Chapter 5 Why me?

I stood in front of the Morris Tower, my neck craned back to take in the full height of the gleaming glass skyscraper. It had to be at least sixty stories, I checked my watch: 9:45 AM. I was early.

After last night's email exchange with Bernard Jones, I'd barely slept. Instead, I'd spent hours researching Morris Industries and its enigmatic Chief Strategy Officer. The company was even bigger than I'd realized – a technology and investment conglomerate with tentacles in everything from software development to biotechnology.

As for Bernard himself, information was surprisingly scarce. A few mentions in business articles about successful acquisitions, a blurry photo from some charity gala, but no personal details. No social media presence at all, which seemed almost unnatural in 2025.

"It's just an interview," I muttered to myself as I smoothed down my skirt. I'd spent an embarrassing amount of time choosing this outfit – confident but not aggressive. I hope this skiry will bring me luck.But from my general career trajectory so far.it will be difficult

I'd called in sick to Apex, leaving a raspy voicemail for Margaret about a sudden stomach bug. The lie left me feeling guilty, but what choice did I have?

"Sorry, can't come in because I'm interviewing with a much more prestigious company after literally crashing into one of their executives" didn't seem like a viable excuse.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed through the revolving doors into the lobby. The interior was all marble and glass, with a massive reception desk staffed by people who looked like they moonlighted as models.

"Good morning," I said to a perfectly coiffed receptionist. "I have an appointment with Bernard Jones at ten."

She didn't look surprised, which was a relief. At least this wasn't some elaborate prank.

"Diana Peters?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Mr. Jones is expecting you. Take the express elevator to the 58th floor. Someone will meet you there."

Express elevator. Of course they had an express elevator. Even the elevator was more successful than me.

I was directed to a separate bank of elevators at the back of the lobby, where a security guard checked my ID before allowing me access. The elevator was spacious, with wood-paneled walls and no muzak.

As I ascended, my phone buzzed with a text from Nathan:

Good luck today! Remember: public place, tell someone where you are at all times, and don't accept any drinks you haven't seen prepared.

I smiled and texted back:

I'm at their corporate HQ with about 500 witnesses. I think I'm safe. But thanks, Mom.

The elevator doors opened directly into a reception area that looked more like an art gallery than an office.

Minimalist furniture, abstract sculptures, and floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city.

"Ms. Peters?" A woman with a sleek bob and an iPad approached me. "I'm Vivian, Mr. Jones's assistant. Please follow me."

Vivian led me through a labyrinth of corridors, past glass-walled offices where people were engaged in intense discussions or staring intently at multiple computer screens. Everyone looked busy and important.

"Mr. Jones is just finishing a call," Vivian said as we stopped outside a corner office. "He'll be with you momentarily. Would you like water or coffee?"

"Water is fine," I replied, wincing slightly at the mention of coffee. "And, um, I'm sorry about the coffee incident yesterday. With Mr. Jones."

Vivian's perfectly neutral expression didn't change. "Coffee incident?"

So he hadn't mentioned it. Interesting.

"Never mind," I said quickly. "Just a case of mistaken... coffee."

Vivian looked at me as if I were speaking in tongues, then gestured to a chair. "Please have a seat. Mr. Jones will be right with you."

Left alone in the waiting area, I tried not to fidget as I took in my surroundings. Bernard's office had glass walls, but the glass was frosted, offering privacy while still allowing light to filter through. I could see his silhouette as he paced inside, phone to his ear.

Before I could speculate further on what awaited me, the door opened and Bernard Jones emerged.

"Ms. Peters," he said, extending his hand. "Thank you for coming."

In the office environment, he seemed even more imposing than he had on the sidewalk. Today's suit was dark blue, perfectly tailored to his tall frame.

"Thank you for the opportunity," I replied, shaking his hand. His grip was firm.

"Please, come in," he said, holding the door for me.

His office was spacious but not ostentatious – minimal decoration, ergonomic furniture, and a desk so clean it looked like it had never been used. The only personal touch was a small stone sculpture on a side table.

"Have a seat," he said, gesturing to a chair across from his desk.

I sat, placing my portfolio neatly on my lap, hoping he couldn't hear my heart pounding. This was easily the most intimidating interview setting I'd ever experienced.

Bernard sat behind his desk, his posture perfect. For a moment, he simply looked at me, that same analytical gaze from yesterday studying my face with an intensity that made me want to check if I had something stuck in my teeth.

"You're wondering why I invited you here," he said finally. It wasn't a question.

"The thought had crossed my mind," I admitted. "It's not every day someone offers me a job interview after I ruin their suit."

"The suit is replaceable," he said with a dismissive wave. "Good marketing talent is harder to find."

"And you determined I have good marketing talent from our sidewalk collision?"

"I make quick assessments. It's part of my job."

"What exactly is a Chief Strategy Officer?" I asked, genuinely curious. "Besides makes quick assessments of people."

"I identify opportunities for the company," he replied. "Acquisitions, new market entries, talent..." He paused. "People like you, Ms. Peters."

"Diana," I corrected automatically. "Ms. Peters makes me feel like I'm being called to the principal's office."

"Diana, then. Tell me about your work at Apex Marketing."

And just like that, we were in a normal interview. I talked about my three years at Apex, the campaigns I'd worked on, my strengths in creative concept development and client relations. I carefully avoided mentioning yesterday's Henderson presentation debacle.

Bernard listened attentively, occasionally making notes on a tablet. His questions were sharp and specific, probing into my thought process on various projects.

"You're underutilized at Apex," he said abruptly, after I'd described a campaign concept that my boss had ultimately watered down.

The statement caught me off guard with its accuracy. "I... yes, sometimes I feel that way."

"It's not a feeling, it's a fact," Bernard replied. "Your skills are better suited to a more challenging environment."

His directness was both refreshing and unsettling. Was he always this blunt, or was it just with me?

"Thank you," I said, unsure how else to respond. "But you still haven't told me what position you're considering me for."

Bernard set down his tablet. "I need a personal marketing specialist for a special project. Someone creative but analytical, who can work directly with me to develop and execute strategic marketing initiatives."

"What kind of special project?" I asked.

"I'm afraid that's confidential until we determine if you're right for the position," he said. "But I can tell you it would involve working closely with me on high-priority initiatives, with significantly more responsibility – and compensation – than your current role."

My mind raced with possibilities. A personal marketing specialist? Working directly with the CSO of Morris Industries? It sounded both exciting and terrifying.

"Why me?" I asked, the question that had been burning in my mind since yesterday. "There must be

hundreds of more experienced marketing professionals in this city."