Under His Billionaire Roof novel Chapter 7

Leighton got another interview request two days later. A marketing firm downtown. Better pay than her last job. Actual benefits. Room for growth.

She needed this.

The interview was scheduled for two in the afternoon. She set up in the morning room again, her laptop charged, her notes organized. Professional blazer over a nice top. Hair and makeup perfect. She looked competent. Put together. Like someone you'd want to hire.

She joined the call at 2:30.

Three people appeared on screen. The creative director, the HR manager, and someone whose title she missed because her internet connection stuttered.

"Can you hear us?" the creative director asked.

"Yes. Sorry. Connection issue."

"No problem. Let's get started."

The first ten minutes went fine. Standard questions about her experience, her design process. She gave good answers. Smiled. Made eye contact with the camera.

Then they asked to see her portfolio.

"Of course." She shared her screen, pulling up her website. "I've worked on branding projects for startups, small businesses, a few nonprofits..."

The page loaded. Sort of. Half the images appeared. The rest were broken links.

Her stomach dropped.

"I'm sorry, let me refresh." She reloaded the page. Same problem. "This was working this morning, I don't..."

"Take your time," the HR manager said, but her smile looked forced.

Leighton's hands shook as she tried her backup portfolio on Behance. That loaded, thank god. She walked them through her projects, trying to sound confident despite the panic clawing at her throat.

"These are nice," the creative director said. "But they're all pretty similar. Safe choices. What about something that pushes boundaries? Shows real creative risk?"

"I have some experimental work..." She clicked to another page. Another broken link. "I'm so sorry. My website is apparently having issues."

"We can look at it later," the creative director said, but his tone said they wouldn't.

The rest of the interview was torture. Her internet kept cutting in and out. She stumbled over answers. At one point, her video froze mid-sentence, and she had to reconnect.

"We'll be in touch," they said at the end.

Translation: don't hold your breath.

The call ended. Leighton stared at her screen, at her stupid broken portfolio, and felt something crack open inside her chest.

She'd been so careful. Had checked everything this morning. Had prepared for days.

And she'd still failed.

The tears came fast and hot. She pressed her hands to her face, trying to hold them back, but they wouldn't stop.

This was it. The final straw. Getting fired, evicted, living in someone else's house, rejection after rejection, and now this. Now blowing the one good opportunity she'd had because her website decided to implode at the worst possible moment.

She didn't hear footsteps. Didn't know he was there until Noah's voice said, "Leighton?"

She looked up, tears streaming down her face. He stood in the doorway, still in his suit from wherever he'd been. His expression shifted from confusion to something else when he saw her crying.

"Sorry," she choked out. "I'll just... I'll go to my room."

"What happened?"

"Nothing. It's fine."

"It's clearly not fine." He moved into the room, keeping his distance. Like he wasn't sure what to do with a crying woman. "Was it another interview?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

"How bad?"

"Terrible. My portfolio site crashed halfway through. My internet kept cutting out. I looked like an idiot." Fresh tears spilled over. "They were my best shot and I blew it."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he pulled out his phone. "What's your website?"

"Why?"

"Just tell me."

She rattled off the URL. He typed something, frowned at his screen, typed more.

"Your hosting service is down. Not your fault. Their whole server cluster is offline." He showed her his phone. Sure enough, there was a notice about technical difficulties. "You couldn't have known."

"Doesn't matter. They still saw me screw up."

"They saw your hosting service screw up. There's a difference."

"You didn't see their faces. They already decided I wasn't worth hiring."

Noah pocketed his phone and moved closer, sitting in the chair across from her. "Show me your portfolio."

"What?"

"Your portfolio. I want to see it."

"Noah, you don't have to..."

"I'm not asking to be nice. I want to see what you can do."

She wiped her face with the back of her hand, her mascara probably everywhere. "Why?"

"Because you've spent some days in my house, and I don't actually know anything about your work." He nodded at her laptop. "Show me."

She hesitated, then turned the laptop toward him. Pulled up her Behance page. "Most of this is from school or freelance projects. The startup I worked for didn't let me include their stuff in my portfolio. NDA."

He scrolled slowly, clicking on projects. A logo design for a coffee shop. Branding for a yoga studio. A website mockup for a bookstore.

She watched his face for reactions. Got nothing. His expression stayed neutral, giving nothing away.

"This one," he said, pointing at a restaurant branding project. "Talk me through your process."

"The client wanted something modern but warm. Family-owned Italian place that had been around for decades. They were rebranding to attract younger customers without losing their regulars."

"What did you start with?"

"Research. I ate there three times. Talked to the owners, the staff, and regular customers. Looked at what their competitors were doing. Then I developed a few concepts." She clicked through the mockups. "They chose this one. Classic Italian colors but with a contemporary twist. The typography is modern but approachable."

He studied the screen. "The menu design is good. Clean."

"Thanks."

"These icons for the different sections. Custom?"

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