Alexander's POV
The early morning quiet in my office was the one time I felt as though the city truly belonged to me. From the windows, the skyline stretched out, cold and gray, reminding me of all that I'd built from the ground up. These moments were my only respite from the endless calls, meetings, and deals that defined my days. Yet this morning, my thoughts kept drifting back to a name: Maya Hargrove.
Her file sat open on my desk, pages scattered, her artwork printed and stapled like she was just another applicant. Normally, I wouldn't waste time on an entry-level candidate. But when Emily handed me Maya's file, I saw a flicker of intrigue in her eyes—an unusual look for someone as unflappable as Emily. That alone was enough to make me curious.
I expected an uninspiring collection of art school projects: polished but safe. Instead, I found something raw and startling. Her paintings didn't follow the rules. There was a desperation in her work, a need to be seen. The colors clashed violently, lines chaotic but purposeful, each brushstroke an argument in its own right. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen art that was this… alive.
As I studied her portfolio, I recognized something familiar in her work: that relentless drive that comes from necessity, not schooling. It was rare. Hiring her would be unconventional, and for me, unconventional rarely ended well. But the idea of bringing someone like her into my world was… intriguing. My empire, my foundation, my companies, they were all built on one principle: perfection through control. Maya didn't fit the mold of a typical Blackwood employee, yet she had something my other candidates lacked. The question was whether she could rise to meet my standards or break under the weight of them.
I'd decided to find out.
The morning of her interview, I waited in my office, watching from above as she stepped into the Blackwood Foundation's lobby. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, just before stepping in. The lobby was designed to overwhelm—to remind people that this was no ordinary place, and I was no ordinary employer. I watched as she took it all in: the polished marble floors, the stark, modern lines, the air thick with unspoken expectations. Most candidates got lost in the vastness of it, but Maya held herself with a cautious confidence, as if knowing that shrinking back would mean defeat.
Her interview was set for the small conference room across the hall from my office. I could have sent Emily or any of my other directors, but I wanted to see for myself. Her file gave me an idea of her ambition, but I wanted to know if she had the resolve to match it.
When she walked into the room, I saw the briefest flicker of surprise as she realized she'd be interviewing with me. She paused, her gaze steady but assessing, and extended her hand with the hint of a smile. I shook it, noting the strength behind her grip. It was the first test, and she passed it well.
I didn't waste time on pleasantries; small talk bored me, and I had little interest in the usual interview routine. Instead, I leaned forward and asked her why she wanted to work at the Blackwood Foundation. Simple enough. Most people would have given me a predictable answer, but she didn't rush to respond. There was a hesitation, just long enough to show she wasn't willing to give the first answer that came to mind. Then she said, "Because I know my work isn't perfect. And I think being here could help me get closer to that."
It was a surprising response—an honest one. Most applicants used words like "passion" or "admiration for your collection." Maya's was something else. I saw in her a person who recognized her own flaws yet had the ambition to grow beyond them. And for reasons I didn't entirely care to examine, I respected that.
As I continued asking questions, I saw the glint of something hungry in her eyes. She was careful with her answers, choosing her words in a way that told me she was both nervous and hopeful. She tried to keep her composure, but I could sense how much this opportunity meant to her. And when I told her she had the job, I watched her carefully, waiting to see if she would lose that control.
To her credit, she didn't. But I could see the relief, the flash of something like gratitude, as if this offer was more than just a job to her. She was excited, no doubt, but more than that, she was prepared. There was a quiet resolve in her expression, as though she had already steeled herself for whatever challenges might come.
Maya Hargrove intrigued me. In her, I saw a reflection of the person I'd once been—the relentless ambition, the willingness to work tirelessly for the smallest sliver of a chance. I had built my empire on that very drive, shaping my world through grit and unyielding vision. She was an enigma: unpolished but promising. And there was a part of me, though I rarely indulged it, that wondered what she might accomplish under my guidance.
As she stood to leave, I gave her one last look. "This job won't be easy," I said, my tone intentionally flat. "We expect a certain standard here, one that's not negotiable."
Her gaze met mine, steady. "I understand," she replied, her voice even, her eyes fierce. "I'm prepared."
For a moment, I said nothing, studying her. Finally, I nodded. "We'll see."
She left the room, and I watched her through the glass walls as she made her way back down the corridor, the quiet confidence still intact. It wasn't until she was out of sight that I realized a faint sense of anticipation had begun to stir, a rare feeling after so many years of running things by the book.
Maya Hargrove was a risk, a gamble. But I'd spent a lifetime learning how to read people, and there was something about her that made me think she could handle it. She didn't know it yet, but this job would test her limits, demand more than she was used to giving. And if she succeeded, it would be because she had managed to survive my standards, my rules.
And if she failed? I would have my answer and move on. But somehow, I had a feeling that this one wouldn't make it so simple.