Billionaire's Ex-Wife

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IV. I'm Vivian

Vivian’s POV:

I’m not surprised that everyone was staring at me. I’m a woman, barely passing her teenage years, with a baby strap in front of her. I walk towards the secretary, who raises a brow, “Are you here for the interview today?”

I gave her a firm nod, praying she won’t kick me out.

“Name, please,” she questioned.

“Vivian Blanc,” I responded, rattling Marisa up and down, while her small hand grasped onto mine. My eyes drop down towards her name tag - Cheryl Yurtsever.

Cheryl smiles, a genuinely sweet one, “He is a sweetheart,” she said, giving me a number.

I snatch the number from her hand before leaning in, causing her eyes to widen.” She is indeed pretty,” I said before grabbing the bow inside my back pocket and slapping it on her head. Earlier, on my way in, the bow kept slipping off, so I stuck it away. Now, I understand why it’s necessary. At that moment, I wonder if that’s how Lisa felt.

Cheryl place a hand in front of her mouth, “That’s no-”

I position my finger in front of my lip,” Shhh... It’s okay.” I flicked my finger in the air, urging her to lean in closer. “I understand this may be hard to believe, but this baby isn’t even mine,” I whisper. “It’s not noticeable, but I’m black. I think the father cheated on me and had this white baby. Though I’m not sure, I’m still waiting for the genetic result before I confront the dad.”

Cheryl gave me a blank look, before bursting into a low laugh. Quickly, she covers her mouth, remembering she is at work. “You got jokes. Use that humor, sweetheart, and they will love you.”

I smile, “Thank you,” I said, before walking towards the waiting area. Settling Marisa on my lap, I release a deep breath wondering how a mother with children works at the same time. I’ve been watching Marisa for a total of - I look at my watch - twenty minutes, and I’m already dead. My back is in pain, probably because I’m wearing the baby carrier wrong. No one in the damn bus knows how to put the strap on.

Right, when I was getting comfortable, they decided to call my number - great. I struggle to stand up with a baby and heels, which is one of the hardest things to do. The other interviewers got up and helped me. Oh, so kind. “Thank you.”

“Oh, bless you for being so strong,” one of the women said, causing me to tilt my head.

“I-I think you misun-” They called my number again, and I waved off the misunderstanding. If having a baby makes others treat me better, then why not take it. I began walking towards the open door.

“This way,” Cheryl said, and I followed her. Upon entering a white room, three people were sitting behind the large brown desks. They didn’t have friendly smiles on their faces; instead, it seemed that they were already sick of interviewing candidates despite it being 9:30 am.

Before pressing her lip against the paper cup filled with what I assumed to be coffee, the lady in the pink shirt sighs, however, that smile on her face made me expect she poured a bit more than just coffee in it.

Beside her was a young man, a stoned face as he continued scribbling notes on the single sheet of paper. Write anymore, and I believe the friction between the pen and the paper will set course towards a fire.

The last is a bald guy; not only did he not have a smile. He has this hair...this very nice thinned shiny hair that keeps flapping. I watched as the air condition blew on him - the perfect place to position yourself, sir - and it began creating a wave.

Do not laugh.

Do not laugh.

Do not laugh.

“Why are you standing there? Sit down,” the lady in the pink shirt said. I cannot believe I already screwed up. I debated to run out of the room, but Cheryl previously slammed the door shut.

Hesitantly, I scurried over; my heels seem to make the most amount of noise in the room. Scratch that, the hair flapping guy. Still - Flap. Flap. Flap. Flap.

Is this a test? A test to see if I’ll laugh or not? A test to see if I’m strong enough to hold a poker face?

Flap. Flap. Flap. Flap.

His bald spots made its appearance causing me to wince as I bit my lower lip. “Miss Bla-” the pink shirt lady finally looks up, and the pen in her hand drops. “Why is there a baby strap onto you?” she asks, her hand snap backward, waiting for my answer.

Before I can explain my story, the bald fake wig guy interrupted, “That’s the problem? Don’t you see it! She is all strap wrong!” That’s what you notice?

“And her shoes!” the youthful man who was trying to set a fire finally finished his note-taking. Whoever came before me must have made him very unhappy.

I look down at my shoes, “What’s wrong with it?”

"Everything! The design itself is a crime. Why are you wearing them into my company, dirtying my floor with those awa-” I dig my shoes into the ground, hopefully with enough force, it will bury into the cement.

The bald man stood up. “I cannot take this anymore!” He declared and stomped towards me.

“You show her, Baldy! I mean, Brody!” The young guy said, causing me to snicker, but I quickly shut myself knowing it is not the time to laugh.

Brody stood in front of me, then gestured to me to stand up, which I did. He bends his arms over me, and I was about to kick his descendants until I heard a click. He was un-strapping the baby carrier. Dropping it to the ground, he walks towards the pink shirt lady who grimaces. She grabs the pen and pushes the baby back. “Why are you giving me that strange stinky being? Is it because I’m a woman? You know I’m not a bearer.”

The young man held out his hands. I know I shouldn’t stand there, allowing these people to pass around not-my-baby, but they may become my superior in the future. Lisa owes me at least this much for declaring me as her child babysitter last minute, and I’m assuming without pay.

“I’m not a producer, but I love babies,” the young man chirps, as Brody hands him over.

“Excellent. Gianni, you will make a good father,” Brody declared, while I question when are they going actually to start my interview. However, I know my place as a lowly nobody, so I choose not to speak out to the people who may sign my future paychecks.

I learned a few things in the past year. You don’t criticize three types of people. One. Your boss. The person who pays you to not live in the street. Two. Your cook. You don’t want spits in your food. Three. Anyone who comes in to fix your place. Having toilet water blasting up your ass isn’t fun.

“I said, I like babies. I didn’t say I want one.”

“Why not?”

“Do you purchase a whole damn cow when you simply want some milk?” Gianni flipped his luscious hair and began cooing the baby in his arms. While he stood there, I was caught in a complete trance by his stylish exterior.

“And the guy only drinks sterile milk if you’ve forgotten,” the woman said, looking slightly bored as she pulled out her nail filer. She leaned an arm back and began filing her nails, behaving as if she’s at home.

Brody came back and grabbed the strap from the ground then correctly placed it around my body. He did it so nicely, so smoothly, without touching an inch of me. However, doesn’t he fear I may yell harassment?

“There. Better?” Brody asks, pulling the strap down to adjust it before giving himself a clap of satisfaction.

I open my mouth in awe, momentarily, “Much,” I said, moving in place with comfort. I smile, “Thank you.” I turn towards Gianni, “Can I have her back now?”

Gianni sat down, “Nah. He-” she stupid head! Don’t you see her bow “will only distract you.” Gianni bounces his leg, causing Marisa to giggle while clapping her hands. If Marisa is happy over there, there is no sense in me forcing her back into the carrier.

“Victoria-” holy crap, should I correct her, “Why did you bring your baby to an interview?” the lady asks.

I opened my mouth, but Brody cut me to the chase. “I think it’s so strong for you to bring your baby here,” he said, placing his chin on his knuckles. “Must be rough being a single mother.” He sighs, placing a hand on his chest, “I’m a single father, so I can definitely relate.”

I didn’t know what happened, but he suddenly slammed his hands on the table and stood up. “You should get the job.”

“Are you crazy?” the woman finally threw her nail filer down, “She is unqualified.”

“She graduated from Pandora Academy, Bitca,” Gianni said, smiling at Marisa.

"Becca. My fucking name is Becca.” She slaps one palm on top of the other. I wonder where the professionalism is in this room. “And her graduating from Pandora is what got her through that horribly painted door.”

“I like the color,” Brody stated.

“You’re in HR for a reason, Brody. We didn’t hire you for your taste,” Bitca snapped. Bitca, that name fits her better than Becca.

“You didn’t hire me at all, and for the last time, I’m in the advertisement department. The person who is forced to promote those things you called designs.”

Becca chuckles and leans back ever so slightly. She grasped a handful of her waterfall hair and began tying it up. “Someone holds my damn earrings because I’m about to flip the wig!” A slight southern accent arises.

Brody gasped and held onto his head.

Gianni used the pen and began tapping it on the table, pretending it was a hammer. “Bitcha...Baldy...Sit down. You’re scaring the potential candidate.”

They sat down. “Did he just call me Baldy...again?”

It seems that Gianni is on top of the ladder in this room. “Victoria-” oh lord, should I correct him, “Your-” and I didn’t speak fast enough, “resume is indeed impressive, but the only thing that stands out is your educational background. Everything else isn’t as interesting,” he was brutally honest.

I held my breath as my hands clenched together, getting ready for another reject. Biting on my lower lip, I mentally told myself to be strong. Going home with my head hung low isn’t the end of the world. At least I know I tried.

“You do understand that your graduation at one of the most prestigious high schools can only take you so far, right?”

I nodded.

“And not pursuing a higher degree will only create a wall for your future.”

I look up from the white tile floor. “I disagree,” I spoke up for the first time. Gianni arched a brow, “A slip of paper should not be the determining factor for my experience.”

“You have no experience in fashion,” Becca stated in a dull voice, scribbling down information about me.

“Because no one is willing to give me a chance to gain that experience.” I inhale a deep breath, “For the past year, I’ve been going to hundreds of interviews, and I notice a pattern. Do you guys want to know what it is?”

Becca stopped writing and looked up, matching Gianni and Brody’s intense stares. There were chains wrapped around my body, preventing me from motioning from breathing.

“Everything they said led to one thing. I should go back and pursue a higher degree, a better education. It’s as if everyone agrees that a piece of paper represents my knowledge, who I am, and my work ethic. They didn’t spare me a single chance to prove to them that I’m worthy, that I belong. That I’m more than what’s written on a damn piece of paper.”

It’s been there a while now that this type of feeling escapes from me. I’m angry at the people in front of me, the people who used to sit in front of me. Hell, I’m mad at that damn wig that refuses to stop flapping.





Flap. Flap.

Reject. Reject.

Flap. Flap. Flap.

Reject. Reject. Reject.

White knuckles from clenching my fist too hard, and gritted teeth, I stood up. “I don’t need this. I don’t need to stay here for another half an hour so you guys can hot-n-cold me. Say one good thing about my resume only to reel it back in with an insult.” I was at my breaking point. “So, let’s not waste any more time. Give me my baby!” I bark at Gianni.

Immediately, he stood up and handed me Marisa. I slip her into the baby carrier, “You’re right, my shoes are horrible, but so are those-” I tried to come up with an insult, but nothing came out, “Damn it!” I screamed. Gianni leans back in a shocking look. “You look good. Everything about you is handsome!”

He smiled and sat down, crossing his legs as if he is on top of the world. Well, he does play the part of a wealthy-looking man. In a sense, he reminds me of Liam, which makes me hate him.

I lean down, towards Gianni, causing him to hurry back. “My baby is a female-” I point at the bow, “see.”

He didn’t respond, so I closed our distance. “I said, see?" My voice was quite lethal as if I age backward into my youth when I was running around the mansion and ordering the workers.

Quickly, he nodded as he clutched onto his seat.

I stood up straight, “Good,” I said, slowly backing away with their stares still on me. “I’m leaving. Call me... Don’t call me...I don’t give a double o-” I cover Marisa’s ears, “shit.”

When the door opened, I stepped out only to walk back in. “Brody?” He sat up straight, “There is a better wig store in the 3rd street. Go there,” I stated. He nodded before I left the room, not excusing the sassy hair flipping.

I stop walking and turn back around, feeling my cheeks redden. “By the way! I’m Vivian! Not Veronica! Not Vicky! Not Victoria! Not Valery! Vivian! You cannot call me by other names.” I turn around but turn back, “Unless you’re paying me.” I heard some snickering sound, but it was quickly covered-up by a cough. “Thank you for your time. Goodbye!”

Once the door behind me closes, I shove my face into my hands. “Oh, what did you just do?”

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