Love, Utley (Love Letters #1)

I pull on my matching black suit jacket, wishing it was a blanket I could hide under.

My hair is still the same honey-brown shade it’s always been. But it’s shorter now, closer to shoulder length, rather than halfway down my back. And I’m wearing it half up, the top part twisted back into a clip, the bottom half curled in soft waves.

This is my interview outfit. It’s meant to give me confidence.

Pretty please, give me confidence.

The elevator slows to a stop, and when I step out, the low heels of my ankle boots quietly click across the floor.

There’s a receptionist stationed up here already.

She points over her shoulder and tells me to head back, past the cluster of cubicles, and down the hall to the conference room at the end.

Even from here, I can see this office space is three times larger than our one downstairs, so I appreciate the directions.

Thanking her, I keep my shoulders back and remind myself that my appearance doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter that my hips are wider than they used to be. That my bust is bigger, or that my stomach is softer.

None of that matters for this job.

None of that matters, period.

I grip the edges of my suit coat and tug them down.

I am a bad bitch.

I deserve this job.

I’ve earned this job.

And I will not be flustered by some fucking man.

With one final breath, I reach the conference room and step through the door.

TWO

HANNAH

“Ah, perfect timing. Please take a seat.” A pleasant woman greets me.

“Thank you,” I tell her while pulling out the chair opposite her.

The conference room is large, with a giant rectangular table in the center, surrounded by chairs.

The three of them are seated in a row with the woman in the middle and their backs to the wall of windows, so when I sit, they’re all outlined by the afternoon sun.

Not sure what to say, I roll my chair forward and fold my hands together on the tabletop.

“Thank you for taking the time to come chat with us. I’m Dana.” The woman places a hand on her chest. “I’ve been the CEO of MinneSolar for three years now. Two of those years with Mr. Lovelace as the owner.” She lowers the hand from her chest to tap a finger on the table in front of the man to her right.

I’ve purposefully kept my eyes locked on Dana since I set foot in this room. But even without looking, with only staring forward, I still knew which one was him.

His broad shoulders displace so much space he’s impossible to miss.

Locking down every internal wall I have, I move my gaze from Dana to Mr. Lovelace.

His hair is longer, not buzzed short like it was in college, and his facial hair is thicker, but it’s the same dark brown it was back then.