The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 306

Chapter 306

Gemma’s POV

The mountain of paperwork on my desk is a chaos, but a manageable kind. I prefer it to the human kind.

But when my phone vibrates with an unknown number, I have a dreadful feeling about who it could be, before I even answer.

Gemma, it’s your auntie, Lydia!

Her voice is sickly sweet, a poor cover for a lifetime of calculated requests. “Kitty is interviewing at Blackwell Industries today. Remember I mentioned this to you?”

I glance at the number, my thumb already itching to block it as soon as this call ends.

“Okay and…?”

I keep my voice flat, giving her nothing.

Oh my! I heard it’s quite competitive at Blackwell Industries. There are over thirty applicants for two positions. Can you let your husband know?

A cold smile touches my lips. There it is, the same old song. She isn’t asking for a recommendation, she’s demanding a backdoor, just like she has always taken everything from my family.

I know if I refuse her outright, she’ll just escalate the pottery 5:22 pestering my mother next until one of us breaks.

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Lucky Draw

Okay, I got it. I agree without a hit of hesitation and smoothly end the call before she can say another word.

Who was it? Zina asks, looking up from her own work, her curiosity piqued.

Lydia.

Zina’s face twists with immediate disgust. “Lydia? The one who’s been exploiting your family since you were kids? She must want something again.”

I nod, tapping my pen lightly on the desk. “Yes. She wants me to help her daughter get into Blackwell Industries through connections.”

And you agreed? Zina’s eyes widen in disbelief.

Did I? I meet her gaze, a cunning smirk playing on my lips. “I just said I got it.”

I acknowledged I understood the request, I never said I would act on it. Let her wait by the phone. The paperwork in front of me is suddenly much more appealing.

Kitty’s POV

Of course he remembers me. I see the flicker of recognition in his cold, handsome eyes, and it’s nothing less than what I deserve.

How could he not remember me from the dinner that say? 2/6

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“It’s you.”

Lucky Draw

The words are flat, but I hear the unspoken acknowledgment. Of course it’s me, I think, my smile widening. Who else would have the confidence to march right into your office?

I give a practiced, sweet bow, a performance of deference that I know makes powerful men like him feel powerful.

“Cassian, looking forward to working with you!” I chirp, already picturing my nameplate outside a corner office.

His response is a wet blanket thrown on my triumph. “You haven’t gotten the job yet.”

How dare he?!

Before I can say that out loud, my mind instantly deciphers the code.

He’s surrounded by his gawking staff. He can’t be seen showing me special favor here, in public. He has to maintain this charade of impartiality.

I recover instantly, pulling together an understanding

expression. We’re playing a game, and I just learned the first rule.

“Understood, Mr. Blackwell….” I say, my tone implying a secret shared between us. “I’ll head out now. The interview results

should be announced soon!”

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Pturn, feeling the heat of a dozen envious stares on my pack. Let

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condescending smile still playing on my lips all the way down in the elevator.

Of course, the selection is a mere formality. They call two names and mine is first, obviously,

The other is that plain, quiet moue, Elly. She must have scraped through on some technicality. A supervisor, a man with the tired air of a lifelong middle–manager, leads us to our pitiful

little desks.

“Is my desk on Mr. Blackwell’s floor?” I ask, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear him say it.

He has the audacity to look at me with pity. “You’re just an intern. How could you be on the same floor as Mr. Blackwell?”

I nod, unfazed. His small–mindedness is predictable. I’ll just have to make my own opportunities to be seen where it matters.

As the clock ticks toward five, I stand, commanding the room’s attention. My colleagues are a collection of drones, and Elly is shooting me daggers with her eyes. Pathetic.

“Today is my first day at work,” I announce, “Sorry for any inconvenience. How about I treat everyone to dinner tonight?”

The drones buzz with immediate, grateful approval. Of course they wouldn’t turn down a free meal from their superior.

The universe, it seems, is eager to reward my initiative. As we descend to the lobby, who should be walking in but Cassian Himself. The others shrink back, but I stride forward, pracing

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