Page 9 of My Ruthless Neighbor

Whenever Mrs. Samson or his son Caleb used to hit me in the face, whenever darkness used to cover my vision because of my swollen eyes, I always thought that this wasn’t permanent. That my misery would not last forever. That I would get adopted soon.

But that day never came.

As the years passed, understanding dawned on me that I could never be free of this hellhole until I was eighteen.

To save our skin, Raleigh and I used to sneak out of the house almost half the day after school. The others were too scared to rebel against the Samsons. But my best friend was a daredevil. Just like me.

When being interrogated about our whereabouts, I used to lie about having group studies and stuff. By then, lies started coming to me naturally. I embraced it. The art of deception even earned me waitressing gigs when I was still underage.

My art of trickery helped me make money. It helped me escape my nightmare.

Like any other individual, even I have some morals. I lie only when I am in a dire situation. When I started earning, the need to steal was no longer there.

I am far from perfect. Yes, I lie. Still do so if it helps me in any way, but I have never hurt anyone with my lies. I never play with people’s emotions. I am not that person.

Knowing that my falsehood doesn’t harm anyone really helps me make decisions and move forward.

I believe hiding the truth sometimes makes me infinitely ahead of the game than most. Like now.

After inquiring, I learned they weren’t hiring at the moment. Upon seeing my dejected expression, the receptionist tipped me off about the assistant interview going on the third floor.

As a token of gratitude, I fished out a mango-flavored candy and gave it to her before making my way up to the third floor.

With a sorry excuse of a resume in hand, I approached a lady in a white button-down and gray pencil skirt. She didn’t even spare my resume a look. The pale woman curtly informed me that this wasn’t a walk-in-interview.

When I don’t budge, she snaps at me. “Do you see the ladies waiting there?” She points at the waiting chairs where at least seven women were sitting.

They’re all dressed in formal attire. Their outfits coincidently match. All grays, blacks, and whites. Which is completely out of my comfort zone. Each one of them looked elegant and poised. Their hair is neatly made up while mine is hanging loose and draping behind my back like a cape.

Each one of them is wearing makeup while I am bare-faced. I am almost tempted to reach inside my backpack for my lip balm but I refrain.

“They were selected after five rounds of interviews. And you think you can just waltz in here and demand anopportunity.” The woman says.

At her cold tone, I lift my chin. “Yes. I deserve it.”

“Oh. Why do you have such an outrageous thought, pray tell?”

That’s the exact moment when my brain conjures up a plan. “I am an old friend of the owner of this agency.”

Her brows go up. “Is that right?” From her tone, it is clear she didn’t believe me at all. Apart from knowing the owner’s name, I don’t know the first thing about him.

Archer. That’s the name Raleigh mentions often when he is not talking about his nemesis, Hannah.

The chances of me getting selected for this job are slim. I still want to give it a try. What if I did pull it off? Many people lie on their resumes to get hired.

It’s just an assistant’s position. How hard can it be?

When she still regards me skeptically, I up my game. “I think I’ll have to call Archer. This is humiliating. HeinsistedI come for the interview but you are not letting me through.”

She doesn’t stop me when I whip out my phone. Doesn’t interrupt me when I announce for the second time that I am calling Archer.

I’m about to call Papa John’s Pizza and pretend it is him when she cracks. She excuses herself and types furiously on her phone.

I have no idea who she texted because in minutes, I am being ushered toward the conference room.

It baffles me a bit that I am going in first when others were waiting.

Maybe throwing his name around helped.

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