The Job
The lift dinged with a hollow little chime, and YN stepped out onto the 43rd floor, skirt smoothing down with every careful step. Her blouse was tucked, her heels were low, and her nerves were very, very high. The hallway smelled like coffee and glass cleaner and ambition. The good kind.
“Okay, sweetheart,” she knelt in front of the tiny boy beside her, brushing a hand through his soft curls. “You remember what we said? Sit here. Tablet’s charged, snacks are in the bag, and if you need anything—”
“Press the little red button.” Ben grinned proudly, swinging his legs over the sleek upholstered bench just outside the glass-paneled reception. “I know, Mommy.”
“Good. And please don’t wander, okay? Just wait here. Quietly. I need this job.”
“I won’t,” he said, very solemn for someone with a dinosaur sticker on his cheek.
YN kissed his forehead and stood up slowly, smoothing her skirt again and inhaling deep. You’ve done harder things. You gave birth. This is just a job interview.
She pushed open the doors to The House of the Hearth Corporation.
Behind her, the world fell still for a few long minutes.
Ben tried the tablet. Watched one and a half episodes of Blippi. Nibbled a granola bar. Then spotted something.
Just across the hallway, beside the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows and a row of indoor plants, sat a minimalist little café nook. Soft lighting, marble tables, coffee machines whispering behind the counter—and a glass display with muffins.
The chocolate kind. With the gooey middle.
Ben looked toward the doors where his mom had gone. Still closed.
And the café.. wasn’t that far.
So he did what any chocolate-driven 5-year-old would do.
He got up and walked across the hall.
Arlecchino stirred her espresso slowly.
She hated being on this floor. Meetings she didn’t need to attend, people she didn’t care to impress. But she'd been called in for something dull involving financial strategy and it hadn’t started yet. So she found herself at the café table by the corner, sipping caffeine and trying not to roll her eyes at the lobby’s attempt at warmth.
Then a shadow appeared at her table.
She looked up.
“Do you know where the chocolate muffins are?” a small voice asked.
Arlecchino blinked.
The child was small. Way too small to be alone. pale skin, wide eyes, a button nose, and curls that bounced when he tilted his head. He wore a little jacket with a patch on the sleeve and looked very serious.
She narrowed her eyes. “…Are you lost?”
“Nope,” Ben said, sliding into the chair across from her like it was his. “My mommy's just inside that room. She told me to wait, but the muffins are here, so I came here.”
He looked at her like she was the one who owed him an explanation.
“…You shouldn’t be walking around by yourself.”
“I’m not. I’m walking around with you now,” he said logically, then added: “You’re pretty. Like the ice queen in Frozen, but with pants.”
Arlecchino blinked. Her mouth twitched.
“What’s your name?"
“Benjamin. But you can call me Ben.” He grinned and pointed at the muffin display. “Wanna split one?”
Inside the interview room, YN was trying to smile through her thank-yous when a bolt of panic sliced through her chest.
She stepped out quickly, heels sharp against the tile, and froze.
The bench was empty.
No tablet. No backpack. No Benjamin.
Her heart dropped.
“Oh my god—Ben?” she called, rushing down the hallway. “Ben—!”
She rounded the corner—and stopped dead in her tracks.
There he was.
Sitting at a marble table.
Chatting animatedly with a woman in a crisp white shirt and black slacks. A woman who looked like she stepped out of a Forbes cover shoot and could fire a person with a single blink.
Arlecchino.
And Benjamin was offering her half a muffin.
YN nearly choked.
“Ben—! I told you to stay put!” she rushed forward, wide-eyed, the panic still not drained from her voice. “I—I’m so sorry, I didn’t know he—”
“He’s fine,” Arlecchino said coolly, setting her espresso down. “He’s very charming. We were just talking about muffins and Frozen.”
Ben grinned. “Mommy, she is like the ice queen! But nice. A little.”
YN flushed, mortified. “I—I didn’t mean for him to bother you—”
“He wasn’t,” Arlecchino said simply, then gave YN a longer look. Her gaze flicked down. To the skirt. The blouse. The subtle scent of Light Blue perfume lingering in the air.
“…You’re here for the marketing role, aren’t you.”
YN swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”
Arlecchino stood.
“Let’s discuss it over coffee.”