Chapter 2The Day The CEO Called My Boss For Me

I got into the passenger seat and glanced at the backseat in the rearview mirror. “You can just drop me at the subway station.”

“Nonsense. A child is sick; I’m coming to check on her. Gotta send my regards.” He chuckled, making an attempt at a joke. “We have hidden powerhouses in this company. Getting married so young, was it an arranged family thing?”

Arranged. The word was laughable.

The first time I met Asher Vaughn, I had just graduated college. I was twenty-two, had been jobless for two months, and was eating an eight-dollar container of greasy takeout on a freeway overpass late at night. I was staying in a thirty-dollar-a-night hostel, and my entire life fit into a single twenty-four-inch suitcase and a backpack.

My parents had called me, asking about my interviews. They told me not to be so picky. Work hard, they said. Maybe offer to clean up the office before the interview—the manager might see I was a serious, humble girl and hire me on the spot.

I slowly refuted every suggestion. Finally, they relented, suggesting I just come home and start a business.

What business? Where would the money come from?

If all else failed, they said, I could open a breakfast diner. We could borrow a bit of money from a friend. Having some work, even if it lost money, was better than lying around. If you lie around too long, you lose your drive. Besides, I was a college graduate now. It was time I sent some money home.

I hadn’t been lying around. I had spent the last of my savings hopping between hostels in different boroughs. I worked weekend gigs for a few hundred bucks to cover food for the coming week. On weekdays, I submitted resumes and went on interviews.

Every HR person told me I lacked standout experience. The only place that seemed interested, an electronics factory, said, You’re a college grad, you’ll find a good job eventually. You won’t stay here long. When I posted my frustrations online, I got DMs suggesting I try working in clubs.

I hung up on my parents. The food in my mouth turned to dust. I thought, I'll just finish this and jump.

The street below was sparsely populated with cars. A sleek, black Range Rover with tinted windows drove by several times. It finally killed its engine and parked right below me.

I wiped my face, took a deep breath, and walked over to the car, tapping on the window.

“Is your car broken?”

“You can’t park here.”

“There are cameras up there, and traffic patrols. You’ll get a thousand-dollar ticket for five minutes.”

The window rolled down slowly. A hand holding a cigarette emerged. Asher Vaughn looked up at me and suddenly smiled.

“Let them ticket me. It doesn’t matter. I just wanted to see how long you were going to stand on this overpass.”

I froze. My eyes welled up instantly. The first tear broke free, and the emotion that followed was like a dam breaking. I turned my back, still holding the unfinished box of food, and went back to the railing, trying to keep eating.

The car door opened and closed behind me. Leather soles tapped lightly on the pavement, stopping a few feet away. The smoke drifted to me. He didn’t say anything.

I sniffled, turned, and held out my hand. “Can I have one?”

He raised an eyebrow, the cigarette dangling from his lips. “It’s the middle of the night, and a man is following you. Shouldn’t you be running? You’re asking for a smoke?”

“This place has more cameras than your driving test center! Besides, if you were a creep, would I outrun your car?”

He coughed, choking on the smoke a little. He pulled out a metallic case and offered a cigarette. I leaned in to borrow his lighter. I didn’t tell him the rest of the thought: I wasn’t planning on living anyway. Whether a predator was following me didn’t matter. With a little luck, I could trade my life for his.

The thin cigarette had a subtle scent of sandalwood. He stood three feet away, hands in his pockets. “What happened? Tell me about it.”

“Work,” I said. “If I can’t find a job soon, I’m going back home to start that breakfast diner.”

He seemed genuinely surprised. “You can’t find work in New York?”

I cast him a sideways glance. Our eyes met, and his shock didn’t seem fake. I took a deep drag and gestured wildly.

“Do you know how impossible it is out there?”

“I applied for a video game writer position, talked for an hour, and they told me they mixed up the forms—they needed a graphic designer.”

“I applied for an Operations role. I got there, and they asked if I wanted a Sales job instead. A complete waste of a trip.”

“One time, I took the subway for two and a half hours for an interview, and it was a tiny startup. They were hiring for one position, but I had to be the HR, the admin, the accountant, and the boss’s assistant!”

“I kept applying. Added one hiring manager on LinkedIn to discuss the role, and he sent me a voice note. The music in the bar was louder than his voice.”

“The rest of the listings are for streamers or club hosts.”

“I finally found a normal listing. I checked the time. The HR person was still active online at 3:00 a.m.”

“I asked the HR person if the company offered vacation time. He said, ‘We haven’t removed vacation time yet.’”

“I asked, ‘What’s the core strength of your company?’ He said, ‘The strength is that employees leave after a few days.’”

I cursed and laughed at the same time. God, my life is a joke.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, politely pursing his lips.

I leaned on the railing, looking at him. “You look like you’re in government or something respectable. You wouldn’t understand how hard it is.”

“I understand more than you think,” he scoffed lightly. “I once worked on a development project. I wore this jacket, and I was with a reporter. A villager said I was only there for the photo-op, and that the jacket I was wearing cost more than his annual income. Nothing I said helped.”

I glanced at the brand logo on his sleeve. I wiped my eyes and looked closer.

“Here’s my advice,” I said. “Next time someone says that, first, reassure him. Tell him it’s perfectly normal not to recognize a high-end technical brand. Tell him not to feel insecure.”

“Then, clarify. Tell him the jacket is actually much more expensive than he thinks—it’s worth eight years of his income, maybe more.”

“And finally, tell him you’re not there for a photo-op. You’re there to make serious money.”

He stared at me, then finally burst into laughter.

The takeout container was empty, down to the last few grains of rice. I picked them up one by one, looking at the dark water below the overpass. The wind dried my tears. I didn’t feel like jumping anymore. I felt foolish for being so dramatic. How could I let something so small push me to the edge?

I took a deep breath and turned to him. “Thank you. I’m going home now. Goodbye.”

“Wait.” He stopped me, pulling a business card from his wallet. He got back in his car to grab a sleek fountain pen, then scrawled a few words on the back. “The junior partner at this firm is a college friend of mine. If they have a suitable opening, tell them I referred you for an interview. Tell him to do me a favor.”

Aura Tech. The front of the card held a simple name, contact information, and an office address: Asher Vaughn.

I wondered if he was just trying to hook up with me. But after spending the night tossing and turning in my rented room, I went to the company.