Lila stepped off the elevator, still clutching her satchel like a lifeline. The memory of Damian Blackwood's penetrating gaze lingered, sending a strange ripple of irritation—and something else—through her. Her first instinct had been to snap back, but she had already risked enough by challenging him. What kind of man practically oozed arrogance yet commanded such respect?
The outer office on the top floor was no less intimidating. A massive mahogany desk stood near the entrance, manned by an older woman with silver hair tied into a no-nonsense bun. Her nameplate read Martha Grayson – Executive Secretary. She didn't look up as Lila approached, her fingers flying across the keyboard.
"Ms. Hart, I assume?" Martha's voice was brisk, almost dismissive.
"Yes. That's me," Lila replied, attempting to sound more confident than she felt.
Martha finally looked up, her gaze assessing. "You'll be in the secondary office, down the hall to the left. Mr. Blackwood prefers his assistants to be out of sight unless needed. You'll find a tablet on your desk with instructions for the day."
Out of sight? Lila resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course, he would. "Got it. Anything else I should know?"
Martha's lips twitched, almost as though she wanted to laugh but thought better of it. "You'll figure it out soon enough."
Not exactly comforting, Lila thought as she made her way down the pristine hallway. The walls were lined with sleek abstract art—pieces she could tell had cost more than her rent for the year. She paused briefly in front of one painting, a riot of crimson and gold that seemed to pulse with energy.
"You like it?"
The low voice startled her. Lila turned to see Damian standing a few feet behind her, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. He seemed less imposing now, but no less intense.
"It's beautiful," she admitted, turning back to the painting. "Who's the artist?"
"Alessandro Martinelli," Damian said, stepping closer. "One of the more underrated talents in Europe. I purchased this piece after his first gallery show in Milan."
Lila nodded, impressed despite herself. "It's bold. Chaotic, but controlled. I can see why you'd like it."
Damian's brow lifted slightly. "And what makes you think you know what I like, Ms. Hart?"
Lila glanced at him, her chin lifting. "Just a guess. Maybe I'm wrong."
For a moment, he said nothing, his eyes searching hers as though trying to decipher her. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving her with more questions than answers.
---
Lila finally found her designated office—a small but sleek room with a single desk, a wall of filing cabinets, and a window that offered a breathtaking view of the city. The tablet on the desk lit up as she picked it up, displaying a list of tasks:
1. Confirm lunch meeting with Mr. Takahashi.
2. Organize quarterly reports by department.
3. Review travel itinerary for next week.
"Simple enough," Lila muttered.
She set to work, quickly falling into a rhythm. The filing system was unnecessarily convoluted, but she managed to figure it out with a bit of trial and error. By the time noon rolled around, she'd ticked off three of the five items on the list.
Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since a stale bagel that morning. She fished a granola bar from her bag and was about to take a bite when her office door opened without warning.
"Ms. Hart."
Damian's voice startled her so much that the granola bar slipped from her fingers and hit the floor.
"I—uh—sorry," she stammered, quickly bending to pick it up.
Damian's expression didn't change, though his eyes briefly flicked to the wrapper in her hand. "The conference room. Now."
Lila scrambled to her feet, shoving the granola bar into her bag. "Of course. Let me just—"
"I said now."
His tone left no room for argument. Flustered but determined not to let him rattle her, Lila followed him down the hall.
---
The conference room was as sleek and imposing as the rest of the building, with a long glass table and high-backed leather chairs. A smart screen on the wall displayed a presentation on market trends.
Damian took a seat at the head of the table, gesturing for Lila to sit beside him.
"I need you to take notes," he said, sliding a stylus and tablet toward her.
Lila nodded, quickly composing herself. She began typing as Damian launched into a discussion about expansion strategies with a group of executives who joined the meeting via video call.
At first, she struggled to keep up, unfamiliar with half the terminology he used. But as the meeting went on, she found herself growing more focused. Damian's presence was commanding, his intelligence unmistakable. He spoke with precision and authority, fielding questions and proposing solutions without hesitation.
By the end of the hour, Lila had filled three pages of notes and felt like she'd just run a mental marathon.
"Good work," Damian said as the call ended, his voice softer than she'd expected.
Lila blinked, caught off guard. "Thank you."
He stood, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. "You handled that better than I anticipated. Keep it up."
Before she could respond, he walked out, leaving her alone in the conference room.
Lila leaned back in her chair, exhaling deeply. Working for Damian Blackwood was going to be anything but ordinary.