The crowded New York subway screeched to a halt, the noise like nails on a chalkboard. Lila Hart tightened her grip on her worn portfolio bag as she jostled her way through the sea of commuters. Her heart raced as she glanced at her phone. 9:17 a.m. She was already seventeen minutes late.
"Excuse me!" she called as a man blocked her path, but her voice was swallowed by the chaos.
By the time she emerged onto the bustling street, her nerves were frayed. She stopped to catch her breath, gazing up at the glass and steel monolith that was Blackwood Enterprises. The building towered above her like a fortress, reflecting the gray December sky. The company logo gleamed in silver lettering above the revolving doors.
"This better be worth it," Lila muttered as she hurried inside, her scuffed boots squeaking against the polished marble floors.
The lobby was enormous, cold, and intimidating. People in tailored suits walked briskly past, talking into Bluetooth headsets or tapping on tablets. She suddenly felt out of place in her thrift store blazer and second-hand satchel.
"Ms. Hart?"
Lila turned toward a slim woman with perfectly styled blonde hair and a clipboard clutched to her chest. The receptionist's smile was practiced, her tone clipped.
"Yes, that's me," Lila replied, trying to sound confident.
"You're late," the woman said, glancing at her watch and pursing her lips. "Mr. Blackwood doesn't appreciate tardiness."
Lila forced a polite smile. "The subway was packed."
The receptionist raised a single eyebrow, her expression screaming Isn't it always?. "Mr. Blackwood is waiting on the top floor. Do try not to waste any more of his time."
Lila bit her tongue and stepped into the elevator, jabbing the button for the top floor. The moment the doors closed, she let out a frustrated groan. "Great start, Lila," she muttered to herself.
The ride felt interminable, the floor numbers lighting up one by one. Her reflection in the mirrored walls stared back at her—messy auburn hair, a slightly flushed face, and a blazer that had seen better days. She took a deep breath.
Ding.
The doors opened to reveal an office space that screamed wealth and power. Floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the room in natural light, and the furniture was sleek and minimalist. It smelled faintly of leather and fresh coffee.
Behind a massive glass desk, a man stood with his back to her, gazing out at the Manhattan skyline. His silhouette was tall and commanding, his shoulders broad under a perfectly tailored charcoal-gray suit.
Lila hesitated. "Mr. Blackwood?"
The man turned, and Lila's breath hitched. Damian Blackwood was devastatingly handsome, with chiseled cheekbones, a strong jawline, and gray eyes that were as cold and sharp as steel. His presence filled the room, making her feel both small and unsteady.
"You're late," he said, his tone low and cutting.
Lila blinked, momentarily thrown off by his bluntness. "The subway was delayed," she replied, forcing herself to meet his gaze.
"That's not my problem," Damian said, his expression unreadable. He stepped closer, his polished shoes clicking against the marble floor. "Punctuality is non-negotiable in my office. Do you understand?"
Lila squared her shoulders, refusing to let him intimidate her. "And professionalism usually includes basic courtesy. Do you understand?"
For a moment, the room went silent. Damian's gray eyes narrowed slightly, as though he couldn't believe someone had dared to talk back to him. Then, to her surprise, one corner of his mouth twitched upward in the faintest hint of amusement.
"Bold," he said, his voice tinged with something that sounded almost like approval. "But boldness doesn't excuse incompetence."
Lila flushed. "I'm not incompetent. I'm here to work, Mr. Blackwood, not to argue."
"Good," Damian replied, his tone abruptly businesslike. He gestured to a sleek tablet on his desk. "You'll be handling my schedule, organizing files, and ensuring I'm not interrupted by trivial matters. I don't tolerate excuses, so don't give me any. You have one week to prove you're worth keeping."
Lila's jaw tightened. "Understood."
"Ms. Hart," Damian said as she turned to leave.
She paused, glancing over her shoulder.
"Don't make me regret hiring you," he said, his voice low and warning.
Lila offered him a tight smile. "That makes two of us."
As she stepped back into the elevator, her pulse was racing—not from fear, but from a strange mix of irritation and intrigue. Damian Blackwood might be insufferable, but there was something about him she couldn't quite ignore.