I had something planned for you!”
He runs a hand through his hair for the umpteenth time.
“Some simple yet important job for you. Like interviewing contestants. Asking questions. Something within your...range.”
Within my range? I wonder where exactly he thinks that is.
Then he adds, almost lazily. “Since you’ve obviously never been around people of a higher class. Except for me.”
My nails dig into my palm, wishing to claw at his patronising mouth.
“Then that bastard...” He mutters, shaking his head. Something about his tone makes my stomach drop. It’s different. Now he sounds less angry, and instead calculating.
“What did he do?” I ask, my voice lower now.
Vincent stops his pacing, and turns to face me fully. He looks at me appraisingly, then says, “He reassigned you.”
My brows knit slightly. “I don’t understand.”
“You won’t be working behind the scenes anymore.” He explains, then moves to sit on his chair. He puts his arms on his desk, then props a chin in his palm. “You’ll be one of the contestants.”
The words don’t register immediately. I flip around the sentence in my head a few times. “What?”
His eyes don’t leave mine.
“You’ll be put in the house with the other women.” He says, almost casually now.
No. That doesn’t make sense.
“That’s not possible,” I say, shaking my head slightly. “I’m not—”
He doesn’t let me finish.
“It’s already signed by the company. You’ll be on the show, to compete for Francis Collins’ heart.”