Chapter 22 Shattered
Melissa’s POV
The Sterling Sports Media building stood forty stories tall, it was made of glass and steel catching the morning sun like a beacon. I tilted my head back, shielding my eyes, my portfolio bag sat heavy against my hip.
This was it. My one chance to turn things in my favour.
The subway ride had taken forever…I spent twenty minutes stuck between a man who smelled like old coffee and a woman whose perfume made my eyes water. I’d stood the entire way, too nervous to sit, practicing my answers in my head.
Why do you want to work in sports photography?
What’s your greatest strength?
Where do you see yourself in five years?
Two days ago, I jumped on my bed screaming when they called. Aria had burst into my room thinking I was dying, and we’d ended up jumping together like maniacs until my mom knocked on the wall telling us to quiet down.
Now, standing here, my hands were sweating so badly I had to wipe them on my skirt.
“Good morning.” The receptionist smiled as I walked towards her. “How can I help you?”
“I have a 10 AM interview. Melissa Hayes.”
Her fingers flew across her keyboard. “Walk to the fifth floor. Someone will meet you at the elevator.”
My heels clicked against marble as I crossed to the elevators.
The elevator dinged when we got to the fifth door.
A woman in her thirties waited, with her clipboard in her hand. “Melissa?”
“Yes.”
“Jennifer. We spoke on the phone.” Her handshake was firm. “Follow me.”
“We have a few candidates today,” Jennifer said, opening a door to a waiting lounge. “Help yourself to coffee or water. Mr. Sterling will…”
I stopped walking as I walked inside because the figure sitting on the leather couch, perfectly composed in a white blouse and navy skirt, was Tasha.
Our eyes met.
Her mouth curved into a smile that made my stomach drop.
“Oh my God.” Her voice dripped false sweetness. “Melissa? What are you doing here?”
My throat closed. “I’m here for the Interview.”
“No way!” She stood, smoothing her skirt. “Me too! Isn’t that crazy?”
Jennifer glanced between us. “You two know each other?”
“We’re in the same program at Columbia,” Tasha said before I could respond. “Same major, actually. We’ve been competing for top grades all semester.”
Competing was a generous word for what we’d been doing.
“How nice,” Jennifer said, though her smile looked strained. “Well, there’s coffee and water on the table. Mr. Sterling will call you both shortly.”
She left, closing the door behind her.
The silence pressed down like a physical weight.
I moved to the coffee station, needing something to do with my hands. I poured myself a cup I didn’t want. My fingers shook slightly as I lifted it.
“Your portfolio looks a little thin,” Tasha said behind me.
I turned. She was looking at my bag, her head tilted like she was examining something disappointing.
“It’s fine.”
“Is it though?” She walked closer, heels silent on the plush carpet. “I mean, I brought three separate portfolios. One for action shots, one for portraits, one for my special projects with Professor Chen.”
Professor Chen’s special project. For some reason I never got invited to work on that project.
“Good for you.”
“You weren’t part of that project, were you?” Her voice was all innocence. “I thought Professor Chen invited the top students. Maybe you just… slipped through the cracks.”
My grip tightened on the coffee cup.
“It’s so competitive in our program,” she continued, circling me slowly. “Only the best make it. And with your recent… troubles… I’m sure people are wondering if you’re focused enough for professional work.”
“My recent troubles have nothing to do with my photography.”
“Don’t they though?” She stopped in front of me.
“You don’t know anything about…”
“I know plenty.” Her smile sharpened. “And I know I’m getting this job. Not you.”
Before I could respond, she stepped back…too suddenly.
Her hand knocked into my arm making the coffee cup tip.Hot liquid splashed across my white blouse, soaking through to my skin.
I gasped, stumbling backward. The cup fell from my hands, shattering on the floor. Brown liquid spread across the cream carpet.
“Oh my God!” Tasha’s hand flew to her mouth. “I’m so sorry! That was completely my fault!”
But her eyes said otherwise. They glittered with satisfaction.
The door burst open. Jennifer stood there, taking in the scene…me dripping with coffee, Tasha looking horrified, she took in the broken ceramic and stains on their expensive carpet.
“What happened?”
“It was an accident,” Tasha said quickly. “I turned too fast and knocked into her. I feel terrible.”
Jennifer’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Melissa, are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” But my voice shook. My blouse clung to my skin, coffee dripping onto my skirt. My hands were stained brown.
“Let me get you some towels…”
“No, it’s okay.” I grabbed my portfolio bag with trembling hands. “I should go. I can’t… I can't do an interview like this.”
“We can reschedule…”
“It’s fine.” I was already moving toward the door. “Thank you for the opportunity.”
I didn’t wait for a response. Neither did I look at Tasha’s triumphant face.
I just walked away trying to maintain my dignity.
Down the hallway past those beautiful photographs I’d never take. Into the elevator where my reflection showed exactly what I was…a girl soaked in coffee, trying not to cry.
I made it to a bench on the platform before the tears came flooding out. Like something inside me had cracked and couldn’t hold anymore.
My phone buzzed. With a text from an unknown number.
Unknown: Better luck next time!
Tasha.
Another buzz. This one from Sterling Sports Media.
Sterling: Thank you for your time today. We’ve decided to move forward with another candidate. We wish you success in your future endeavors.
They hadn’t even waited until I got home.
A train approached, its lights cutting through the dim station. I stared at it, my coffee-stained blouse sticking to my skin, my portfolio bag suddenly feeling like it was full of lead.
Six rejections now. Six.
My phone rang.Mom was calling but I couldn’t answer. I Couldn’t explain what happened. I didn’t want to admit that I’d been humiliated again.
The train stopped and people filed out.
I should get on. I should do something other than sit here on this bench like a broken thing.
My phone buzzed again.
Marcus (Gavin’s Assistant): Reminder: Interview Monday 9 AM. Mr. Cross’s office. Please confirm attendance.
I stared at the message.
Gavin’s offer. I told him I wasn’t interested but he wasn’t giving up at all. But sitting here, soaked in coffee and rejection, pride felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford anymore.
My fingers moved before my brain caught up.
Me: I’ll be there. He replied to me almost immediately.
Marcus: Excellent. Mr. Cross is looking forward to meeting with you.
I set my phone down and laughed. It came out harsh and broken, echoing off the tiled walls.
Mr. Cross is looking forward to meeting with you.
He’d already met me. I know how he taste.
And Monday morning, I was going to walk into that same office and pretend none of it had happened.
Because I had no other choice.
Because Tasha had taken everything else.
Because sometimes survival means swallowing your pride and accepting help.
Another train approached. This time, I walked in.
And whatever happened in Gavin’s office… I’d deal with it.
Even if it destroyed what was left of me.