I shake my head and turn on my presenter mode. The excited energy in the room balances the nerves inside of me, and my confidence grows into something stronger. I’m winded by the time I finish. My skin is flushed and the erratic rhythm of my heart has yet to lessen.
One person clapping turns into the entire room smiling and congratulating me on a job well done.
All I can do is grin. If this is what believing in myself feels like, I wish I had done it a bit sooner. Before my ideas were stolen and my spirit was crushed.
I’m done being that woman. From now on, I refuse to let self-doubt get in my way. I’m now Zahra 2.0. The woman who doesn’t give much thought to the past because I’m only facing my future.
Lance might have stolen my first idea but it’s most certainly not my last, and everyone’s response tells me that the only one I need to prove something to is myself.
* * *
Claire barrels into me the moment I open the door to our apartment. “Zahra!” Her arms wrap around me and she starts bouncing up and down.
“What?!”
“I got a job!”
“Really?! At The Royal Chateau?” Holy shit. I know Claire’s talented but wow.
Her black brows pull together. “Well, no.”
“I’m so confused.”
“Let me explain.” Claire leads me to the couch, where she already has a bottle of cheap wine waiting for us. “So I was a complete wreck during my entire interview.”
My smile drops. “Oh no.”
She waves me off. “Everything that could possibly go wrong did. I overcooked the chicken and undercooked the fish. Then my souffle deflated before I had a chance to even plate it and I burned my hand on a hot pan.” She shows off her bandage.
I cringe.
“It was so embarrassing. The sous chef dismissed me in the middle of the interview after yelling at me for wasting her time. She made me feel this tall.” Claire shows me an inch of space between her index finger and thumb.
All the muscles in my body tighten. “I’m so sorry, Claire. I feel responsible for pushing you into this before you were ready. I thought—”
“No! Thanks to you, I ended up landing something even better.”
“How?”
She grabs a filled glass of wine and passes it to me. “I ran into the chef outside the restaurant.”
“How did you know they were the chef?”
“It’s a funny story. You see, I didn’t know who he was at the time. He thought I was an injured animal.”
“No way.” I smack a hand over my mouth to stop my laugh from escaping.
She nods. “Yes. I don’t think he was prepared for the Pandora’s box he unleashed when he asked if I was okay. All the emotions exploded out of me. I have to give him credit. He stood there quietly while I went off about how I tanked the most important interview of my career.”
“And?”
“And then he asked me a couple of questions about my favorite things to cook before telling me to make his favorite meal!”
My jaw drops open. “Get out.”
“It was like a movie! So I cooked him the best grilled cheese and tomato soup that man has ever tasted. His words, not mine.”
“A chef’s favorite meal is grilled cheese? Doesn’t that seem a bit…basic?”