A Wife for the Billionaire
Chapter 31: SOFIA

Chapter 31: SOFIA

I really should have seen this coming. That he would turn my sartorial intuition to myself.

Reading myself wasn’t the problem, but the things... the words that I would discern from my attire - that was the problem.

While reading, lying wasn’t an option. It usually feels like the words just tumble out of my lips, giving me no chance to add or remove.

"Is there a problem? Does this intuition of yours, not work on you?" he asked, grinning.

He had me exactly where he wanted and no escape route was in sight.

"Of course, it works on me. Just give me some time" I said in response.

"Time," he mused, "to do what exactly, to take in your appearance or cook up what to say in the name of ’reading’"

"Neither. My reading offers no room for lying or making things up"

"Great, so get on with it, what does your attire say about you?" he asked, leaning forward, his dark eyes gleaming in anticipation.

My eyes dropped to my outfit, and I hoped my embarrassment wasn’t palpable.

"But this... isn’t what I intended to wear," I stammered, my hands on my coat.

Richard’s chuckle was low and mocking,

"Ah, but that’s exactly what makes it so revealing."

"I mean it, I had prepared exactly what I was supposed to wear before_"

"Let me guess," he interjected, "before your stepmom and her evil daughters ruined it, right?"

How he had guessed it right was a shock, but his tone applied he didn’t even know that he did.

"It may not sound true, but that’s exactly what happened"

"Should have known, classic Cinderella story, but I wonder what that makes me? The Prince?" he queried jokingly.

"You wish, and my story may share some similarities with the story of the girl with the glass slippers, but mine has no fairy godmother, no magic, no prince, no glass slippers, no magic and definitely no happily ever after. Cinderella’s is fantasy and mine is reality" I ended.

In truth, I hadn’t meant to say all that. It felt like I just shared a part of me that I wasn’t supposed to.

What makes it worse, was that who I shared it with couldn’t care less and in my anger I had been too stupid to care.

He just stared at me in silence. It was awkward, especially as I sensed pity in his gaze.

"I don’t need your pity. My life is what it is" I said, not meeting his gaze.

"Pity!", he scoffed, "you flatter yourself. Why would I waste such an emotion on someone like you? You don’t deserve my pity. What you thought was pity was me reminiscing on how pathetic your life is"

His words stung like a hot slap on a chilly winter morning.

Masking my hurt, I asked, hoping my voice doesn’t betray me,

"Back to the issue at hand, where were we? Yeah, the reading myself part"

Leaning back, he replied,

"That sounds about right"

Taking a deep breath, I focused on the image of myself I saw in the mirror before leaving the house.

"No," I heard him say as I made to say the first words I saw, "unbutton your coat, unless you are not wearing anything underneath or you don’t intend to properly read yourself_"

"Fine!" I snapped, cutting him off as I yanked on my coat buttons.

"Now, that’s interesting. You really decided to wear something this lewd to an interview?"

"Like I said before, I didn’t have much of a choice on the matter. You can believe that or you believe what you want" I replied.

"Just read yourself already"

Again, I took a deep breath and focused,

"My attire... suggests vulnerability, a lack of control. The crop top and high-waisted jeans... could imply a desire for attention, or a need for validation."

Richard’s eyebrows rose,

"Go on."

Willing my voice to be stronger, I continued,

"But the button-down coat, knotted to cover myself... that’s a contradiction. It says I’m trying to protect myself, to hide that part that suggests irresponsibility. It’s like a bold declaration saying ’this is not who I am’"

Continuing,

"Paired with sneaks hint at my fashion sense, that in spite of everything I could still manage to rock the look. Wearing my hair loose, is also a bold display of how I don’t seem to care whether people like what I’m wearing or not. It’s like an affirmation, confirming my story about the ruined clothes I had planned to wear."

Richard’s expression turned thoughtful,

"Interesting. And what do you think this

says about your current situation?"

My eyes locked on him, I said,

"It says I’m struggling to assert myself, to find my place. But I’m determined to overcome, to prove myself. It shows my courage to deprive myself of my fashion sense, if it means getting what I want. It also hints that I could improvise and still do so with responsibility."

"And lastly," I continued, "my hand crafted belt shows individuality. It speaks of uniqueness, a difference. It’s the piece that actually says "Sofia Blake" in my entire outfit. And my faded gold earrings could mean a number of things"

"Like what?" He asked.

"Faded dreams or aspirations: Gold represents value and ambition, but faded gold suggests diminished hopes or lost opportunities. Or it could suggest, hidden sparkle. Faded gold signifies my inner shine which is obscured, waiting to be rediscovered. It could also mean that my diminished confidence_"

"Trust me, your confidence is anything, but diminished" he interjected.

As if I hadn’t heard him, I added,

"My faded gold dots remind me of what I’ve lost – my sense of self, my confidence. But they also whisper of what remains – resilience and hope."

The air was thick with tension as his gaze lingered on me. His head was tilted to the side as if he was pondering my words, deciding whether they were true or false.

His phone screen awakened again and from where it lay on the table, I saw it was Claire again.

He barely gave it a glance before hissing and murmuring to himself,

"What does she want with me? Can’t she just give up already"

The doors swung open as Vera rushed in with the telephone on her ear, but before she could speak. Richard thundered,

"What have I told you about knocking or using the buzzer, you can’t just barge in like that. What are you, dumb? That I have to keep reminding you of these things."

"My apologies Sir, but Claire is on the line and she’s threatening to come herself if you still refuse to speak to her"

Waving her away, he picked up his phone,

"Hello," he said.

After a few seconds of silence as he listened to the other person, ’Claire’ as she spoke. He added,

"Get to the point, Claire. If this was about what happened earlier this morning then just apologize and I may forgive you_"

"No, I haven’t and I may not take a spoon of it. You know how much I hate the damned thing" he answered quickly at what must be a question Claire interjected before he could finish speaking.

"Can you stop already? Why must I always be reminded of the accursed situation?_"

"Wait, you did what?! Fifteen what?!" he yelled, standing.

"Tell me you’re joking? This has to be a joke, you really can’t be serious?" He had his back turned on me and his free hand was shoved into his pockets, as he stared at a view that I knew he wasn’t really taking in.

The sun had finally risen to its peak. It’s light blazing, mirroring all the glass surfaces of buildings with what would have been a blinding blaze if not for the tintiness of the glass walls of his office.

"And if I refuse?" his voice had returned to the normal pitch as if whatever the other person said in response to his question was non-negotiable.

"You know being my mom doesn’t give you the right to dictate how things should be in my life, neither does it warrant taking such drastic steps without my prior knowledge"

"Of course" I thought. Claire Wellington, his mom. The gorgeous actress and model who even till date dazzled with beauty that seemed ageless, even though she was advancing into her fifties.

"Oh I promise you, we’ll surely talk about this when I get back" and he ended the call.

"Fuck!" He yelled, gripping his phone as if he intended to squash it with his iron grip.

Turning to face me, he almost staggered back in surprise,

"You." He pointed, "Why are you still here? How much did you hear?! Speak!" He thundered, slamming his palm on his desk, sending waves of fear crashing into me.

"Nothing of consequent, just bits that makes absolutely no sense" at his glare of disbelief, I added, "I swear"

It was true. I could make no head or tail of what he had discussed with his mom, but one thing was evident. It had been enough to piss him off more than my

attempts during the last 45 minutes.

"Well, it doesn’t matter. You may leave now"

The words rang in my ears like a bell of reverberating awakening calls. I just couldn’t believe it. I refused to believe it.

"Wait, what?... But_"

"Just fucking go already! I have gotten my clerk. I don’t need you" He laced.

The weight of his words settled on me after I recovered from the jolt of his initial yell.

He won. He had managed to not only waste my time, but also raise my hopes, all to dash them in the most cruel way.

My feet dragged to the exit. Each step, heavy with shame and defeat. After everything, after 45 minutes of trying... I failed. And perhaps I should blame it on the call, but a part of me knew it was all my fault. This was my own doing.