Chapter 5 – 6
Chapter 5 – 6
Better Choice: The Interview
Late morning sunlight spilled through the wide glass windows of the seventh floor office, laying warm rectangles across polished tiles and stacked files. Outside, the city moved in its usual rhythm—horns in the distance, engines grumbling below, vendors shouting prices somewhere on the roadside, construction hammers clanging far away. Life continued loudly outside.
Inside Better Choice, however, the atmosphere was tighter.
Focused.
Hungry.
The company was still young enough that every visitor mattered, every partnership carried weight, every mention in the media could mean growth—or failure.
John sat alone behind his desk.
His laptop screen glowed with unfinished spreadsheets, proposal drafts, and messages from different departments waiting for approval. A tower of folders leaned dangerously near his elbow. His tie had been loosened long ago, sleeves rolled to the forearms, collar open.
He rubbed both eyes and yawned deeply.
The kind of yawn that came not from boredom, but accumulated exhaustion.
When he lowered his hand, he noticed a neatly wrapped takeaway meal sitting near the edge of the desk.
Still untouched.
He frowned.
Had someone brought that in hours ago?
He glanced at the wall clock.
Nearly noon.
He had skipped breakfast without noticing.
Again.
His stomach tightened faintly in protest, but appetite never arrived when stress came first. And now the meal had gone cold.
He disliked cold food.
Especially rice.
John pushed it aside with mild irritation and stretched backward until his spine cracked softly. Then he reached for his phone.
No new messages.
He opened Tina's chat.
His last text remained seen from hours ago.
Good morning. Busy today?
Nothing after.
His thumb hovered over the screen.
That was unlike Tina.
She replied quickly—even if only with an emoji, a complaint, or some playful insult. Silence from her felt unnatural, like hearing a song missing half its notes.
"She always answers," he murmured.
Worry crawled quietly into his chest.
Then annoyance followed it.
He pressed call.
The line rang once.
Then the automated voice answered:
"The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please try again later."
John stared at the phone.
Called again.
Same result.
He exhaled through his nose slowly.
Then scrolled and selected another contact.
Mara.
The call connected after several rings.
A sleepy female voice answered.
"Hello?"
"Mara. It's John."
There was a pause.
Then sudden alertness.
"Oh! John?" she said, laughter entering her voice. "What miracle is this? You never call me."
Her tone was playful, but he heard something else underneath it.
Tension.
Curiosity.
People close to Tina always seemed curious about him.
"Did you two fight again?" she continued. "Because if you expect me to mediate after last time, my rates have doubled."
John pinched the bridge of his nose.
"No fight."
"That's disappointing."
"I need to know where Tina is."
The teasing faded immediately.
"She didn't tell you?"
John's jaw hardened.
"Tell me what?"
Mara hesitated.
Then sighed.
"She went to Federal Hospital."
His back straightened.
"Why?"
"Her ex had a serious accident during filming. Some stunt scene went wrong. She rushed there."
Silence.
John looked toward the window.
The city suddenly felt farther away.
"She said she'd tell you," Mara added quickly. "I assumed she did."
"She's with her ex."
It came out flatter than intended.
Mara groaned.
"Oh please don't start that."
"She went to him."
"She went because someone might be injured."
"She still went."
"She's not cheating on you, John."
The firmness in Mara's voice surprised him.
"She likes you more than you realize."
John said nothing.
Because liking someone and choosing them were different things.
He knew that too well.
Mara softened.
"Wait for her. Let her explain."
John looked at Tina's silent chat screen.
Then said quietly:
"I'm going there."
"John—no."
"I need confirmation."
"Confirmation of what?"
"That I'm not the fool in this relationship."
Mara inhaled sharply.
"Don't ruin something good because you're suspicious."
He gave a humorless smile.
"Suspicion usually begins where honesty ends."
Neither spoke for a moment.
Then Mara sighed.
"You're stubborn."
"Yes."
"Fine. Good luck."
She hung up.
John remained seated, phone still in hand.
His chest felt heavier than before.
Was he overthinking?
Maybe.
But experience had taught him something cruel: people rarely betray you without first making you feel guilty for doubting them.
He pressed another contact.
Joseph.
The line connected immediately.
"Reschedule the interview for tomorrow."
Before he could say more, the call ended.
John stared at the phone.
"So rude."
Less than two minutes later, the office door burst open.
Joseph stumbled in breathing hard, one hand braced against the wall.
Sweat darkened the collar of his shirt.
His chest rose and fell rapidly.
"He ran," John observed calmly.
Joseph pointed accusingly.
"You want to reschedule?" he gasped. "Now?"
He straightened painfully.
"What if Mrs. Madison changes her mind?"
"She won't."
John's confidence only irritated him further.
"Do you know how hard it was to schedule this?"
Joseph paced.
"She doesn't grant interviews easily. She has reach, credibility, influence. One feature from her could bring investors, customers, attention—"
"I know."
"Then why are we discussing your love life during business hours?"
John leaned back in his chair.
Because Joseph was right.
Better Choice was not yet powerful enough to ignore opportunities.
They had a decent reputation, yes.
Some contracts.
Some recognition.
But not enough to be careless.
He sighed.
"My personal life shouldn't interfere."
"Finally," Joseph muttered.
Before he could continue, John's phone beeped twice.
Joseph glanced at the screen.
Then blinked.
"Mrs. Madison is already downstairs."
Both men looked at each other.
John sat straighter instantly.
"Lead her up."
Joseph turned and ran again.
John almost called after him to slow down.
Instead he adjusted his collar, closed unused tabs on his laptop, stacked papers into cleaner piles, and pushed the cold meal out of sight.
Then he stopped.
Tina had promised she would be here today.
She knew this interview mattered.
Yet she had gone to another man.
Her ex.
His fingers tightened against the desk.
Maybe there was a good reason.
Maybe not.
Either way, she had chosen somewhere else.
A knock came.
"Come in."
The door opened.
Mrs. Madison entered with calm confidence, Joseph following behind trying to hide exhaustion.
She was stylish without trying too hard. A fitted dress, elegant heels, tasteful jewelry, perfume subtle enough to suggest wealth rather than announce it.
She moved like a woman used to being watched and unimpressed by it.
John stood immediately.
"Mrs. Madison."
They shook hands.
Her grip was firm.
"You must be John," she said warmly. "I've heard quite a lot."
"And I about you."
He gestured toward the seat opposite him.
"Please."
She sat gracefully, crossing one leg over the other.
Joseph quietly positioned himself near the side wall.
Madison's eyes moved across the office.
Organized shelves.
Muted grey-and-white walls.
Certificates framed neatly.
A glass cabinet of prototypes.
Fresh flowers on a side table.
And through the far windows, a smaller room visible beyond—a creative studio filled with sketches, boards, and samples.
Interesting.
She looked back at John.
He was not classically handsome.
But presence often outweighed features.
Tall.
Composed.
Measured voice.
Eyes that looked tired and sharp at once.
The kind of man people underestimated until too late.
"Coffee?" he asked.
"Yes," she smiled. "Very sweet."
"Joseph."
Joseph nodded and left.
Madison watched the dynamic silently.
So this assistant was trusted enough to move freely.
Useful to note.
She leaned back.
"I hope I'm not interrupting lunch."
John glanced toward the hidden meal.
"Not at all."
Then after a beat:
"If you'd like, you can join me after the interview."
One eyebrow rose.
"Are you inviting me on a date?"
"Of course not," John said smoothly. "I doubt your husband would approve."
She laughed.
The tension in the room softened.
"Then perhaps a friendly date."
"You may bring him."
"Or my daughter," Madison countered. "She's shy, but kind."
Joseph re-entered at that exact moment with coffee and nearly spilled it hearing that.
Even John paused internally.
Madison was famously protective of her daughter.
Was she joking?
Testing him?
Observing his reaction?
He accepted his cup.
"Her beauty must rival flowers," John replied evenly. "If the mother looks this refined, then the daughter must still be blooming. Could someone like me casually go on a date with such company?"
Madison smiled.
Flattery.
But disciplined flattery.
Interesting again.
Joseph handed over the drinks.
John sipped.
Immediately regretted it.
Far too sweet.
He narrowed his eyes slightly at Joseph.
Joseph pretended not to notice.
Madison almost laughed.
Then she set down her cup and placed a recording device on the desk.
The room shifted.
Charm faded.
Professional focus replaced it.
She pressed record.
"Let's begin."
John nodded.
"Better Choice," she said. "An unusual company name. Why did you choose it?"
John's expression changed subtly.
Less playful.
More distant.
"My grandmother named it."
Madison waited.
"She suggested it shortly before she passed away."
His fingers rested lightly against the desk.
"She always wanted me to make better choices than the people before me. When I told her I wanted to start a company, she said if I insisted on trying, then call it Better Choice."
He gave a small smile.
"Two days later, she died."
Madison's gaze softened involuntarily.
"When?"
"October 10th, 2023."
A pause.
"My mother's birthday."
The sentence landed strangely.
Not dramatic.
Not bitter.
Just factual.
Which made it heavier.
She studied him more carefully now.
This was not a polished entrepreneur reciting brand mythology.
There was something unfinished in the way he spoke of family.
Something sharp hidden beneath calmness.
"It must have been difficult," she said. "Starting a company while grieving."
"It was busy enough to delay grief."
"Did family support help you remain confident?"
Joseph looked toward John immediately.
He knew that question would matter.
John leaned back slowly.
Then smiled.
Not warmly.
Not coldly.
Just knowingly.
"No," he said.
And the real interview finally began.
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