Page 12 of Beautiful Rose

The interviewer is an attractive blonde girl, bouncing in her seat. She asks numerous questions about the company.

With excitement shining in his eyes, Zander explains how they came up with an idea of a non-traditional pharmaceutical company, Elixir Inc., which, along with drug development, focuses heavily on researching new technologies. Four years ago, when they opened the first office in their hometown of St. Peppers, they had no idea it’d be so successful that a year later they’d be opening another office in the state.

I know quite a lot about the company but not so much about the owner, so I tune out most of the conversation and instead admire the handsome man on the screen.

The way his hands move as he explains about Elixir. The way his eyes sparkle when he talks about their early days. I take everything in. Then the interviewer moves to their personal lives.

“Tell us more about your family,” she asks the three men.

“You are looking at my family.” Zander gives her a lopsided grin, showing his left dimple.

The girl smiles, her cheeks turning pink.

Ouch. I run my tongue over the inside of my cheek where I’ve just bitten accidentally. I don’t really like her getting all chummy with Zander.

“Of course, but what about your parents?”

Zander’s gaze darts from the blonde to his brothers as he runs his fingers through his hair. He blinks rapidly for a second as if clearing out a fearful memory. It’s ephemeral, but my own experiences have made me more observant. It also might be the because my gaze hasn’t moved from him for a second.

Zander tries to act nonchalant, shrugging his shoulders. “Our parents passed away when we were very young. We spent some time in foster care before Ashcroft Miller took us in.”

Oh my!

I look at Kristy and her worried gaze is fixed on me. But the interviewer appears satisfied with the answer.

After finishing the hour-long interview, I prepare myself an avocado and grilled cheese sandwich and bring it to my room while Kristy is up to her ears in online meetings.

I fall onto the bed and think back to the unusual day, or one stranger in particular.My gaze scoots up to the Wolverine collage on the wall. When I heard Zander’s soul-spearing baritone voice in the small closet, it somehow reminded me of Wolverine.

I grin at the comparison.

My mind replays the moment Zander’s eyes met mine for the first time. On such rare occasions, I’m thankful for my photographic memory. I can still feel the unexplained heat and warmth coursing through my body.

I get up from the bed and walk toward the photo frame hanging proud on the wall. It’s a cheap black wooden frame that holds a shabby collage of superhero images from newspaper clippings. But it’s one of the most cherished memories of my otherwise frigid childhood. I waited seven months to find a perfect picture of Wolverine, which now sits in the center of the collage.

I remember the day Kristy’s mom, Sophia, brought me comics for the first time. She asked me to choose one out of the three colorful illustrated books. There were superheroes fighting against the bad despite their twisted past, and I believed in those stories. I still do.

Two of the three books were of masked superheroes in a spider and bat mask, but my childhood brain was fascinated by the man who had claws on his hands—claws sharp enough to even cut metal. A thought appeared in my then-immature mind. If only I had such claws, I might have avoided all my nightmares.

I now understand that it was not my most intelligent thought.

But isn’t life about getting hopes from wherever you can?

For me, it was those colorful rough pages and the tiny letters written in white bubbled spaces.

They told me my life wasn’t over just yet. There were things beyond what I’d seen, what I’d suffered. There was a life beyond mine, waiting for me. I soon became a huge Wolverine fan, and the giant comic book collection under my bed is a testament to that.

After tracing my fingers along the cold glass over the shiny metal claws one last time, I amble to my study table.

I put together a presentation about upcoming grant applications and the professors interested in collaboration. I add each of my team members who would fit well in these new roles.

My hands falter as I draft an email to Kristy and Oscar, attaching the slides so they can appoint someone to present this to Zander.The feeling of relief I usually feel when I’m out of any social situation is not as strong today. Maybe—

Stupid, stupid Rose. What the hell are you thinking?

I’ll possibly end up having a panic attack before I even walk into that conference room, knowing I have to speak to not just anyone but my attractive, Wolverine-voiced CEO.

My senses return and I hit send.