Act Like You Love Me (Jessica) novel Chapter 69

Chapter 69

Chapter 69

Jessica’s POV

The burning light of the sun filtered through the thin curtains, pulling me out of a groggy sleep.

I blinked against the brightness, my eyes adjusting to the soft glow illuminating the room.

Adrian was still fast asleep beside me, his little chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm.

His dark curls fanned out on the pillow, one arm flung over the edge of the bed like he was mid-dream adventure.

I didn’t bother waking him; school would start in a few days, and he’d be back to his overactive self-bouncing from class to recess without a pause.

This was his rare chance to truly rest, and I wasn’t about to snatch it away.

I slipped out of bed quietly, and stretched my arms overhead with a soft groan.

Padding over to the vanity where I’d left my laptop charging overnight, I flipped it open.

Hope lit in my chest. Maybe today would be different. Life could be funny and surprising like that, right? A fresh start, an unexpected win.

There, at the very top of my inbox, was an unread message.

[Subject: Interview Invitation – Personal Assistant Position]

My eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as I scanned the text. It was from the ad I’d applied to last night, the one with that insane monthly pay.

They wanted me to come in today. At ten o’clock.

I glanced at the corner of the screen. 9:02 AM.

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” I hissed under my breath.

I couldn’t afford to miss this. Five thousand a month was on the line.

I scrambled toward the wardrobe, tearing through hangers until I found a modest navy blue dress and a pair of sensible flats.

I practically flew into the bathroom. I scrubbed my teeth and jumped into a shower so quick the water barely had time to get

hot.

When I burst back into the bedroom, Adrian’s side of the bed was empty. He must’ve woken up and scampered off to Aunt Lydia, his usual morning routine.

I flew through my beauty routine: a swipe of mascara, a quick brush through my damp hair, a dab of lip gloss.

As I reached for my perfume, the clock on the vanity mocked me: 9:29 AM.

“Shit!” I muttered under my breath, the word slipping out in a hiss.

There was no time to waste. I grabbed my bag, jammed my feet into my flats, and dashed out of the room.

The living room was thick with the comforting aroma of warmed milk and cinnamon.

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Chapter 69

59

55 vouchers

Aunt Lydia was by fridge, a cup of a coffee in her hand, while Adrian was perched on a stool, whisking something in a bowl with high-intensity focus.

“Good morning, Momma!” Adrian beamed, his eyes bright.

I hurried over to plant a quick kiss on his forehead.

“Morning, my sweet boy.”

Turning to Aunt Lydia, who was eyeing me with a raised brow over her coffee mug, I caught her questioning look. She took in my outfit, head to toe.

“You look like you’re going to rob a bank. What’s the rush?”

I let out a breathless laugh. “I have an interview. Right now. And it’s nearly….” I glanced at my wrist. 9:35. Damn.

“Auntie, I’ll fill you in later, I promise. And yes, I’ll be back before your appointment this evening.”

I didn’t wait for her reply. I was out the door and down the stairs before she could even say good luck.

Outside in the hallway, I half-ran toward the elevator, silently praying I’d bump into Ella.

This would have been the perfect moment for her to pop out with her car keys and that sunny offer of a ride. But no such luck today.

Good thing I’d skipped the heels; my flats pounded the pavement as I hit the street.

I sprinted toward the nearest taxi terminal three blocks away. Luck was finally on my side as a yellow cab pulled up just as I arrived.

I tumbled into the back seat, gasping for air.

“Where to, ma’am?” the driver asked, his voice gravelly through the partition. He was an older guy with salt-and-pepper hair under a faded cap.

“Just… give me a second,” I panted, fumbling with my phone to find the address in the email.

My fingers were shaking so hard I nearly dropped it. I finally pulled it up and read it aloud.

The driver pulled into traffic. Throughout the ride, I was a nervous wreck, checking the time every thirty seconds.

My heart was racing a marathon against the clock.

I whispered a silent prayer: Please, let me make it. This feels too golden to miss. Five grand a month? It could change everything.

When the clock hit 10:00 and we were still weaving through streets, my heart sank.

“How much longer, sir?”

“About three more minutes, ma’am.” He replied, checking his GPS.

I exhaled a long, shaky breath. Maybe three minutes late was excusable in a city this congested.

The car finally slowed, but as I looked out the window, my brow furrowed.

We weren’t in a business district. We were in a gated, ultra-exclusive residential neighbourhood where the houses were mostly glass and steel.

Chapter 69

“Are you sure this is the spot?” I asked, double-checking the address on my phone.

“Very accurate with the address given,” he said with a shrug.

Unease prickled my skin, but I paid him and stepped out.

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50 vouchers.

Why hold a business interview in a residential area? Maybe they ran operations from home-some tech startups did that. Or perhaps it was a scam, clickbait for desperate applicants like me.

I shook my head, pushing the doubts down.

Whatever it was, I hoped it wasn’t some wild goose chase.

I walked up to the towering front gate. Two security guards stepped out, their expressions carved from stone.

“Hi, I’m here for the interview-the personal assistant position.” I held up my phone, showing them the email.

The guards scanned the screen, exchanged a brief, wordless nod, and stepped aside to let me through.

One of them escorted me across an expansive lawn that looked like it belonged on the cover of an architectural magazine.

The grass was trimmed to a perfect, golf-course height, and the flower beds were bursting with vibrant colors that seemed too perfect to be real.

In the center, a fountain gurgled softly, the water dancing in the sunlight.

We reached the front door; a massive, imposing wooden slab accented with frosted glass panels.

He pushed it open with a heavy creak. “Go on in.”

The foyer was huge, all high ceilings and a quiet, expensive stillness you only find in the homes of the ultra-wealthy.

A maid appeared almost instantly, all smiles and polished manners.

“Hello! You must be here for the interview. What’s your name?”

“Jessica Reid,” I said, returning the smile.

“Right this way.” She led me into the living room, a spacious area with plush sectional sofas in soft gray, a massive flat-screen on one wall, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a pool.

About a dozen candidates sat scattered around: men and women, middle-aged pros in suits, younger adults fresh out of college, even a couple of teens who looked barely 18.

Unlike yesterday’s polite ladies at Apex, these folks wore masks of stoicism, eyes forward, no chit-chat.

I felt unsettled. The air was thick with unspoken competition. No hellos, no smiles.

Well, i couldn’t blame them; this felt like a fight for a golden ticket.

I took an available spot on the sofa, clutching my bag to my lap.

My head spun with questions. Why interview at home?

The high pay made me wonder if I had accidentally applied for something far more complicated than “assisting.”

My stomach knotted, but I stayed put.

One hour passed. Then two. Each candidate went upstairs and stayed for exactly thirty minutes, returning with neutral

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