**Chapter 1** As I drove toward my seventh job interview that week, a sudden realization struck: a piece of sticky candy clung obstinately to my pencil skirt. Just another nail in the coffin of this week's already steep challenges. The todo list swirling in my mind felt heavy; three antacids barely kept my lunch from staging a rebellion against my nerves, dying to embarrass me at the most inopportune moment. It was hardly surprising my five-year-old had thrown a full-blown tantrum that morning when her beloved sparkle dress had mysteriously vanished for the fifteenth time. With a resolve fueled by sheer desperation, I parked my minivan and turned off the engine. I licked my thumb and rubbed at the spot, hoping the shimmer of sugar would fade into obscurity. The sticky residue transformed my skirt into a slightly damp distraction, but I gritted my teeth and pressed on, praying the interviewer might overlook this small fashion crisis. I pulled out my phone and dialed my best friend's number, anxious energy thrumming through me. Mia answered after a few rings, her voice echoing from the bathroom where she always took my calls during work hours. “This was a terrible idea,” I murmured, panic creeping into my tone. “Thank you for the interview, but maybe I should just back out. I’m not even qualified for this; I’ve had three part-time interior design jobs in the last decade, and—” “Farrah,” Mia interrupted, her voice soothing yet firm, “I wouldn’t have recommended you to my boss if I didn’t believe in you. I love you, but I need to keep my job too.” A sharp breath escaped me, hovering somewhere between laughter and anxiety. “You did a fantastic job on my parents’ house. I know this is larger in scale, but I have faith in you. Just be your fabulous self.” I desperately clung to her encouraging words, trying to shake off the dread that had settled deep in my gut. “Right. Right.” Yet I remained unconvinced. “Tell me you’re here,” she insisted, concern lacing her words. “He HATES when people are late.” “I just pulled up,” I responded, hope mingling with worry. “Wait. He? As in the interviewer?” “Yeah, as in my boss,” she confirmed. My jaw dropped. “Gage Griffen is interviewing me? Doesn’t he have billionaire things to do?” Mia chuckled lightly. “Technically, he’s always juggling those billionaire things. After three unsuitable candidates, he decided to take matters into his own hands.” Gage Griffen. The name rang in my ears like a clarion call. Owner of Griffen Industries and the youngest self-made billionaire in Texas, he was the kind of intimidating figure that made what should feel like a colossal opportunity seem like a towering, insurmountable mountain. “Okay, now I’m really panicking,” I breathed. “You’ll crush it,” she assured me. “And your parents are watching the kids, right? Let go of your worries and focus!” “Levi’s watching them,” I admitted, cringing internally. My fourteen-year-old son was capable, sure, but at times I was convinced his eight-year-old brother had more maturity. “Dad's at a doctor’s appointment, and Mom’s covering at their coffee shop, so I’m on my own.” An anxious silence enveloped the conversation, and Mia’s hesitation told me what she was thinking. “But Levi can handle it… I hope,” I added weakly. “Farrah, I know you. You can manage anything for your family,” Mia finally said. “Take a deep breath and go in. I’ve got to get back to my desk.” She hung up, leaving me alone in my minivan, anxiety churning in my stomach. I glanced at my reflection in the rearview mirror, wishing to feel more like a professional and less like… well, a frazzled soccer mom, especially with the lingering scent of my son’s gym bag wafting through the air. Taking a few deep breaths, I stepped out of the vehicle, steadily reminding myself that today was crucial. That’s when I heard an unfortunate metallic sound. My stomach dropped as I realized I had just dinged one of the pristine Teslas parked nearby. “Oh no. Oh no, oh no,” I muttered, frantically inspecting the unscathed black surface of my own car while attempting to rub off the white mark on the shiny vehicle I had accidentally damaged. No doubt about it, I couldn’t afford to fix this. Yet leaving would feel wrong. I rifled through my van and found a piece of paper from Andrew’s sketchbook, quickly jotting down an apology along with my phone number. I hoped the owner would be lenient. But as I glanced again at the streak marring the immaculate paint, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was destined for a rough start. **Let it go, just let it go**, the chorus of a song played softly in my mind, a final reminder to shed my worries and embrace this moment. Just as I steeled myself for this daunting meeting, my phone vibrated in my purse, pulling me from my thoughts. I answered, forcing a smile into my voice, “Hi there, this is Farrah.” “Farrah,” Mike’s voice came from the other end, the man who interviewed me for a receptionist position at Tires and More. “Thanks for coming in, but we decided to go with another candidate.” My heart plummeted. I halted just outside the towering high-rise, blinking rapidly against disappointment. “Do you mind giving me feedback on my interview? I want to improve.” He cleared his throat, sounding uncomfortable. “You did great, but you just weren’t the right fit.” “Mike, please—” My voice trembled. “I really need a job.” With a heavy sigh, he replied, “You have a lot to balance, Farrah, and we need someone who can commit fully. If you need to step away…”. His words stung like an open wound. It was unspoken but clear: a single mom balancing three kids was not the model of reliability they sought. Sure, I could probably take legal action, but honesty was a bitter pill to swallow. I silenced my phone, slipping it into the depths of my purse. Only Levi’s number was on Do Not Disturb, and he knew to only call if there was an absolute emergency. The imposing building before me gleamed with shiny glass doors, mocking me with their elegance and sophistication. My new interview attire—tight in the best way I could manage that was still suitable for plus sizes—felt far too ornate for my reality. As a stay-at-home mom, I was usually in leggings and T-shirts, and strutting in this new suit felt like a masquerade ball gone wrong. But I sought transformation with every step, despite lingering doubts. Inside, a poised receptionist greeted me with a badge, instructing me to head to the thirty-fourth floor. As the elevator ascended, I watched familiar cityscapes speed by, a twinge of nostalgia tugging at my heart. Moving back with my kids had felt jarringly close yet out of reach, a wrenching reminder of just how underprepared I felt. When the elevator doors slid apart, I stepped into a lavish office space. My mind briefly wandered to the designer who had crafted this exceptional interior. It framed a stunning backdrop, gleaming white tiles and window walls capturing the essence of luxury. At the forefront, Mia’s elegant figure stood out, perfectly stylish in a tailored black dress that made my heart warm. As I approached, she smiled widely, fresh and polished. “Ms. Elkins?” she asked, tilting her head with a teasing smile. “Yes, Ms. Baird?” I replied, as I tried to walk confidently in my sensible heels. “Would you like some water or coffee?” “No, thank you,” I shook my head, my stomach still uneasy. “Mr. Griffen will be out shortly. Please take a seat,” she said, her voice uplifting. “Actually, no need,” a deep voice interrupted from the entrance, arresting my attention. As I turned, it was as if the air had thickened in the room, tension swirling in the wake of his approach. No amount of Googling could’ve prepared me for Gage Griffen: with bristly hair that danced between dark blonde and light brown, a jaw sculpted like a masterpiece, and a statured presence that could command an entire room. He stood tall, dressed impeccably in a fitted black suit that screamed authority, his icy blue eyes observing me like an enigmatic puzzle, as he extended his grandly authoritative hand. “Gage Griffen, CEO.” His presence was more than intimidating; it sent nerves dancing through me. “Farrah Elkins, hopeful interior designer,” I responded, a nervous laugh peppering my words. He didn’t even flinch, his grip strong and confident, as our hands shook. I didn’t let my surprise show despite how his blue eyes sent my heart racing. “Come with me,” he commanded, turning without awaiting my response. I shot a last glance at Mia, who offered me a subtle thumbs-up, urging me on. I truly wished I shared her confidence. The fear of running away clawed at me, but I reminded myself of my mission. I would endure this for my kids. As we entered Gage’s office, sunlight poured through the expansive windows in a glorious cascade, revealing a stunning vista of the city. The minimalist desk faced away from the view, flanked by towering bookshelves overflowing with knowledge, devoid of personal touches—no photographs or keepsakes offered a glimpse of his life beyond the office walls. “Thank you for having me in, Mr. Griffen,” I began, desperation creeping into my voice. “You came highly recommended,” he replied without hesitation, rifling through a manila envelope. It should’ve been a shock to me that Mia had enchanted him, but his next revelation gripped me tighter still. “From your advising professor at Upton University.” His words sent my breath hitching. “I had no idea she’d mentioned me,” I admitted, stunned. He held up a page, reading aloud excerpts that felt like warm sunlight in a dark world. “In the past three decades, Farrah Elkins has been a standout— intelligent, talented, and hardworking, able to mold spaces into magnificent visions.” My mouth hung open, lost for words. “That sounds like me,” I replied, my heartbeat faster than a drumroll. Just then, my phone blared a familiar tune—“Sweet Caroline.” My blood ran cold, and I closed my eyes briefly, pleading with the universe to silence the obscene interruption. He raised an eyebrow. “You need to take that?” I stepped away from the desk, panic bubbling just beneath the surface. “Levi, what’s wrong?” I whispered, voice trembling. Through the line, I could hear chaos—the pitchy yelling of my younger children, clearly embroiled in a dispute. Over the noise, Levi hollered, “There’s only enough peanut butter for one sandwich, and Cora and Drew are freaking out!” “Did someone get stabbed with a butter knife?” I replied, desperately trying to defuse the situation with humor, but it came across as anything but funny. “No,” Levi groaned. “Then handle it!” I snapped before disconnecting. “I’m so sorry about that; my babysitter—” “No need,” he interjected, unfazed. His cold pragmatism perplexed me. But he motioned me back to the chair as he continued, “The Retreat has completed construction, but we lost our initial interior designer, struggling to find a competent replacement who understands our needs.” With my heart in my throat, I dug through my bag, pulling out my portfolio. “I prepared several designs based on the comps I received from—uh, Ms. Baird.” Gage waved his hand, silencing me as he flipped through the pages with a reverent care that set my nerves alight. I perched on the edge of my chair, breathless with anticipation. Was this the moment I had been waiting for? Would I finally achieve the fresh start I so desperately sought? “This one,” he declared, a firm finger landing on a page, “is closer to what I want. But it needs to be more family-friendly—less breakable items.” “Family friendly?” I echoed, bolstered by hope. “Do you expect many families to stay at your luxury hotel?” He nodded, determination emanating from his very posture. “There are already plenty of options for luxury business travel. This will be the preferred destination for families seeking style in the Dallas area.” A flicker of surprise warmed me—this gruff titan harbored thoughtfulness for families and their needs. His serious demeanor left me both intrigued and disarmed. He stood, striding away from his desk. “We’ll meet at The Retreat tomorrow for a tour, and you can acclimatize to the space you’ll be working with.” “I…I got the job?” I stammered, disbelief flooding through me. “Just like that?” A fleeting smile broke across his features, sending sparks of hope flaring through my heart. “Just like that,” he confirmed, his expression turning serious again. “But you need to perform.” He made his way toward the office door. “You’ll find our compensation package quite competitive. And as a bonus, feel free to take an extra jar of natural peanut butter from the employee lounge. We wouldn't want any butter knife stabbings.” His presence faded as he exited; a whirlwind of emotions engulfed me. The universe had undoubtedly shifted today, unraveling the possibilities I had previously thought beyond my reach. Whatever the unforeseen challenges ahead, I was ready to embrace them—one step at a time.